Today is my birthday, and I catch myself wondering where the time has gone. It is inconceivable to me that I could possibly be 59 years old. I remember my parents at that age; not me. Intellectually, I know that I have to be. My children are 34 and 32. My parents celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary this year. My high school reunion, which traditionally would have been last year (we tend to procrastinate!) would have been the 40th; and yet I cannot wrap my head around this age thing.
I think birthdays are another New Year’s Day of sorts; an invitation to take stock of who we are, perhaps more than where we are at in terms of social success because your birthday is about you. It is your day, to acknowledge, and hopefully to celebrate the day you were born into this world. It is a day to look in the mirror and, in spite of the reflection you may not recognize, ask yourself if you like the reflection of who you see in that mirror. The gift of your birth lies in that response.
I think birthdays are another New Year’s Day of sorts; an invitation to take stock of who we are, perhaps more than where we are at in terms of social success because your birthday is about you. It is your day, to acknowledge, and hopefully to celebrate the day you were born into this world. It is a day to look in the mirror and, in spite of the reflection you may not recognize, ask yourself if you like the reflection of who you see in that mirror. The gift of your birth lies in that response.
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