People tend to put a lot of stock and attention into the day of their births. For many, it begins at the very literal day of their birth, where friends and family will gather and celebrate a new addition to the family and beginning of a new life with infinite possibilities and directions. Although there are many cultural and societal origins behind getting one’s cake on during one’s birthday, most sources I’ve read all agree that celebrating the day of one’s birth likely began with the ancient Egyptians, some 3,000 years ago. The population would generally celebrate on the day a new pharaoh was crowned, as this was the day he was “birthed” as a new god. I don’t think I’d get away with trying to proclaim myself as a pharaoh. In modern times, it’s usually observed on the day that one is actually born from their mother’s wombs. This observance usually involves the singing of songs, eating of cake and the giving of gifts to the birthday person. But what purpose does it truly serve?
When one is a child, birthdays can be a fun and exciting day. You get to eat cake and treats, you usually get some gifts out of the deal and if you’re lucky and are attending school, you may have your peers doing something, as well. If you like that sort of thing. For me, I use to absolutely loathe having the entire classroom halted to sing happy birthday to me. So fucking embarrassing… It can seem nice and exciting as a child but as you slowly work your way into adulthood, it can become a tedious hindrance as it seems to be observed more by others than by oneself. Once a person begins to reach adulthood, they’ll often fall under one of two categories; those who are flattered and enjoy being recognized and those who prefer to simply let it pass as just another day. Just like today. Today is a Monday. The sun has risen, I can almost assuredly promise it will set tonight, and billions of people are going on with the daily grind of their lives regardless of this day.
I tend to agree more with the latter. At a young age, I began to acknowledge that my birthday was truly nothing more than a day where I had to get up out of my chair every five minutes for the phone ringing. yes, I’m old enough that I had to get up to use the phone. It was pretty sweet when I was younger and all my relatives would give me birthday cards with cash in them. In retrospect, i wish I had banked all of that cash instead of consistently spending it on toys and useless bullshit. But that’s children for you. Hell, my kids do the same thing now, despite my attempts at bestowing the important knowledge of my experience upon them. But I digress…
These days, I tend to take my birthday as more of a stepping stone to the remainder of the year. A day when others try and recognize that my chronological age has increased by one digit but where I tend to try and stay hidden in a hole until the sun sets and my world can return to some semblance of normalcy. After all, a big point that people tend to forget is that one’s birthday is only one day. There are 364 other days in the year (depending on where in the world you reside and what calendar you observe) and every day that you wake up with air in lungs and life in your body is one you should celebrate. The day of your birth was simply but one of those days. All the subsequent days of your life hold a deeper and more meaningful importance as they likely contains what you DID with that life once it was given to you. And that’s far more worth celebrating than an occasion where your mother was likely in pain; a story she’ll usually be sure to share with you on every birthday (if she remembers). Food for thought… ☯️
The Blogging Buddhist 