My (un)Happy Birthday

I hate that it's my birthday.

26 years ago today I was born in a forgettable podunk former sun-down town outside of Detroit. This is pretty unremarkable as 350,000 other people were born the same day as me. Like most well-balanced adults, my birthday isn’t really that huge of a deal. I spend the day with friends, eat delicious food and pander to Facebook wall posts.

This year is different – I can’t help but feel absolute dread today.

These past few years my quality of life has been steadily increasing. I got my first full-time job. EMDR therapy has helped me immensely. I’ve started going out and making more friends! I’m married, and my wedding ceremony is next month. My early twenties were spent challenging the limits of reality. I wrote music, walked in indie fashion shows, partied, and lived in fantasy.  My life was so chaotic that I’ve now decided to embrace the mundanity of adulthood. 

In fact–this is what terrifies me. I’ve always hated adults. By and large, they are unimaginative. Many are quitters. Most are boring. But running away from adulthood as I’ve done for the better part of my twenties didn’t allow me the stability to flourish in the ways I can now. 

I can’t help but cringe at the fact that I’m nearing thirty but have yet to accomplish many things I set out to do years ago. Sometimes I wonder if I stayed on my less stable creative chaotic path if I would have been a lot further in artistic pursuits as now. Living in past glories serves me no benefit. 

Here’s my testament, I will make a conscious effort to embrace this new year. Instead of sulking about my defeats, I’m going to strategize around my goals and how I can get even closer to them.

And so I hope when I come to celebrate my 50th or 100th birthday someday that I’ll be able to look back and be proud of all the risks I took. All the chances that I gambled in order to create something worthwhile. What I hope the most is that I’ll keep my imagination.