Gratitude
This past week I celebrated my 39th birthday. In the past, I have always been reluctant to do anything to recognize my birthday. It was always felt a little silly to have a birthday party. What am I? Seven years old? Why not rent the party room at the roller rink while we’re at it. Actually, that does sound like a lot of fun. I’ve always attributed my reluctance to embrace my birthday to being mature. I am too old and grown to have a party. But that wasn’t really the reason.
One of the biggest things I struggle with in my life is accepting love and expressions of love. If someone gives me a present, my first instinct is to either reject it or immediately go get the giver something. It’s a sickness. And up until recently, I’ve believed that I did that because I didn’t want to feel like I owed someone something. That’s not what it really is though.
Love starts within. Self-love is the most important kind of love a person can have. Until you feel worthy of love and being loved, I don’t know if you can ever really accept it from someone. That’s where I always fell short. I did not love myself. Worse, I hated myself. I tried to kill me, that’s how deep it goes. Or I should say, used to go.
I had a lovely day on Friday. I went to lunch with a friend. We won big on pull tabs. He’d just returned from England so we caught up over a few drinks and burgers. I opened some wonderful gifts earlier in the morning. And then Friday night I went to TopGolf with two other couples, people I hold dear. One of the couples is a newer relationship, having only known them for a few years. The other couple, though, I’ve known since college. We had so much fun. To cap the night off, I was brought an ice cream sundae with a candle to blow out and a bunch of people sang happy birthday.
I hate this kind of stuff. To quote Wayne Jarvis:
As much as I love attention, I hate that kind of attention.
But you know what? I allowed myself to enjoy it. That might not seem like a lot for you, a normal person. For me, though, that was huge. Most years when I am asked what I want to do for my birthday, I say “nothing”. I’ve always masked my reluctance to celebrate in a misguided notion of maturity. But this year, since I have grown and evolved as a person, I planned a little gathering.
There was a point in the night where I was reflecting on the day before (Thanksgiving) and what a nice birthday I’d had. My eyes welled with tears. Partially, it was because I felt really loved by my family and friends. But also, it was more clear than ever that it is never, NEVER, too late to change. Five years ago I would have scoffed at all of this. The extravagance of it all. On Friday, I soaked it all in.
It all started with self-love.
I am far from perfect when it comes to this. I still have lots of unproductive and downright hateful thoughts about myself. But I try to avoid internalizing them. They do not define me. They are like a wind blowing by. I can feel them but I don’t have to make them my whole identity. Instead, I focus on the good thoughts when they do come. I grab them and hold them like a stuffed teddy bear. And slowly by surely, it has begun to pay off.
I can now enjoy my birthday and not feel guilty. I can accept gifts without feeling weird. OK, I still feel weird but I hide it well. I can look at my friends and tell them I love them and really mean it. I can do the same with a mirror.
It all starts within.