Birthday Girl

Happy Birthday to me!
Happy Birthday to me!

... and ... to ... well: not me.

I'm a new Aunt.

Miai was born today. I have a new niece and God-daughter. Neat, huh? BB and I were born on the same day that little Miai was. My niece, little Iz, was born in the same week that her aunt and her grandfather was, and bb and Mike's bdays are in the same week. How weird is that! We're a family connected by birthdays.

And funerals. My Uncle Randall's cancer, which I didn't know he had, has come out of remission and now has metastasized (a Greek word) to major organs. It's just a matter of time now.

I wonder if Miai is me.

I read a story when I was a girl in school, about a boy born at midnight on New Year's Day, and he aged rapidly, so much so that he was dying in the same hospital, a year later, of old age.

He died at midnight, the same time a baby boy was born, and ...

I'm in my twenty-fifth year now ... I wonder if I still pass for fifteen, or if this year has aged me one hundred years: I see my sisters aging, I see my nieces growing up...

How come I'm still the baby of the family? How come I feel so old, old, old and tired?

I got emails from some of my readers. One from Anne, who has been reading me from the beginning, and ... one from Saga ... who didn't know whether to write or not to write. She wondered if I would be sad if she wrote me, or if I would be sad if she didn't write me.

Isn't that sad? *snicker*

No, really: think about it, for yourself. When you think that all you can do is hurt somebody or be an imposition or burden, when, for them, your very presence give them lightness, peace, joy, happiness?

Isn't it sad that you stop yourself of giving the gift of yourself, because you don't see what a gift you are to the world?

I think that's sad.

And from Cécile, of course.

So, a gift, what did I get for my birthday?

Doesn't matter.

I think, in light of the above, I think, what can you give for your birthday to others is the question. And not only on your birthday (my birthday) but on everyday. What can you give to your classmates, what can you give to your coworkers, your boss, your customers? ... Your friends, ... your sisters and brothers ... your mother?

So easy to ask of them to give you something, right: like 'gimme a break!' like you deserve the space you're taking up the planet and why, again, do you deserve that next breath or a break?

But what can you give? Even when you're tired or PMSing or your gf's being a real bitch again or have been giving so much already, but still there's that little matchstick girl, but you don't have time to ask her is she okay as you hurry home to your toasty warm fire and sherry and roast lamb.

No, you're entitled to your break, which translates into slighting or trampling on other people, or worse, withdrawing from them, withholding yourself from them.

So what can you give to this person right in front of you, right now, who is bothering you with their annoyingly endless prattle or unreasonable request or there-she-goes-again-doing-that-again behavior.

Why do people keep annoying you? And worse, on your birthday, too!

Yeah, why? Do you ask yourself that as you brush past them?

Hm.

Ever really inquire where the problem really is? Check out the mirror. (that's a hint)

Ever really inquire where the solution really is? Here's another hint: get the fuck away from the mirror, and go to another person and ask them. Your self-talk is very reliable: it lies and belittles you every single time, because when you lie (to yourself) and are belittled, you survive, you can survive through anything if you make yourself small enough, and your little voice is your strongest defender and preserver.

Even as she tells you to kill yourself because nobody loves you.

As she did to Tammy, a neighbor with two, now orphaned, teenaged daughters ... who both look older than me.

(My self talk digging at me and oh, so well, too).

On my birthday, on Christmas, Ms. Muse is very strident, very insistent, very convincing, too, and she gets even more appealing after a few drinks.

But this birthday, with other people wishing me well, giving me the gift that I could give them the gift of gratitude and hope, I heard their voices, sometimes, more than I heard Ms. Muse. And when other people tell you something so radically different than what Ms. Muse tells you, it ...

It gives you perspective. It lets you see yourself from outside yourself. It lets you see yourself from another person's viewpoint, and see, oh, my God, that you actually are a person, borne from a person, loved by persons, because you are lovable.

But that comes when you open up, and listen to a person, instead of push past a person on your way to ... what? Your empty apartment? To do what? Beat yourself up more and kill yourself? And you're in a hurry to do that or to work more and harder so that you can get cancer and die ... successfully?

Vanity of vanities. A man toils, and another man reaps what he toiled over. It's like chasing the wind.

