My birthday was the best.
I didn’t enjoy my birthday last year, though 40 didn’t bother me. Or turning 39? The day was fun, even though the day didn’t go as planned. And 38, 37, 36. No comment.
However, 41? It was perfect. Breakfast in bed. Lunch in bed. I didn’t leave my bed until 2:30 p.m. By choice.
I’m 41, and that’s a first. Besides hospital stays, obviously.
I revamped the plans my husband and I made, with no apologies. Before we left the house, I took fifteen minutes to decide what to wear. My hair – another thirty minutes – just like my TV days. But I decided I wasn’t going to rush. It was my birthday.
Too often, people forget their birthday is about them. They’re caught up in the, “Oh, you planned this for me, and this, and this.” And they’re so exhausted from going place to place, they forget whose birthday they’re celebrating.
They forget the day is supposed to be about them.
This year, I didn’t have two surprise parties. I love seeing my friends, but not when I’m exhausted from working. This year, I didn’t pretend to enjoy myself in a casino. Why a casino? No idea. I was told they were taking me somewhere with an ice cream bar, and I didn’t ask questions.
But that’s the mistake. Remember when we were little? And people would ask, “What do you want for your birthday?” We knew. Nine times out of 10, we knew. Clothes, perfume, CDs, DVDs, etc. As grown ups, we’re vague. Don’t be vague. Especially women. We’re really vague.
If you want to spend the day eating a gluten-free Reuben in bed – like I did – say, “I want to spend it in bed – alone.” Or if you want to go on a trip with friends, then go on a trip with friends.
If you want to spend it with family or have a super huge party, then go forth. Or if you want to book a solo flight to Edmonton, do it.
Because your birthday is about you, and it should be your choice how you spend the day.
After all, it is called your birthday.