Seriously, I Don’t Care About My Birthday

My birthday is coming soon and I’m going to be 34.  I don’t care…about turning 34 or the fact that it is going to be my birthday.  I’m not one of those people who thinks, “Oh God, I’m getting older, things are falling apart, blah blah blah,” getting older is just something else I can’t doing anything about and wouldn’t want to anyway, so it’s not a big deal.  I keep myself in relatively good shape and enjoy a lot of the things I experience as I get older, so no, you’re not going to hear me complain about another year going by.

My parents did a great job of celebrating my birthday when I was a kid, but some things were beyond their control.  When you’re a kid who has his birthday in the summer, there’s a good chance a lot of kids are going to be away on vacation when your party rolls around, so there are going to be a lot of absent friends.  You get used to it.  But realistically, from the time I was about 10 until somewhere around 24, I don’t think I was home for a single birthday as I was always away somewhere in North America playing baseball or soccer.   You get used to either celebrating things a bit early or a bit late and that makes you realize that the whole notion of your birthday is a crock of shit. 

This isn’t a slight against people who have held parties for me or bought me things over the years, I truly appreciate the things people have done, the thought they have put behind gifts and the time (and money) they have spent on me.  I get that people want to do things for other people on their birthday, but if my birthday rolled around and nobody did anything, I really wouldn’t care. 

I actually find it a bit embarrassing when other people make a big deal about their birthdays.  When people go into this kind of countdown phase, where they start saying things like, “Only one more week until my birthday” I can’t help but think, “Maybe this is the year they actually realize how old they are and start acting like it,” but then the filter kicks in and I stop myself from being the killjoy.  I can see the excitement when you are a kid, because all you are thinking about is the cake, the gifts and the absolute mayhem you are going to unleash on the location of choice, but when you’re an adult, it just seems like a bit much.  I’m all for getting out and letting loose once in a while, but if you want to do that, just do it.  Call up some friends and go crazy.  At this point I would hope we don’t all need excuses to do that.  As for the gifts and treats, pretty much whatever I want, I just buy for myself. 

But really, we’re celebrating something that you didn’t even do yourself.  Your birthday was completely out of your hands, so essentially we are celebrating the fact that you survived another year.  If we were living in an I Am Legend kind of world, then hell yes, let’s all celebrate the birthday of anybody we can find…but we’re not.

I don’t have my birth date up on my Facebook page simply because I don’t want to have to wade through the tons of birthday messages from people who had no idea when my birthday was in the first place.  If you know then you know and if you don’t, well, you don’t.   When my birthday passes and somebody finds out and then says, “It was your birthday?  Happy belated!  Why didn’t you tell anyone?” all I can think is, “Because I don’t want to go through this whole charade that we are mindlessly taking place in right now,” but again, I don’t…filter, filter.

Anyway, Happy Birthday to Me. :)

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