Deb: I am turning 56 today, July the 5th. I was born in the year 1954. I am proud of that fact and happy to tell anyone who’s interested.
I encounter many people who do not share my brazen birthday boasting. And not just women, as stereotypes might dictate. I meet so many people who refuse to give their ages and who are shocked when I blurt mine out.
Now I’m not saying that people should expose their ages if they don’t feel like it. It is a very personal choice and there are many reasons why someone might not want to. Me, I shout it out. Always have. And the thing is, I never wanted to be older or younger than the age I was on my birthday. I always loved the age I was right then and there. After all, It was my number and I got to own it for a whole year. It’s the day I arrived on earth for goodness sake. Wow! Lucked out. Coulda been a dung beetle or a hyena. Won the food-chain lottery with human. The sky’s the limit!
July 5th. It’s my Birthday and I’m healthy, happy, and looking for adventure! Thank you, MY BIRTHDAY, it’s my great honour to be here. So Happy Birthday, babies, whenever yours may be. Own it out loud or own it inside ... but own it.
Barbara: And I turn 47 tomorrow, babies! I don’t know if that’s why Deb and I work so well together, because we almost share a birthday, but it is a real gift to have someone in your life who reminds you on a daily basis to celebrate and own it! Thanks, Deb, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! I will follow your lead tomorrow and be grateful that I was not born a dung beetle.
Some of you might remember me whining about revealing my age in Aging Gracefully. Clearly, I’m getting over that particular issue. I’m getting much better at choosing to embrace who I am over worrying about what other people think (“She’s HOW old? Oh, no, she can’t do this work anymore.”). But, I will say this: I have never had a problem celebrating my birthday. I love the pomp and circumstance (and by that I mean, you know, tea and paper in bed, guiltless lolling, and a nice dinner out with my family, tee hee!). I have not yet had a huge psychological problem with becoming another year older. I like each one of my 47 years and what they mean in terms of experience.
But there is a strange hiccup in this tra-la: I have become increasingly shy about having a party on my birthday, “forcing” people to come and celebrate with me. I truly don’t understand this turn of sentiment. I LOVE celebrating anything with other people. I love having friends over, going to their places, going out en masse, any excuse for a celebration. But strangely, over the last few years, let’s do it on any day other than my birthday. Why, I wonder. Have I lost some of my “owning it” mojo? Or am I just getting quieter? I really don’t know…
Anyway, Deb, tomorrow I promise to “own it inside”, if not outright owning it “loud”!