Old Dog, New Tricks

In general, I hate celebrating my birthday. I think there was a time where I was a kid where I tried to plan a party and everything fell through last minute, and being a January baby, I never got to have a pool party, so I've since been scarred. This bitterness subsided as I eagerly awaited turning 21 (the last cool age) and promptly returned after my hangover from the aforementioned birthday evaporated.

As my mid-twenties slipped in and out of my fingers, I woke up realizing that I was in my late twenties.

Um, what? When did that happen???

For anyone who is older and annoyed that I am whining about my 27^th year, please just hear me out:

It is not a matter of the number that bothers me—I undergo this annual meltdown every year with the exception of years 16-21—including the years before--I cried when I turned 13 and I cry now at 27.

To me, it is more about where I am in my life against what I had planned. Ah, my infamous plans, destined to doom, as per life’s usual dark humor.

But despite all the lists of “30 Things to Do Before You’re 30” and any other bosh that someone came up with to help legitimize a love of cats and early bedtimes, I still cried on my birthday as I felt the weight of time laying into my bones. My 27 year old bones. In rapid valley girl toned succession I thought:

I should floss more. I should read more. I should drink less wine. I should write more. I really don’t read enough. How many books did I read last year? Audiobooks are not cheating. Ew, I’m such a millennial. But I’m still a 90’s kid at heart! Ohmygosh kids in the 90's are just turning 21. I’m so out of touch. I will never be cool again. I should have a dog by now. I should be married by now. I don’t have time for a wedding. I need to make more plans. I should have gone to the gym this morning. Birthdays are the worst.

Sob. Sob. Sob.

Part of this stems from the social norms and pressures that come from too many episodes of Full House and Friends. Part of this comes from being a naturally neurotic Capricorn-oldest sister/only girl combination. In order to blatantly distract myself from this annual depression, man-friend and I went shopping, had beers, and ate apps. Basically my three favorite activities… maybe today isn't so awful?

As the evening plans approached, my natural instinct was to estimate all of the things that would and could, go wrong. My expectations satisfactorily lowered, we headed into the night.

I had attempted barring people from saying happy birthday, but since that’s kind of a jerk move, I politely thanked them and forced myself to remember how nice it was for people to send you love on your life anniversary. With my guard down due to a delicious spicy cocktail and two fish tacos, I was having a good time. How is this possible? I’m supposed to hate my birthday! That’s the tradition-cake be damned!

But the temptation of my favorite humans in one space, gathered to laugh and eat and make too much noise proved to be exactly the opposite of what I wanted, yet precisely what I needed. As we caught up with each other about new adventures and recent [i.e. since college] successes, I forgot about milestones and all the shouldas that haunted my morning. I had planned to be disappointed with my evening and I was so incredibly wrong. Catching up with friends, and witnessing reunions that were five years overdue, reminded me of everything I had done to-date. A degree, a military career, a loving support system, a healthy spirit and an appreciation for little things like arranging flowers on Sunday or quiet nights at Trader Joe’s—these little things are what aging was about.

The morning after, I woke up with a heart full of love. I’m starting my 27^th year with a Cheshire Cat grin. Somehow I found a victory and I beat the Birthday Blues against all of the odds. If turning 27—or any other age for that matter, means that you set free some of the worries you carry around, I don’t think aging is such a morbid (get it?) thing after all.

I don’t regret crying my tears, but I’m quite sure next year’s sob-session will be laden with some tears of joy and gratitude. Turns out you can teach an old dog new tricks.