Tomorrow is the day each year I dread, yet simultaneously desire above all others. My birthday. Before anyone can tell me “Oh, just 28? You’re still a baby!” it’s really never been my age that’s the worrisome bit. It’s solely ever my inflated expectations, purely my longstanding belief that this is the best day, your only day, to indulge with impunity. The single day out of every 365 that you earn good wishes, good vibes, good dessert simply by being alive. Just as you are. By making it through one more year. Sure, it may be a somewhat arbitrary and underserved honor, but a happy childhood full of chocolate barbie doll cakes and party streamers stuck to the door frame have made me feel otherwise.

But what if I don’t get that velvet bucket hat from the JCPenny catalog? What if none of the friends I invited to my pool party at the RAC show up? What if I fail my driver’s test and everyone else passes? What if my locker isn’t decorated by the time I get to school? What if I don’t accumulate enough “Happy birthdays!” on Facebook? What happens if I have no one to get a celebratory 21st drink with, still not having made friends at this school? What if this is only my 2nd day at my new job and no one knows me nor cares? What if it’s also a national holiday in Australia and the foreigner’s 25th is overlooked? What if no one remembers me on my special day here on the other side of thew world, and I spend my day barricaded in a van, trapped in my 2×6 meter box, while it’s forecasted to rain all day? What then?

Part of me thinks–knows–I’m being rather immature about the whole thing. That one day has no bearing on the year previous, nor any indication on the upcoming. That as long as one is able to honestly reflect and give proper thanks for another year of ups, downs, and in-betweens, that you’re sitting rather pretty. That if you’re just content having reached 365 more days of opportunity, the calls, the cards, and the cake are unnecessary, as you no longer need any affirmation that you are worth celebrating.

-K