It's not that I hate getting older. Age is relative. It really means nothing, except an indication of how many years we've walked this planet - which counts for little in terms of how much we've actually learned from it. I don't believe all people are supposed to act or look or do a certain thing at a certain age unless they want to - and I don't. So what does this new number mean? Precious little. That's not why I dread birthdays.
The reason I want to escape into the nearest cave whenever 27 January comes around is based on something completely other. You see, it's become a sort of tradition that, inevitably, something unfortunate WILL happen on my birthday. I'll hit a car. I'll slide off the road into a snowbank twice in one day and end up having to pay nearly $100 for an industrial towtruck (because the regular one isn't strong enough!) to pull me out. I'll get SARS and almost die. What can I say - at least it's never dull!
It's noon, right now, and thus far I've been okay. My house has NOT burned down (yet) and inanimate objects have resisted the urge to explode as I walk past them. In fact, it was off to a rather good start, with calls and emails and birthday greetings from friends around the world. Of course, the day's not over. There is still a lot of havoc I could wreak. Hope springs eternal and all that.
I must say, though, I'm kind of sorry to be turning 34. Again, it's not the aging thing. It's just that 33 was such an interesting age to be. I mean, it was just another year for me, but a lot of profound things happened to a lot of other people at 33, which makes it kind of a significant age (uh-oh, now I can be depressed about not accomplishing anything important like the rest of them!). Jesus died when he was 33 (luckily, that didn't happen to me), which is probably the most important event in history for those who believe in salvation.
Umm, there were others I found on my journey through the year - novels written, clever things invented, awards won and history made by one 33-year-old after another. Can't remember a single one of them now (help me??). Must be old age. It seemed like it should have been a good year at the time.
It wasn't a bad year. Two nice round numbers. A three and a three. What else can I say. Life is what you make it. Every day is a new year (where have we read that before?).
And now I'm 34 (although, it's not official until 5:14 p.m.) Yay! Or whatever - I really don't care. As long as I make it through the day relatively unscathed, I think I'm up for another year.
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