some years ago, i’ve lost track of when, i made the discovery that i will be turning 33 on 11/11/11.
That’s 4 powerful numbers all lined up in honor of my birth.
i’ve been dreaming of a massive party ever since.
i just never figured it would come so soon.
i’ve got an hour left of 1/1/11 and then the count down is on.
i feel kind of under pressure, actually.Â shouldn’t someone with such a birthday be ruling the world by now or living on a higher plane perhaps?Â and what if my party stinks?
the birth of a new year has done little to make me worry less about life…but it’s all good.Â i’ve made my wishes for the day and on 11/11/11 i’ll make a few more.Â and then i’ll tell myself what i tell my child, “the best wishes are the ones you make come true.”
Happy New Year, World.
In the past year of GAN-e-meed, of producing multiple projects, balancing spinning plates and juggling people and connections, this has been my most important lesson:
If the message via email or phone makes me angry.
Write the angry response.
Re-write the angry response.
Re-write the angry response as a conservative “thank you for the information but here’s where you suck.”
Re-write the conservative thank you as a polite “thank you for helping me see this new option or opportunity; I’ll do better next time.”
It places no one at blame.Â It acknowledges that an exchange of information has occurred.Â It keeps me from ruminating for the next three days.
And it’s kinder.
my forced hot hair natural gas apartment is cold.
thermostat in the kitchen says 65.
the electric heater in my room has been running without stopping for the past four hours and hasn’t managed to get itself above 62, even thought it’s set for 68.
there’s only so much insulated curtains can do in New Hampshire in December in a lousy little apartment.
that’s why i’m wearing a hat.
and a scarf.
and little old lady fingerless mits.
I approach my birthdays with trepidation.Â The lead-up feels, well, long.Â To know that I am approaching the completion of another revolution of my world.
I believe it is difficult for me not just because I watch myself aging in the eyes of others but because I never spent my childhood days imagining my world as a grown-up.Â As a parent, yes, so I’m a very good parent.Â As a grown-up, no, I never got that far.Â So, I’m not really sure what I’m doing, as grown-up.Â My imaginative plane crashed somewhere around college.Â There are no life-long dreams on which to hang my hat.
I. just. am. a. grown-up.
And I don’t know how it happened.
But, here I am.
With new dreams, worlds, triumphs, fears.
Happy Birthday to me.
I find it a little miserable that I can pass through the seven ages of life in only one day.
Okay, I didn’t count all seven, but there were enough to leave me frustrated and exhausted by the end of today.
I went from mature 30-something dropping off my child with a friend and enjoying the company of another set of parents.
to jubilant twenty-something with the world at her finger tips fresh out of a local TV recording station. fun!
to nervous, self-conscious, tired trying to keep myself together teen who confidently opened her mouth in class only to hear her voice shaking in fear.
to sobbing child.Â sobbing child.Â staring at the faces of classmates in horror as the tears refused to stop.
and now i’m home.
as my own child would say, “I need a hugabug.”