I resurrect this little-thing-that-could-did to say: it's been eight years. I completely forgot to celebrate my Other Birthday this year.
If memory serves me correct (that is: if the search algorithms serve me correctly), the last time I wrote about it here was four years ago. I still remembered and celebrated it in a fashion in the years between then and now, but it was always just a quick post on Facebook and Twitter, with a link to whichever blog post I felt like sharing. There was one year when I celebrated it by getting a tattoo (it's been more than two years since I last got a tattoo, my goodness!). And then there was an entry (that was cross-posted to Reddit) that gained some traction. Most recently, there was a conversation I had with the writer, my friend, Isa Garcia.
But mostly, the homage that I've been making these days has been in my Every Day. I find myself in that glorious sweet spot where the work I do in my professional life, volunteer life, and personal life all sort of converge magnificently where I can advocate for education for the poor, mental health, and social justice. I remember starting this advocacy and people were just beginning to talk about depression and anxiety. Conversations were hushed and people chose to respond to my posts anonymously through private messages and such. Now I see it discussed more often and more openly. (Thanks in large part to the younger people who are taking over the world. I am in awe of them, truly.)
Eight years. It took me eight years to get to this place of contentment (yes, pandemic be damned). Sure, it could be better (I mean, pandemic, damn you), but all around me is Grace. I even go to Church regularly now! Oh, and I'm finally annulled! And I haven't completely ruined my child's life (yet, haha)! I mean, how can I not rejoice in the Lord? How can I not live my life with such gratitude? There is just so much of...*waves wildly* THIS. My heart is full.
I hold all this joy even as I look back to where it all began. The first time I wrote about my Other Birthday was a year after my confinement. Reading my words, I can remember how still-dark, still-sad, still-angry I was.
Guess what? It's happened. It was a day like any other day.
And it was the best way to celebrate it.
To Remembering, Un-Remembering, and Remembering Again. And all the nooks and crannies that exist between each phase.
Happy Other Birthday to me. To more extraordinary days, like any other day.
