This week I’m celebrating my “Birth Week”.
I started doing this, to varying degrees, many years ago; before the “realities” of life could convince me that I didn’t deserve more than a passing mention once a year. My lovingly quirky family had convinced me at a very early age that the Flag Day parade was really in honor of my birthday, and I would stand on the roadside waving at the marchers, so excited that everyone, it seemed, in the whole world had come out just for me! It was in that youthful innocence that I truly believed in the marvel of myself and that of course the occasion of my birth was something that could not be justly celebrated in only one day.
As I got older I started resenting the parades. I felt foolish for my childhood naiveté and began to withdrawl from overt displays of festivity. Remember how embarassing everything your family did was during those snarky young adult years?
By the time I’d reached my thirtys I had eased into the widly accepted once-a-year-and-please-no-singing-waitstaff mode. Demurely accepting greetings and hoping to skip the monthly office birthday party. In my own quiet ways though I always kept the week-long celebration.
Now, firmly entrenched in my forties I’ve decided to revisit the Birth Week celebration.
I have a friend who celebrates her entire Birth Month and a couple of friends who celebrate their Half-Birthdays, mid way through the year. These women wholly accept their magnificence without pretence or false modesty. They know what we all need to remember – that when we allow ourselves to feel fully appreciated, we are best able to fully appreciate others.
So this year I’m again allowing myself to be appreciated for the week. Who knows, maybe next year I’ll try the whole month!
See ya at the parade…
