Today is my birthday, one that last December I honestly did not think I would live to see. I recall spending my thinking time that month making peace with the idea of not living much longer, and I certainly did not expect to celebrate another birthday. I was never really looking forward to turning 24 anyways. Nothing special happens then. It'll be another year yet before I can rent a car in this country without paying a lot of extra money, and there's really nothing too special about being 24 that I can think of, no milestone or perk that comes with the age. I also never quite understood the idea of celebrating a birthday anyways, so it wasn't too hard for me to be OK with the idea of not having another one.
I have always loved celebrating my birthday, don't misunderstand me. Presents, attention, parties, cake, it was all fine by me. But I never really understood why we do it. It's not like I accomplished anything, I used to think. I didn't exactly choose to be born on this particular date, so why celebrate it? But now I understand better. I still don't think I've accomplished much by getting to this birthday--the doctors are the ones who should be celebrated--but there certainly is something worth celebrating on a birthday. Birthdays are about celebrating yet another year that someone has been privileged to be alive. Birthdays are about being grateful for the time we have been given with one another. Birthdays are about appreciating the gift of life, marking the slow, steady march of time across our lives, and being glad for every milestone we pass.
Some people dread birthdays and getting older. There are those who lie about their age, whose trepidation about going "over the hill" is palpable, who see each increase in the numerical value of their age as a curse, not a blessing. Maybe because I'm only 24, it is easy for me to call that foolish. I for one though will be happy, not heartbroken, if I reach my 40th birthday, or even my next one.
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