It’s not like it’s a national holiday

“I’ve ordered your birthday present!” Kate gleefully told me last night – reminding me in the process that yeah, my thirty-first birthday is two weeks from today.

“Shit,” I thought. “I haven’t gotten Kate anything yet.”

That’s not how it works, of course. But the fact that this was my initial reaction goes to show how far off the radar my birthday is this year. I’d say I’ve put less thought into this particular birthday – as a thing that’s happening at all, let alone a thing that’s supposed to be about me – than any other birthday in my life.

To be honest, at the moment, I’m more emotionally invested in the fact that Pat Burns is still alive than I am in ticking off another year of my own.

Now, don’t get me wrong; my thirtieth birthday was a lot of fun. But it was also a much bigger deal, at least in the “round number” sense – and more to the point, it didn’t happen during nearly as busy a time.

I mean, I’m getting married eight days later. Between that, my sister coming home from the UK, and a bunch of future family following in her wake shortly afterward, my birthday’s not exactly high on my list of priorities. And that’s to say nothing of a bunch of new projects at work, or my various impassioned yellings.

When I realized this morning that the big day was two weeks away, I decided that I’d better figure out what I want to do to celebrate it – and the best answer I’ve come up with so far is “absolutely nothing.” I don’t really want to add another thing to my calendar if it’s just for my sake, and I don’t really want to ask my friends and family to do the same. And that’s me being practical, not humble.

My thirtieth year has been great, and my thirty-first is going to be amazing. Isn’t staying focused on the stuff that’s going to make it great the best way to celebrate that?

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