It's a (Birth)day

Photo by Erik Mclean on Unsplash

So, I’m sitting here by myself. The house is quiet. It’s almost midnight on another day. Kind of the same as yesterday, but today was different.

Birthdays mean a lot to people. Their own, the ones they love. Or like. But a day is just a day.

56 years ago, I popped out into this world. I didn’t know what I was doing then, and to be honest, that hasn’t really changed. I’m still just making it up as I go along.

I’ve always had a mixed relationship with birthdays. I never much enjoyed them growing up. It was always Ferrell’s. Always. Every year. I guess it was cool the first time. But I was never asked. It was just Farrell’s. Birthdays didn’t mean much because I never felt they were about me. Now, I guess I’ve had some good birthdays. (This year’s was not one of them.) but again, the people around me seem to like celebrating the birthday more than I do. I will say, I love celebrating my daughters’ birthday. and my wife’s. And my friends. But for me, today was just another disappointing day. And tomorrow will probably be the same. But at least it won’t have the birthday part.

I mean, yeah. I get it. Birthdays are about celebrating you. Who you are. Why you are here. Your value. Your worth. So is that why I don’t love celebrating my own? But maybe it’s just part of the journey. A little pile of rocks stacked along the road to commemorate.

It’s been a long road. I got a lot of piles. Of rocks. Some are bigger than others. So here’s another one. I made it one more year. That wasn’t always a sure thing. There’s been a lot of darkness on the road. Still is sometimes. But we just keep going. Building our little piles to remember and think. Our worth in our own eyes. Our worth in the eyes of others. What the hell are we actually doing? What am I really supposed to be doing? What do I want to be doing? Sometimes I think we get so focused on the piles, the milestones, the memories, that we miss the road. Is this the right road? Or did I just keep building the altars wherever I happened to be? And wound up on a road I didn’t recognize. But here I am.

I once had a pastor tell me that “the journey is the goal” so maybe the road doesn’t really matter. It’s the altars we build along the way and the people we build them with.

So happy birthday to you. And me.

Here’s to the piles and to the journey and to those we get to share it with.

Maybe tomorrow, I’ll go to Farrell’s.