Tomorrow, Nobody, is my birthday. It distresses me. There isn’t anything particularly significant about this year (other than losing my parents’ insurance) but I will be older than I’ve ever been. Which is strange, because I still feel very young and stupid and naïve.

I haven’t got much to show for the first 26 years of life. I guess I have a bachelor’s degree and a job. But society has taught me not to consider these accomplishments, but rather the bare minimum. And the failures of my life, too numerous and mortifying to list, feel more significant. I imagine that’s a common refrain among people my age. Once you age out of the 18-24 bracket, you’re no longer a young adult. You’re just an adult, no modifier necessary. I have experienced that for a year, and will no doubt experience it for many more. And I’m struck less by the things that I’ve done, and more by the things that I haven’t. I’m sure you hear it all the time, Nobody. It’s alarming how miserable we all seem to be, how alone in that misery we still manage to feel.

The older I get (now that I’m truly ancient) the more I feel like a broken record. All I do is complain about the things that I, theoretically, could change, but am unwilling to do more than examine. I stare at a page filled with words I don’t like, but can’t bring myself to make a single edit.

Birthdays bring such things to the surface, and I’ve always been neurotic about mine. One time in high school, I flippantly argued that it’s strange and selfish to celebrate yourself just for surviving another year, and somebody told me that was a privileged thing to say. They succeeded in their intention (to make me feel ashamed) but I’m not sure the counter-argument was very effective. Is it any less privileged to expect other people to spend their time, energy, and money on you to commemorate your birth? To which I counter, Nobody, with what I believe now: that birthdays are the great equalizer. Everyone has got one, and everyone should be able to do with it what they like. Anything to make the day, and the reminders it brings with it, more bearable. If that means cake and ice cream, have at it. If it means avoiding notice and attention, hide away.  

This year, I will ignore my birthday as best as I can. This only makes the day more auspicious, but what can you do. Not be a big baby about it, I suppose. Not be so precious about myself and what I have or haven’t done. Just be stable and relatively normal. Short of that, I’ll grumble, eat a cupcake, and tell myself, again, “I have really got to turn things around.”

Talk again soon, I hope.