Birthdays fill me with dread.
Existential angst, if you will.
A few questions come to mind:
Have I accomplished any major goals?
Am I further along now than I was a year ago?
Is that a wrinkle forming in the corner of my eye?
Have I built up my karmic coins?
Why haven’t I fulfilled my destiny? The one I once knew about when the world was sparkly and brand new on the day of my birth.
Have I lessened my carbon foot print?
Did I contribute anything to the world? Beauty? Peace?
Will I find what I’m looking for? Do I even know what that is?
When did ballerina jewelry boxes become silly for an adult woman?
Why can’t I remember ‘that’ feeling? The one of utter joy and bliss when blowing out birthday candles on a pink iced cake.
Will I be loved for who I am now and not for what I might become?
Will ‘ROC’ skin products always be around? Or will I simply get lucky and find I have my Swedish grandmother’s ‘good’ genes?
5 days and counting …