It is impossible to have a “happy birthday” if you aren’t interested in celebrating your life.
Yesterday, I was psychotically happy. So much so that I kept remarking to friends, “I feel like someone spiked my morning doughnut with ecstasy.” Everything was THE BEST THING EVER (my fajita at lunch? Best one I’ve ever eaten. My look? Best hair day I’d ever had, my outfit was adorable, my makeup was flawless, my skin looked amazing, and I was having a skinny daylikewhoa. All the songs on the radio? My favorite. My kitties? Best behaved they’d ever been and softest fur ever. Etc.) to an extent in which I legitimately started worrying that I might be mistaking a manic episode with “birthday euphoria”.
And then, in the afternoon, when I was cuddling with my husband, (who took the afternoon off so we could go to lunch JUST THE TWO OF US!! and cuddle IN THE DAYLIGHT HOURS!!), I realized that I was so happy because I was living in a life I am ecstatic to have an excuse to publicly/outwardly celebrate... And, while I’ve had that for a few years, it kind of took me a while to “get” it (as most things tend to, you may have noticed.) Because, admittedly, it’s hard to really be genuinely happy on your birthday when your birthday is the only day of the year you can force yourself to smile or when you accept love from anybody. I was weirdly/bothersomely elated the minute my birthday started, because I’ve been so happy and because I’ve been given so many awesome gifts (not necessarily tangible…duh) and so much love by so [SO! EFFING!!] many awesome people, I was just elated to be celebrating my life. Finally!
As I was pulling into my driveway last night (at a lame 11 p.m. because I was exhausted) after a full day of love and celebration, I felt this overwhelming urge to go running through the streets cackling like a crazy person and screaming, “I MADE IT, EVERYBODY!!!!! WOOOOO!!!! I’M HERE!!! I MADE IT!!!” (NOTE I did not do this a- because, as aforementioned, I was exhausted and b- because I didn’t feel like getting arrested.)
Instead, I sat in my car, in my garage for a minute and cried, praying to God/Spirit/The Universe with soul-shaking gratitude, “Thank you. I made it through that shitstorm back there! All of it! That storm when I tried to kill me and others tried to kill me (inadvertently) and I was full of hate and anger and rage and everything I’m not anymore! I woke up these mornings with a world full of gifts I’m not sure how I procured, that are more wonderful than I ever envisioned for myself. I woke up in a steady, solid state of mental clarity and joy that I, for many years, had decided was impossible. I am surrounded by love. I am healthy. I am sane. I am at peace. All of this is more than I ever thought I deserved. Thank you. THANK YOU. Please, please show me what you want me to do with all of these gifts I’ve been given, because I’m ready… and I’m even grateful for that. THANK YOU.”
It was, without a doubt, the happiest birthday I have ever experienced.