Seen and celebrated
A tiny, funky cabin in the Oregon Outback. One room with a water closet and kitchenette, and an old Frigidaire mini refrigerator sitting on top of a low table across from the foot of the bed. Poorly sealed doors (the threshold of one having completely fallen off) and ripped window screens (on those windows that actually had screens) gave the flies and other bugs easy access to the inside. And the room was hot with the sun beating in the south- and west-facing windows, and the ceiling fan doing little to move the still air.
This was the start to my surprise birthday weekend getaway that my husband had sweetly planned months in advance. The sad, neglected cabin would be just the first surprise that day.
I will be the first to admit that I have a weird relationship with my birthday. On the one hand, I have always loved and looked forward to my birthday. On the other hand, there were years when my birthdays were unsatisfying and disappointing. Something I would recognize in the moment but wouldn’t allow myself to admit until after the fact. Don’t get me wrong, I have had many more enjoyable birthdays than not. However, in the last couple of years, really since turning 50, my birthdays have been particularly challenging. This year the struggle felt even more acute.
A little back story: July has been a tricky month for me since my divorce 10 years ago, especially the latter half of the month. In addition to my birthday, there are a lot of old-life milestones that fall into this time. It’s not uncommon for me to fall into a funk.
This year was no different. For a week or so leading up to my birthday, I had been feeling out of sorts. My mind was really working overtime about my upcoming birthday adventure. I was looking forward to getting away with my husband, especially because our time together this year has been limited by his crazy work schedule. Part of me, though, didn’t want to go. Instead of saying something, I threw myself into prep and planning mode because, although the plan wasn’t exactly what I wanted to do for my birthday, I really didn’t know what I wanted to do instead. Also, I didn’t want to disappoint my husband by bowing out of the plan because I knew he was looking forward to getting out of town.
An epic battle of tug o’ war between my mind and my soul ensued. I thought about things I had done for past birthdays that I had enjoyed. Although the familiarity was comforting, I knew in my heart none of those things were what I really wanted. Without greater clarity, I told myself to embrace the adventure. It would be good to do something new for my birthday.
The drive was nice. Oregon has some beautiful, diverse landscape and I love a road trip. We even spent an enjoyable afternoon puttering about the area once we arrived. Admittedly, though, I was going through the motions of celebrating my birthday. And when I had some time alone while my husband took an early evening nap, the dissatisfaction and unhappiness I had been pushing aside started pushing back.
To make a long story short, my sweet and understanding husband listened to my tear-filled confession of indecision and confusion about my birthday. He asked a couple times if I wanted to go home, which I resisted for a number of reasons but mostly because I didn’t want to disappoint him. When he asked a third time, I finally admitted through streaming tears that, yes, I did want to go home. So we packed up and hit the road for home at 9:30 p.m.
We stopped along the way to do some star gazing, which was spectacular. The stars seemed so close and we could even see the milky way. That and crawling into our bed late, late that night brought me great joy. The rest of the weekend I did as I pleased and had exactly the birthday I had longed for. Perhaps hanging out at home isn’t everyone’s idea of a birthday celebration but it was exactly what I yearned for—time to myself, time with my beloveds, and a little mint chip ice cream.
Although the weekend took an unexpected turn, it should have come as no surprise. On the morning of my birthday, I received a prophetic message from a friend that said in part, “I hope you feel seen and celebrated today!” I did feel seen and celebrated by so many that day—in person, on Facebook, and via calls and texts. I knew deep down, though, that the person who really needed to see and celebrate me was me.
Upon reflection, I now understand that those unsatisfying birthdays were just that because I abdicated my being seen and celebrated to other people. Sometimes I adapted my birthday plans to suit others. Other times, even when I had initiated the plan, someone else’s idea of what my birthday should look like would creep in and take over.
Over the years, I got much better at owning my birthday, doing what I wanted, how I wanted, and with whom I wanted. The last couple of years, however, I have been putting my desires for my birthday on the back burner because I forgot that …
What I want for my birthday matters … to me. The message that kept quietly repeating itself in my head the few days leading up to my birthday was “I just want what I want.” When I didn’t listen to that soul whisper, it cranked up the volume until I could no longer ignore it.
I know exactly how to discern what I really want. Whenever I am struggling with indecision, I stop and tune into whether I am talking myself into something or out of something. If I am talking myself into something, I know it’s not what my soul desires. I had been talking myself into the weekend getaway.
I need to prioritize my pleasure. I allowed myself to put someone else’s desires (assumed on my part) ahead of what I wanted for myself. That didn’t end up being pleasurable for anyone.
I deserve a birthday I love. When I allow myself to follow my own happiness, it makes those around me happier too. Not only did I get my wonderful, quiet weekend at home, but my husband also got to spend the weekend doing what he loves.
Not long ago, I heard someone say, “We forget so we can remember.” What I forgot was to remember me—that what I want matters and that I am worthy of what I want. Given that that is exactly the work I do with midlife women, I could have beaten myself up for not practicing what I preach. But I didn’t and here’s why: Remembering to remember me is a practice. That’s the journey. And though we may often stray from our path, there is always someone or something to remind us of the direction we’re heading and to help get us back on track.
Although my birthday celebration got off to a bumpy start, the lesson to remember me was a true gift.
What are you forgetting to remember? Is there something your soul yearns for that you’re denying?
