Yesterday was my birthday and I was forced, as I am every year, to consider how much less concern I have for my own birthday than the people around me. Since I don’t put much stock in age, it’s practically meaningless to me.
There is one thing I like about birthdays in general. I think celestial events should be celebrated to connect people with the solar system we are a part of. Solstice and Equinox are my festivals of choice, and they come at convenient intervals. In my mind, birthdays are just a more self-centered version of the real celestial festivals. Oh everyone look at me! I went around the sun one more time. Why wouldn’t we all celebrate together? It a way, birthdays are divisive.
And as I said before, I don’t care much about age. If you are smart and interesting, what care I if you’ve done 16 or 60 rotations? I think most people agree that ageism is a bad thing, yet when we go round once more we expect a special day?
And yet I’m forced, as usual, to swallow my own words. As with all the holidays I don’t care about, this random, meaningless occasion gave me cause to spend time with the friends and family. That is, I contend, the real meaning of birthdays, valentines day, christmas, easter, thanksgiving, and on, and on, and on.