30 years and counting...
So, it seems sort of silly, to care, you know, about a birthday. And really, I don't, not exactly, not entirely. At least I keep telling myself.
Birthdays aren't about presents, no, they aren't. They are more about: hmmm, what are they about? Phone calls from friends for the week preceding and following, emails, texts and, sometimes even cards delivered from that almost obsolete service which is the US postal service.
Yesterday I was given a present, unceremoniously. It wasn't my birthday present. It was just a because present, and it made me smile because of its simplicity and grace.
I feel sick. Yes, and not because of nerves, or anxiety or... well maybe a little, but more than that, I think I just met a vegetable that didn't agree with me, and there, I awoke on my 30th birthday to the soft buzz of a text message across the room and an unhappy tummy.
Why does 30 seem like more of a big deal then, say, 29? Well, I am officially not a twenty-year-old any more. So what? Right, who wants to be a twenty-year-old anyway? Except, well, then I am reminded of everything that I haven't finished. Like the dissertation that I am trying desperately to start... and the packing that I left incomplete, or that laundry that is waiting for me. Sigh. Nothing special about today after all. It is a rainy, muggy Monday. I. needed a shower, so I drove her to school and returned the DVD that failed to work for a second time, and rather chose an adaptation of Orwell's Animal Farm for her. Nothing says you can't start them young, right?
Today is no different than yesterday, but somehow, my destitution, my lack of liquidity, my debt... they seem a bit more concrete. I am 30 years old, and the sole supporter of an 8-year-old child, and by all societal standards, I am not much of a success. And yet... I don't really mind it. Money is just money, and the fact that I haven't got much only bothers me once a month when bill time comes around. In a year or two I will have completed this self-imposed poverty (if I can ever start the dang dissertation, that is) and will be free. Free! Free by 32 doesn't sound so bad.
True, it isn't a nice, neat, round decade, but I can do that. 32. That's the goal.
So meanwhile, I am focusing on making the water-treading as enjoyable and as life-like as possible, getting out into the sunshine (blistering, though it may be) and just letting myself float, with a breeze on my skin, and a song on my lips.
Happy Birthday to me, indeed.
Birthdays aren't about presents, no, they aren't. They are more about: hmmm, what are they about? Phone calls from friends for the week preceding and following, emails, texts and, sometimes even cards delivered from that almost obsolete service which is the US postal service.
Yesterday I was given a present, unceremoniously. It wasn't my birthday present. It was just a because present, and it made me smile because of its simplicity and grace.
I feel sick. Yes, and not because of nerves, or anxiety or... well maybe a little, but more than that, I think I just met a vegetable that didn't agree with me, and there, I awoke on my 30th birthday to the soft buzz of a text message across the room and an unhappy tummy.
Why does 30 seem like more of a big deal then, say, 29? Well, I am officially not a twenty-year-old any more. So what? Right, who wants to be a twenty-year-old anyway? Except, well, then I am reminded of everything that I haven't finished. Like the dissertation that I am trying desperately to start... and the packing that I left incomplete, or that laundry that is waiting for me. Sigh. Nothing special about today after all. It is a rainy, muggy Monday. I. needed a shower, so I drove her to school and returned the DVD that failed to work for a second time, and rather chose an adaptation of Orwell's Animal Farm for her. Nothing says you can't start them young, right?
Today is no different than yesterday, but somehow, my destitution, my lack of liquidity, my debt... they seem a bit more concrete. I am 30 years old, and the sole supporter of an 8-year-old child, and by all societal standards, I am not much of a success. And yet... I don't really mind it. Money is just money, and the fact that I haven't got much only bothers me once a month when bill time comes around. In a year or two I will have completed this self-imposed poverty (if I can ever start the dang dissertation, that is) and will be free. Free! Free by 32 doesn't sound so bad.
True, it isn't a nice, neat, round decade, but I can do that. 32. That's the goal.
So meanwhile, I am focusing on making the water-treading as enjoyable and as life-like as possible, getting out into the sunshine (blistering, though it may be) and just letting myself float, with a breeze on my skin, and a song on my lips.
Happy Birthday to me, indeed.
posted by ilana at 6:16 a.m.
9 Comments:
Yes! a veyr merry happy birhtday!
Hay muchas cosas por las que sentirse feliz. Muchas. Empezando por una de dos patitas que vas a dejar a la escuela todos los días!
Un abrazote!
Happy Birthday hon! It sounds like your birthday was similar to mine. Cloudy. But even through the clouds you do still seem to be enjoying it, and looking for the positives. May you continue to do so.
Muchas felicidades, Ilana!! Te mando un abrazo fuerte. :)
Passing through here today, I see it was your birthday! Sending beijinhos your way and hopes for a happy year to come. -Sara
Sole: claro que sí... no creí que sonara triste esta entrada, pero la verdad, creo que hay tanto por lo cual sentir feliz... sólo, como sabés, los cumpleaños todavía nos agarran...
Kristina: I hope the clouds disperse for you, my dear. Can't wait to read about your adventures in Uganda...
Liliana: Muchas gracias!!! Tal vez nos veamos en México la semana que entra?!
Sarita: Thanks for the beijo... hope the books are treating you well :)))
!!Happy B'day Ilana.!!
I can tell by reading your post that you've been through a rough patch recently, and also a light of hope at the end, keep going.
I enjoy reading your blog. I'll be back.
Querida Ilana; Que este ciclo te traiga salud, amor, creatividad, inspiración, paz interior, placer físico, abundancia material, éxito, viajes, diversión... y miles de abrazos, besos y lamidas.
Heriberto: regresa cuando quieras que aquí no se le niega la entrada a nadie :)
Agustín querido... gracias, gracias... ya te contaré, y la ciudad me ha levantado los ánimos, lástima que no nos pudimos ver!
Happy Birthday. Success is a difficult thing, really. Perhaps the greatest of it only comes when we realize that first, we can't accomplish everything and second, we are able to choose the best things to accomplish.
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