Today’s my birthday. I don’t go for the whole “it’s my birthday, you must celebrate me!” thing, but I do like celebrating in my own way.
Each year, I wrestle with the question: Do I even want to celebrate my birthday? There’s a bit of awkwardness when people make a big deal about it; it feels similar to receiving a compliment. I’ll give a shy “thank you,” maybe blush (inside or out), and then try to change the subject.
Some years, my celebration has meant a day in bed with snacks, binging a series, and relishing the quiet. Other years, there’s been a small-to-medium gathering—not a big party though, because yikes, that would be peak embarrassment. A grand event thrown just for me? My introverted side wants to run away at the thought, even if the part-time extrovert in me is secretly intrigued.
But then there are those milestone birthdays that feel worth celebrating. This year, I’m turning 42. According to The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, ‘42’ is the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything. For some reason, I’ve always hung onto that, since none of us really know the meaning of life, but it feels good to imagine. So here’s to 42 and whatever it might mean!
