I absolutely love my birthday. LOVE it. Each year I look forward to the date in February with the giddy anticipation of a child. I know this sometimes puts me on the other end of ridicule, but I can’t help myself. For me, the day has always been a burst of pure sunshine in the darkest part of midwinter, and it usually means we are rounding the bend into spring. I walk around all day with a goofy grin and invite random strangers to share in my celebration by telling them about it. I have no shame. I extort birthday wishes from as many people as humanly possible. I haven’t ever had to send myself flowers or balloons, but if I were in a situation where I spent the day alone I would totally do so.
I relish growing older. I love what each new year of experience brings and I recognize, (more every day) that growing old is a privilege that many people never get. I didn’t curl up and cry on my 30th birthday like so many I know, I leapt into my 30s cannonball style and have no regrets. (Incidentally so far my 30s are my favorite, I was in chronic pain, super poor and stressed out, sleep deprived and the mother of young sticky children in my 20s.) I have always looked at aging as leveling up and as I’m now in my later-mid-thirties, I’m pretty proud of my accomplishments so far!
But there is always that little part of me that thinks of all I haven’t accomplished yet. This self-doubt is like a wiggly tooth that I can’t leave alone. So ya- I have set goals that I haven’t met. I have made promises to myself each year that I systematically avoid keeping. I sometimes fear I’ve missed the opportunity to publish as a fresh young woman with energy and verve. I wonder if the price for my youth is experience, and if I got a good enough exchange rate.
In a moment of self-indulgence I looked up writers ages when they first published. This year is my year of Mark Twain- (had I tried this on my last birthday I would have had Jane Austen) So I’m not making any resolutions, but I think that if I share a late debut this year I do so in good company. Anyway, my goal is to not reach Emily Dickinson level. (in terms of publishing anyway, I would love to reach her level in talent)
Kelly Moore Writes 