You Stayed Alive This Long? Have Some Cake!

My Dear Reader,

(Sorry for missing last week's and this Tuesday's post! I've been working on another big writing project, and it kind of got in the way. Hopefully, when I post it here, you'll understand. And the Batman-y post is coming; I'm having a hard time with acquiring some additional media.)

I count myself very fortunate that I am my Madre's daughter, especially on the day of the year that I ritually get older. Why? Because when I grew up, a woman's age wasn't something to be ashamed of; it was just a fact. When I was young and I asked Madre how old she was, she would tell me in a way that let me know that it wasn't a big deal. It sounds small, but it really had an impact on my view of aging and birthdays. In fact, just a few months ago, one of my friends was freaking out because she was about to turn twenty-four. One foot in the grave; I know. I told her that I've been waiting my whole life to turn twenty-four. It's my favorite number, and my birthday's on the twenty-fourth, so I've always been thoroughly convinced that it was going to be the best year of my life. But even when I turn twenty-five, I'm not going to sweat it. Age isn't a weakness, and birthdays aren't an admission of guilt: they both just are. And we might as well take advantage of it, right? I mean, it's only once a year that you have a day set aside just to celebrate you.

I think a lot about birthdays a lot now, because in addition to being a Sunday school teacher, I am my ward's (read: congregation's) official Birthday Card Girl. No joke; I have actually been assigned the responsibility of making cards for all of my fellow women on their birthdays. (This is not an uncommon practice in Mormondom.) Anyway, once when I was getting ready for church, I pulled out the greeting card drawer and found, to my horror, that I'd already used all of my birthday cards. All I had left were some cards that had Snoopy on the front that said "Thank You!" And then I had this epiphany:

As important as rituals are to the human psyche, we have one big "we're sorry you're dead" ceremony: the funeral. People only die once, so it seems appropriate. But people get older every single second of their lives, and if you consider the entire course of human history, getting older is kind of an accomplishment. I mean, historically speaking, the fact that you, Gentle Reader, made it past age five* means that you're lucky and/or remarkably resilient. And that should be something to be proud of. Besides, every day is a blessing, and every day, you are a blessing to others. So, maybe we shouldn't think about birthdays as a "Hey, you're older!" ceremony as much as a "Wow! You survived this long?" or "We are so happy you're still with us!" ceremony. I mean, I am so glad that you didn't die of dysentery. Truly.

So I took those cards, and wrote on the front so that it looked like this:

THANK YOU!

for being alive!

People really got a kick out of that one.

Now that I've had this change of perspective, I find that every time I wish someone a happy birthday, what I really mean is, "I am so glad that you are in my life. You stayed alive this long? Have some cake!"

And you know what? You should go have some cake right now, even if it's not your birthday. After all, you survived today; you earned it.

Regards, best wishes, and many happy returns,

-Cecily Jane

*Sorry if you're not five yet, Gentle Reader. You can make it!