Birthdays

Last year I had major issues with turning 25. (I know, I know- there's a whole slew of people reading this that are hollering at me. Stop yelling, you're hurting my ears) It's no different than complaining about turning 30. Or 40. Or 50.

But seriously, 25 was a big issue for me. I think it was just hitting that milestone. When I was in school, I can't count how many essays I had to write about where I saw myself when I was 25. It seemed like such a long time away back then. Now that I've hit it, I seem to have accomplished very little. And nothing that was in my essays.
When I was 8 I wanted to be an Olympic figure skater. Never mind that I'd never had a skating lesson in my life, that's what I wanted to be.

When I was 10 I wanted to be a concert pianist.

When I was 12 I wanted more than anything to be a horse jockey. I read my horse books over and over and over. But considering that by 12 years old I was already over 5 feet tall and waaaayyy too heavy, that was never going to happen.

When I was 15 I wanted to be a writer. I wrote stories and poems constantly. But I was always too afraid to show them. Kind of an essential part of being a writer is letting people read it.

When I was 17 I wanted to be a photographer and travel the world.

When I was 18 I wanted to be a nurse. Realized I couldn't handle the needles. Thought about seminary- don't like speaking in front of people.

When I was 21 I wished I hadn't been an idiot and had gone to college afterall.

Somewhere in there I had wanted to be married and have a couple kids by now. That possibility isn't even a speck on my horizon.

And then there I was, about to hit that magical number from the essays, and I had accomplished nothing that I'd wanted to. All in all, I was not looking forward to my 25th birthday.
And the funny thing is- I love birthdays. I love celebrating birthdays. I love decorating people's offices, birthday parties, picking out the right cards, the whole nine yards. And deep down- I even like the waiters that sing those obnoxious songs in restaurants. I see birthdays not as celebrating an age or a milestone, but celebrating a person. So I'm not sure what got my panties in a wad about turning 25. Maybe the fact that I hadn't done any of those things that I'd wanted to, and the fact that all around me my friends were getting married and having kids, really just gave me a case of the mopes. And people didn't help by throwing in "You'll be a quarter of a century old!". Yea. That helps things. Kind of like getting a black-themed party when you turn 40. Good grief.

Then Emily went and died the day before my mother's birthday, and 5 days before mine. I'd been thinking that 25 was going to be the worst birthday ever. That's the understatement of the century.

Through all of this, I've never really been angry at God. But I am slightly pissed. It was awful enough that Rebecca died on my mother's birthday. And then mine had to be only a few days after that. It was always kind of an unspoken shadow. And then Emily on the day before? My friend Debbie always says He is all about the details. He must have missed this one.

I kept saying that I'd never complain about another birthday. Emily put things into sharp perspective.