Welp, if life does anything well, it's knocking me on my ass, then extending a hand to help me stand on two feet...and then knocking me back down again. It's just so random and continuous and crazy and most days, I wish it were over. Not because I want to leave this earth or call it quits, but because a girl gets tired of the rollercoaster ride of emotions and wavering logic.
My birthday is no different.
Lately, like within the past few years, I haven't looked forward to my birthday. I was never one to really do anything huge for my birthday to begin with—dinner with the family, cake and presents, spend the day outside, etc.—so at first it didn't matter to me. I got older though, and I moved to another city, my friend groups scattered themselves across the map to pursue dreams and careers, and, as adulting goes, everyone became preoccupied with their own lives, own problems, etc.
So my birthdays changed.
It wasn't fun anymore. It wasn't about celebration. All it did was serve as a reminder that I'm one year closer to "real" life: the hard stuff. And, as someone who's currently going through a lot of shit already (see my latest "L's&W's" post about how awful my health has been, and just scratches the surface when it comes to the agony it causes me on the day-to-day).
It also served as a reminder that even though I've endured much, I still have a long way to go, and that it only gets worse from here in that regard. So yea, basically, I've been going through a series of existential crises these past few years, dreading the one day a year that marks my ascension into further suffering.
Whew. Thank God this year was different.
If you've been keeping up with me, you probably already know that this week has been awful for me and my health. I was in so much pain the first few days of the week due to flare-ups that contribute to my chronic pain issues. I was legit ready to tap out. It's bad enough that the inevitable happened in the first place. It was made worse when my body decided to act up right before my birthday trip to Atlanta. My birthday had become void of celebration, true celebration, years ago. For me, this is what my birthday looks like: grappling with the thought of having to deal with such agony for presumably the rest of my life, and knowing that I'm not even halfway through with this BS. This leads to a plummeting depression, feelings of isolation, worthlessness, and often makes me wonder what the whole point of living is if I'm forced to suffer through every moment as I wait for God to be gracious enough to call me home.
So this time around, for this reason, I wanted to do something different. I mustered up the strength to push through the pain and flew my sickly ass to Atlanta for a fun weekend, anyway. Though things got off to a rocky start with a confusing airport (there was construction all over the place and it was a mess), and the janky flight via Southwest (a guy sitting in the front decided it would be a great idea to eat a Philly cheesesteak on the flight and stunk up the entire plane with the smell of onions, not to mention there were two crying babies and a larger woman sitting next to me who was nervous about flying, so I was repeatedly pushed against the plane windows because she didn't know how to sit still).
By the time I landed I was already over it, but my best friend made sure that, in spite of myself, I wouldn't go out sad like that on my birthday (special shoutout to Maren Wilburn for making my birthday weekend incredible).
With my hurt behind and depressed headspace, I still had an amazing time; such a pleasant surprise. On Friday, June 7, the day of my 26th birthday, I experienced so many incredible emotions, vibes, perspectives, all of that. My God...
First, the most exciting thing ever: I randomly met Senator John Lewis (yea, THAT John Lewis—civil rights activist and community leader), and it was at the nail shop! I was trying so hard not to fan-girl out because I didn't want to alarm him. He was kind to me anyway, and even let me take a picture with him. And to think that I just saw this man's contributions to the movement lifted high in DC for all to see, and finally got to thank him in person for his contributions to bettering Black folks and all Americans. Just goes to show you’re never too big to be kind to the folks who admired you, and you're never too old to get your feet taken care of (take the hint, men).
Then that night, I attended the Anderson .Paak concert and completely got my life! The funk, the groove, the dancing, the bass, drums, sax, piano—the vocals! Let’s just say I was definitely in my Aunty bag that night the way I was grooving in my seat, feeling my vodka and cranberry, and munching on a hot dog (oh I didn't come to play at all). There was no way I could keep from smiling. Immersing myself in music has always helped me heal, but this? This was different. It was music for the soul, a part of me I don’t give nearly as much attention as I should.
And of course I partied. I partied after the concert, partied the next night, partied after the party, and made sure Atlanta gave me the biggest bang for my buck. It’s funny—it took me a while to realize that we were there to celebrate me. I’m not used to people pulling out all the stops for me, especially in such an overwhelming way, but this time was different. This time, I was surrounded by people and energy that screamed nothing but love and appreciation for the simple fact that I managed to stay alive this long. It made me reflect on my own life, and the things that make me wanna check out sometimes. For the first time in a while, this kind of consistent joy made me believe that maybe doing this whole life thing is worth it if we get to enjoy moments like this.
Life’s odd that way. It will throw things at you to knock you off balance, but then it’ll send you a gust of wind to steady your balance right before you fall.
Maybe I’m just getting older and it means nothing. Maybe I‘m getting older and it means anything—everything. I don't know. I do know, however, that for better or worse, with both pain and joy, I know life is something worth celebrating, that my life is worth celebrating. Birthdays are for celebrations. Therefore, birthdays are worth the trouble. Because I'm worth the trouble; deserving of the celebration.
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