I really don’t know where it started but I am utterly and totally infatuated with birthdays and not just mine. Once you tell me your birthday, I will never forget it. I’ll plug it in somewhere and your birthday will forever be appreciated.
I love birthdays because it’s the one time of every year of totally sanctioned self-centeredness. It’s the one time where I say “Come play with me. You have to. It’s my birthday!” Very few people have the wherewithal to turn down the birthday girl. My birthdays tend to be a whirlwind of themed mayhem & elation:
- 32nd – My Super Double Sweet Sixteen – A party every day or night for 6 days
- 34th – Miracle on 34th Year – Create & experience something extraordinary every day for 13 days
I rack my brain every year to come up with an appropriate theme and it’s corresponding events/actions that result in enjoyment for anyone who joins the birthday train. In turn, because I believe that everyone should gallivant with me for my birthday, I will do the same for you. I know it’s your most special of days every year and you deserve all that comes with it.
On your birthday, you have earned nothing. You are celebrated just for being being born. The way it should be. When you were born, you didn’t earn a thing. You were fed and you survived simply because you were born and you had a will to live. It may not be a perfect beginning but you’re here now so something worked.
Every birthday is a reminder that you are worthy of celebration for no reason other than making it to another year. Each successive year compounds that victory and warrants an escalation of merriment. You deserve it because you were born.