Not a Big Fan of Birthdays

Longtime readers of this blog know I’m not a big fan of birthdays. Well, more accurately, I’m not a big fan of my birthday. Other people’s birthdays are great. Mine not so much.

Today I turn 38. I told Marathon Girl that I can no longer say I’m in my mid-thirties anymore. Instead I’m officially in my late thirties.

How depressing.

Usually on January 31, I find a poem about growing older and post it on this blog. I was going to do that this morning but then something happened that altered my plan.

After my four mile run this morning, instead of searching cyberspace for a poem, I sat down and did a little reading. But this morning a couple of sentences stood out in the book I was perusing that gave me pause. I was reading a little about life and death which seemed oddly appropriate considering what day it is. But somewhere along the line the book started talking about the challenges and trails we face and the choices we make in response to them.

As I put the book down I spend a couple of minutes pondering what I had read. My thoughts turned to the experiences I’ve had over the last year then on back through the last five years, 10 years, and so on. Like everyone else on this planet, I’ve had my share of good and bad things happen to me. And for the most part I don’t have a lot to complain about. Much of my life has been one of blessings and abundance. But even when dark times have come into my life, those experiences helped me become more compassionate and understanding to the trials and heartaches of others. They’ve made me a more patient father and husband. They’ve made me extremely grateful for the blessings I do have.

Each year, I realized, I’m not only getting older but (hopefully) a little wiser too. Each year brings new experiences and chances to prove to myself and others the person I really am. I’m not the same person I was five, 10, or even 20 years ago. Next year I’ll be a different person because of the things that will come into my life over the next 365 days.

Instead of being depressed on my birthday, I should be grateful for the time I’ve been able to spend on this earth, all the wonderful people that are part of my life, and all the knowledge and experiences I’ve accumulated over the last year. If anything, today I can look back on the last 37 years of my life and be grateful for the people and experiences that have shaped my life and helped mold me in to the man I am today.

So Happy Birthday to me. I hope to be around for many more of these and enjoy all the wonderful things life has to offer.

Conefession: I Hate Growing Old

I grow old . . . I grow old . . .I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

—T.S. Eliot, “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”

***

When I turned 20, I had a quarter-life crisis. I remember getting on the bus to go to college that cold, rainy morning feeling that since I was wasn’t officially a teenager anymore, I had to grow up and be a responsible adult. Looking back, I wonder why I even felt that way. At the time I lived by myself, was in the middle of my junior year of college, was in a relationship with a girl who would eventually become my first wife, and had a part-time job.  I was about as grown up as one can be at that age. And even though those feelings faded away a few weeks later, I still cringe every time my birthday rolls around and there’s an extra candle to blow out.

Today our youngest child turned one. And as I fed her a breakfast doughnut this morning, I couldn’t help but feel old. Really, really old. Yeah, it’s silly to feel this way. I’m 37 and in a lot of ways am at the prime of one’s life. Besides, there’s nothing I can do to stop the aging process. (But if someone knows of some ways to reverse it, please let me know.) All I can do is stay active and try to age as gracefully as one can.

It’s not like again isn’t all bad. I like the wisdom that comes with age and experience. And looking over my life I have nothing to complain about. Mentally my mind feels active and alert. Aside from the sore knees that follow running long distances, I’m in great health. I have a great wife and five wonderful kiddos. I’m writing books better and as a faster pace than ever and I’m still 2.5 years away from hitting the big 4-0.

Still it would be nice to go back in time to that morning I got on the bus, having the first day of that inane quarter-life crisis and just enjoy feeling 20 for the rest of the day.

When You Are Old

January 31 is always a day that makes me a little sad. And, as usual, I celebrate with a poem about getting older. When You Are Old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

-- BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS