I guess that is how I expected to feel — interrobangs and all… but the birthday came-and-went with little fanfare or (gluten-free) cake and candles. The boyfriend was traveling and sent me a lovely bouquet of flowers and balloons in the afternoon, which was a beautiful surprise. He’s brought home flowers for me on occasion, but never a delivered order, so it was incredibly thoughtful and warmed up my cold-dark heart (OK, it made me cry). I hung out with a falcon in the morning at the Aviary (Bird of Prey experience, do it!). I also scheduled a hot stone massage in the afternoon, so I could truly make an attempt at relaxing. And I DID. I even had traffic, but I didn’t mind — my driving soundtrack was good (thanks, Songza!).
But “my day” never really felt like my birthday; I saw some old friends (visiting Pittsburgh, yay!), some new friends, drank some Sangria, ate a cheese plate, and even played in a video game challenge for charity — and read and smiled over all the wonderful wishes by text and FB and twitter. If you’ve been following along for a couple years, then you know the power in this statement: it never really felt like my birthday. Usually birthdays bring months-long meltdowns and depressing doctor diagnosis and standing in the mirror counting all my new sun spots hoping this is not another cancer. I honestly did not care this year — apathetic late 30-something. Ha!
And hoooo-boy, if this is what 37 is going to be like (carefree and wonderfully happy and full of love), then I’m going to enjoy this year of my life immensely.