Bad Birthday

My birthday was kind of lackluster this year. In therapy I've been learning about setting intentions. So I set some. I set the intention not to celebrate my birthday. At all. To not have ANYONE celebrate me or toast me or take me out for a drink. I still can't quite understand my rationale in setting those intentions. Couldn't I have taken an eensy weensy little bite of cake? I LOVE BIRTHDAYS. But for whatever reason, there you have it. I didn't want to be celebrated. In fact, should they post my picture on the work Facebook page I was going to humbly please tell them to take it down, giving my best Mother Teresa smile. Should my family plan a dinner out with cake and ice cream back at home, I was going to say no cake for me, thanks! And don't worry about taking me out, there are starving children in Ethiopia so let's donate to a good cause. The past few months I have felt the same mania that followed me around during college, and I just haven't been much up for celebrating. So I set the intention to celebrate others and sort of give back.

What was I thinking. I am a LEO. We like parties. Even an introverted Leo, like myself, would be lying if we told you "Nah, no party for me. I'm good." A leo thrives on events.

Even if they are the ones standing in the corner nursing their gin martini, observing, a Leo wants to be at that party. You can count on that. What did Andy Warhol say about attending the opening of a cardboard box? That is how a Leo is. That is how I am. I like dressing up and going to fun things every now and then. (I probably majorly butchered the Andy Warhol quote. If it was even Andy. I'm bad at remembering quotes.)

So my birthday came. And I went to work. And my birthday went. Oh, and I threw myself a party! A great big pity party. I was crying and so bummed, with mascara running all down my face and then Robin Williams committed suicide. On my birthday. Like he died, the day I was BORN. I sobbed myself to sleep just after dragging my dad down to the family room to watch Mrs. Doubtfire together. We laughed and cried together. But I mostly cried because a legend had just vanished from the earth, and all I could think about was how alone he must have felt right before he went. So it was not really the best sort of birthday. The next day I called in sick. I hate doing that. But I was paralyzed with no birthday depression and paralyzed about Robin Williams and when I tried to get out of bed, all I could do was fall over. Vertigo. Excellent.

But while I was laying in bed all day, between sobbing and hiccuping and reading all of the horrendously sad and upsetting and heartbreaking tributes, all I could meditate on was newness. Life. Growth. Togetherness. I started counting my blessings, truly counting them. All of the people in my life I am so grateful for, the people that haven't abandoned me and who I know never will. I've struggled with depression and anxiety at different points of my life, and it's all through my family. And yet, we're all still kicking, bum birthdays and all. I can call up my sister and vent. She is still alive. In fact, we are closer than ever and best friends again, and she loves me so much that she split an airplane ticket so I can fly down to see her at the end of this month. Because she misses me and wants me to see her beautiful new house and share that with me, and meet her incredible ball of fluff new dog and make dinners together. And she sent me a gorgeous moon tote for my birthday and it is so me in every way, and supported an etsy shop in the process. I love that.

Then my other sister and I went out for cupcakes last week, and she agreed to buy me a cupcake. With her birthday money.

So we got our favorite cupcakes and went out to one of our favorite lunch places. Together. And she is 13, and suffering through some incredible teen angst and half the time calls me lame, but it was FUN. We laughed a lot. She blocked her face so I couldn't take any pictures of her. You know. Teen sister/31 year old sister bonding time.

And then my brother MADE DINNER on the night of my birthday. Pizza. He is 19 and doesn't really prefer cooking per se but he did and he even told me happy birthday. And then my mom and sister brought a little mini rose bush plant to my work, and I was so resentful that my face wasn't on the office website even though the other receptionist's was for HER birthday, that when I saw them, I sort of burst into a smile and a biiiiiiiit of an ugly cry once they left. Flowers make a girl feel special. Family makes me feel loved. Laying in bed, all of the memories of my family started flooding in. We are a close family. I didn't have a curfew in high school because I never went anywhere. I didn't want to go out on Friday nights. I wanted to be home with my people. Prom was fun and it was exciting to get all glitzed up and go to a nice restaurant, but I couldn't wait to get home and tell everyone about the night. Home was my place and I couldn't leave them. It is hard to think of being apart from any of them, no matter how crazy we all can drive each other. We are thick as thieves, for lack of a much better metaphor. There is no breaking our family thread. Laying in bed all day of August 12th, all I could think about was the memories. The good times. Going to Maine every year together, Christmas traditions, Mom's eggnog, New Year's celebrations at grandma's, Liverpool Rummy games that go on for hours on end. A lifetime of having a really precious family. 31 years of love. So it wasn't a bad birthday at all. It was one I will treasure because while mourning someone's death who I didn't even know personally, I could focus on and celebrate the ones I do.