I turn 24 today. It feels strangely old to say that's my age, although, to be fair, I felt the same way turning 23. Neither birthday is all that important, culturally speaking; it doesn't even have a peppy Taylor Swift song to redeem it. I'm not doing anything particularly important, either.
A few years ago, my lack of plans would have bothered me. I remember crying the night before I turned 20 because I didn't have anything special planned to celebrate my birthday. Previous birthdays had been commemorated by trips to the Milwaukee Art Museum, birthday dinners with friends and family, extravagant cheesecakes, shopping trips with my mom, parties. But for my 20th, there was nothing on my schedule, much like today.
Today, however, I am not throwing myself a pity party. Instead, I am celebrating my birthday the best way I know how––the way I learned to celebrate on that Monday in 2016. Throughout that day, I simply tried to enjoy the little gifts that presented themselves: sticky notes on the bathroom mirror from my mom, time to hang out with my little brother, the delivery of an iced chai from my sister-in-law, an elephant key chain from my best friend, phone calls from grandparents, things like that. In an Instagram post at the end of the day, I reflected that all those small moments had added up to a pretty great birthday.
On the birthdays since then, I've tried to keep that lesson in mind. Instead of packing my agenda with grand experiences, I simply plan to enjoy the simple pleasures of my life. So far, that has involved taking our new dog (a rescue named Dobby who looks for all the world like a miniature hyena) on a good walk, making myself an omelette and a tea latte for breakfast, listening to a few episodes of my current favorite podcast, and wearing an outfit I love, complete with my favorite red lipstick. Later today, I will make myself a homemade Funfetti cake for my official birthday dinner with family tomorrow, read a good book, and maybe watch my favorite movie.
These are not particularly exciting events, but I am excited for them anyway. Each of them is a reminder of the exquisite privilege of being alive. On an almost weekly basis, a line from the Sleeping at Last song "Saturn" comes to my mind, and I've been thinking about it especially today: "How rare and beautiful it is, to even exist."
Existence is improbable, ludicrous if you think about it long enough. So many things had to go right, back and back and back, in order for each of us to even come into existence, much less survive in this tumultuous world. Yet here we are.
24 years I've been here now, and with each passing year I become more cognizant of the incredible gift that it is to simply be a human being living on this earth. My life has been neither notable nor long, but I am convinced that it is significant nonetheless, and I am determined to live it well.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a cake to go bake.