Friday is my birthday. I’ll be turning (cough, cough) years old.
And after a good meal and a night out with the ladies, I’ll retreat home to participate in my favorite birthday ritual: writing in my “birthday diary.” Ever since I was fourteen years old, I have written a single journal entry on my birthday. This all started when I was young and dramatic, and I began a diary, mostly to write about boys. But eventually, I realized that in order to meet boys I needed to spend less time with my diary and more time out of my room. However, I kept up with the once-a-year-habit, and now, writing in my journal on November 8 is more of a tradition than blowing out candles.
And on that day, I write about my life in the past year. I consider my blessings and my goals. I write down accomplishments and let-downs. I write about celebrations and friendships and deaths and travels and family and even sometimes…the color of my hair. And at the end of every entry, I conclude with a comment on my favorite song of the year. It’s my own little Grammy award. (This year? Uptown Funk. Duh.)
Then, after I write my two pages of scribble, I read my entire birthday journal from 1992 to present. I giggle at the same entries which make me laugh year after year. (Specifically, the year when I profess my love for an old ex, only to curse him out the following year.) I mourn the entries about heartbreaking losses, yet I smile at the entries about new nephews. It’s like watching my life in a movie, and it gives perspective as to what really matters in a lifetime.
So, on Friday, I will be drinking champagne and eating carrot cake and treating myself to an entire day in old sweatpants. But, I’ll also be recording my past year of life on this planet… Uptown Funk and all. Bring on the bubbly!