I used to love my birthday. Even up until my 30s, when babies and toddlers and bone-deep fatigue threatened to derail my excitement for them, I would find myself childlishly restless at the prospect of a day to just celebrate being born. This feeling began creeping up on me a few weeks back when I realised my birthday was not far away, but it didn't last very long. Long enough to count to forty-one.
But in the past few days I've come to a new appreciation of the whole birthday thing. Now I see them as a time of renewal. A time to let go of old fears, old foes, old habits, old ways of thinking. A time to let go of anything that's no longer serving you and make room in your life for something brand new.
It's my birthday tomorrow and I'm feeling excited, but not in a child-like way any more. Unless you count my anticipation of cake. Because that never gets old.
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