And that's all we do these days on the metro, run from station to station, pushing past people who are pushing past you, and it's all vanity.

I spent the last, oh: 18 hours today chasing the wind. 18 hours at work, chasing wind, to be scolded by two bosses who said I needed to get more a sense of urgency. Two bosses who waltzed in after I did and waltzed out the door exactly at 5 pm. And here I am doing what? loving them? Or hissing behind their back, crying in my (fucking shared) cube because I don't have the guts to stand up to them, hating them because the hateful creature is me, the one without a spine but who makes a very nice carpet or doormat to trample.

18 hours working, slaving away, for what? for chasing the wind, because tomorrow I do it all over again, only now with a more refined sense of urgency.

But also, then, here and there, second by second, there were moments when I was taken out of myself and my very comfy cesspool, when I received an email from a well-wisher who got their wish granted.

Because why?

Because, in wishing me well, and then daring to press send, so now I knew they wished well for me, I became well, just for that one second, two seconds, three seconds, and I turned right around, and generated joy in myself, and gave it to them, gratefully.

22 minutes left to today, and then I'll actually be in my 15th year, being 14 years old now, even if my driver's license is a really good fake that tries to pass me off for 24. I have 22 minutes left.

What am I going to do with 22 more minutes of my birthday?

Nothing.

That's what I'm going to do with them. I'm going to do nothing with them.

And I'm going to be grateful for those 22 more minutes I've been given in my life, that I can be grateful for them.

22 minutes. Every second a gift to me.

In the end, God gets to ask the questions. Don't believe me: ask Job. God did. Every second is a gift to me.

What can I do to deserve them? Nothing. I've seen that. I can do nothing to deserve these gifts.

But what can I do or be with these gifts? The thing about these gifts? They can be given, by you, by me, or not. And it's entirely your choice, every second, and entirely my choice.

So I'm going to do nothing with them, except take some, and sleep, maybe.

But tomorrow ... tomorrow will I be aware of these gifts I've been given? Or will I be swamped, a little bookkeeper, cooking the books for other people to rush through their paychecks, just like I do, and for what except to chase more wind.

Or, will I ... when I'm given the gift of somebody presenting themselves in front of me ... that is: by being in my way ... will I go out of my way to be a gift to them, in a smile, or a 'hi' or a ... idk ... sympathy fuck in the bathroom?

(I'm not that desperate: I'm WAY MORE than that desperate)

Or actually finding out what their name is and what problem is nagging away at them, nagging them away from the here and now so they worry themselves right to their grave? And then actually doing something about that with them, for them?

We shall see, shan't we? Tomorrow. In and among people.

And you? How about you? With your roomies? Or your coworkers? Or employees? Or boss? Or schoolmates? Or lover? Or children? Or parent?

We shall see, shan't we?

And the thing is? God is Good. You screw up today, and, magically, God gives you tomorrow to ... well: screw up again. God is infinitely patient with you. I know from first-hand experience. And God gives you that exact same tomorrow to screw up again, ... again ... or try again, and actually make somebody's face light up in a surprised smile of relief that somebody heard them and cared and helped.

Even if that somebody is a shrewish clerk at a bank and she's supposed to be helping you! But what about her? She had a terrible time with her back pain getting out of bed and all day all she's had is whining, clueless customers and along comes you demanding service.

I made a woman at the bank smile and actually look up from her computer at me last week. How? I listened to her and laughed at her actually funny joke that she delivered with such tired, defeated cynicism, but she was smart, and funny, and old, and wise, and probably nobody ever listens to her at home or at work. And I listened.

And for one ... two... three seconds a warm grin lit up her face and she dared to sneak a peek at me.

You are a receiver of gifts every second. Can you be a giver, back, sometimes? When you give a gift, it is appreciated beyond one hundred times the measure of effort you gave to give that gift.

But, you know: that takes time and effort, and who, these days, has any of either to spare. I mean: really! Gimme a break people! I've been standing in these flats all day and it's almost quitting time and the commute was hell and ...

And, and, and ... our lives are piled up with 'ands'. Piled up with 'ands' so we can shut out people reaching out to us, brushing past us. Do you know what 'life' is? 'Life' is the people you come in contact with and how you treat them.