CHAPTERS on Embracing the Inevitable
My 33rd Birthday Revelation
This week was my birthday. I’ve always loved birthdays, both my own and others', but this year I couldn’t summon my usual enthusiasm. When anyone asked about my plans, I made vague mumblings about hosting a BBQ. However, I accidentally on purpose left it too late for people to be free. “Oh, what a shame, no one’s around that weekend,” I would say, rather than admit to feeling like an irritable birthday grinch.
Was this the bah-humbug reality that simply comes with getting older? I discussed this fear with my friend over a birthday dinner that I shoehorned into her diary at the last minute. “I’ve already been 33 in my head for ages anyway, so the day doesn’t really make a difference,” I groaned, my birthday grumpiness here to spoil the fun. We laughed at the thought of us turning into older people who can’t remember their age anymore—people so nuzzled into mid-life that it becomes more of a range: early thirties, mid-forties, late fifties. Until you’re remarkably old, like 100, when the bragging rights are reinstated. That’s something to look forward to, at least.
When the day came, I was genuinely relieved to find that my birthday spirits arrived with it. I'm a sucker for a handwritten note and was excited to find a few waiting for me to open. I displayed the array of mostly floral-themed cards on the dining table, thankful to see that the number ‘33’ hadn’t been added to the detriment of their designs.
Inside, the messages were full of love and hope for the year ahead. The words of my family and friends reminded me of the symbolism tied up in birthdays and the reflection this day can bring. It was that which I’d been trying to avoid. Not the number or age thing, which provided an easy excuse to hide behind. No, I’ve been trying to dodge the poignancy of how much has changed since my previous birthday. In particular, how much I, myself, feel different.
As I sat down to write about this, I found a gift from countless birthdays ago in my desk drawer. In a box from my sister was a collection of fifty “cards for everyday inspiration.” At random, I pulled one out and read aloud the quote:
The secret of change is to focus all your energy not on fighting the old but on building the new - Socrates
I couldn’t quite believe the coincidence of picking this one, so, of course, I took it as a sign from the universe. (Some things never change).
When I look back on the last year of being thirty-two, I will remember having some of my highest highs and lowest lows. It feels like I’ve experienced several years' worth of epic love and tragic loss all at once, crammed into the last 366 days. (Shout out to the leap year for helping out with its extra day in support).
These experiences have changed many of the fundamental things I had believed to be true. I have had my eyes opened to life in new ways, its light and its darkness. And I have watched, bewildered, as the domino effect of this evolution has ricocheted through my personal and professional life. Turning thirty-three, to me, has been a reminder of how different it all feels.
It’s easy to believe that change is scary and negative. The word is so often used to signify something bad. Like “climate change” or that weird phrase about the menopause, “going through the change.” When people say, “you’ve changed,” it tends to insinuate criticism. And as Socrates says, we focus our energy on the events of old because change can feel so rough.
But isn’t change sort of the whole point? Things can’t just stay the same. There will always be a tomorrow. And tomorrow will no longer be my birthday. So this year I am opening up the birthday gift that keeps on giving: change. Because whether you want to unwrap it or not, it is one thing we all receive. And this time next year, things will be different again.
What newness will you build? Maybe I’ll be hosting that BBQ... but let’s not take it too far.