My birthday is a week away. I’ll be 39 years old.
What’s there to say about turning 39? I remember when I was about to turn 29. I claimed that it was the last birthday I would have. Not because I thought I would die at 29, but because I was pretty sure I didn’t want to turn 30. Here we are, ten years later, and I’m not making the same kind of claim. Because I look ahead to next year and 40 really doesn’t bother me. Not that turning 30 actually bothered me. I just figured that’s one of those things you’re supposed to do when you’re in your 20s… you dread 30.
There are years when I’ve made more of an effort to celebrate my birthday. Thus far, in my adult life, no one else has really planned anything by way of celebration, so it’s been on me. If no one else is gonna care about my birthday, I probably should, right? I made another trip around the sun! Isn’t that cause for celebration?
Last year, I don’t think I really did anything. In years past, however, I’ve invited people out for karaoke, roller skating, bowling, Chuck E. Cheese… good times. This year, I’ve made no plans.
My birthday falls on a Wednesday, obviously. I’m not taking the day off work. So there’s that. My small group from church meets on Wednesday evening. So there’s that. I’ll be six days into the Whole30. So there’s that.
On my bucket list, I’ve said that I’d like to be thrown a surprise birthday party someday. I figure next year would be a great opportunity, since it’s 40. Since I’m not married, nor do I have a significant other to speak of, I really don’t think that will happen. But if anyone out there would like to take on that responsibility, you’re more than welcome. I promise I’ll act surprised.
And, of course, it’s never too late to send your birthday greetings. I accept gift cards of all varieties. Even to restaurants that aren’t Whole30 compatible. Because I won’t on the Whole30 forever, you know.