My 33rd Birthday Approaches

My 33rd birthday is in two days. I know I won't likely ever have another birthday, or another day of my life, period, as great as the one last year when I went to a "Weird Al" Yankovic concert and then met him in person. I accept that. Life is not a steady progression from good to better, and any day that doesn't suck is good enough.

​I was going to have a party at the park today, but a friend asked me to reschedule because her kid's birthday is today, and her kids love me a ridiculous amount and would have wanted to attend both. By "a ridiculous amount," I mean that this particular kid recently called me "Daddy" despite being old enough to know better and not even seeing me that often. Maybe she just hates her real dad, which I could relate to. (She did tell me once, "You're lucky you're not married so you don't have to fight with your wife all the time. My parents fight all the time, and it's not fair.") I don't know why kids love me so much without me trying. Mary hypothesizes that it's because I radiate calm. Anyway, I rescheduled for Friday, which made half of the people I'd invited unable to come. A couple of days in advance, I considered that maybe the kids would get sick and not come, meaning that I would have rescheduled for nothing. I told myself that I was being irrational, making up a scenario that hadn't happened yet and getting preemptively annoyed by it. And then that exact scenario happened.

I tried not to be annoyed because it's not really anyone's fault, and of course I feel bad for the kid having her whole birthday weekend ruined. When the mother asked how it went, I did let her know that a lot of people had been unable to come because I rescheduled, and she apologized, which I think is an appropriate response to negatively impacting someone by accident even if you couldn't have known. I didn't want her to feel awful, I just wanted her to be aware. Now I wonder if I was a dick to mention it at all and should have kept it to myself. Anyway, what happened to her kid is far from the worst thing that happens to kids in this world, but it reminded me nonetheless what a shitty parent the father god I was taught to believe in is. This kid's earthly mother would do anything to stop it, but Heavenly Father, who actually could stop it, is just like, "Sorry, you have to suffer because something something learning experience." And I'm supposed to worship this guy and regard him as the pinnacle of goodness and love because people say so.

Of course, I still got some people at my party - specifically, a few activists who all knew me and each other from protesting and a Mormon woman I met at a friend's wedding reception. That morning, in a Signal chat, I had chimed into an unflattering discussion about the LDS Church with a couple of fun facts - that it calls itself Israel and does a very shallow cultural appropriation of Judaism, and that it removed all pro-Israel rhetoric from its hymns and manuals in Germany to appease the Nazis. So now, in person, one of the activists asked me if I was an expert on Mormonism. My mouth said "Yeah" while my brain said "Oh shit." I didn't want to embarrass the Mormon woman by singling her out, so I just prayed silently as the activists' conversation shifted into Mormonism-bashing mode. Fortunately, someone thought to ask her before it went too far, though the phrasing of the question - "You're not LDS, are you?" - could have been better. Yes, I still have some Mormon friends. I can love people even if I don't agree with their lifestyle.

People brought brownies, pizza, fruit, and juice. Someone gave me a bottle of Merlot, which I was advised to save for "when it happens." I don't drink alcohol, but I haven't ruled out the possibility of drinking this if I ever figure out what "it" is, because of course I have absolutely no idea what they were talking about, wink wink. People also gave me a book, a Joker action figure, and a volleyball painted like Wilson from "Castaway." I had asked someone to bring a volleyball so we could play, but I didn't expect one as a gift. I wonder if I'd have gotten more food and gifts if more people had been able to come. Anyway, I got a little depressed because I didn't feel like I deserved the love these people gave me. I know I'm a good person, and they know I'm a good person because we protest for the same things, but I don't feel like I contribute enough to the world or their lives to be loved like that. Obviously, that's a me problem. Obviously, if I tell anyone that, they'll tell me not to feel that way because I'm great, as if that will solve the problem. Oh well.

I also felt a little depressed about aging. I'm still in my prime, but only for a couple more years, and then I face two options: die young, or experience my body slowly and painfully breaking down. The former option appeals to me more, but lately, my death anxiety has risen. I think death itself doesn't bother me as much as not having the slightest idea when it will happen. At any moment, it could be five minutes, five years, or fifty years away. A friend's brother-in-law just died from a blood clot. That could have been me. It still could be. Even if death is a wonderful and beautiful thing, as most people who have come close to it will attest, I don't like the idea of it catching me off-guard. Someone jumping out and yelling "Surprise!" at a random moment isn't much better than someone jumping out and yelling "Boo!" I waxed philosophical about this with a friend as we played with the volleyball, and he didn't resolve anything for me, but I felt like processing this together was an important part of the journey. Then he let me take a couple puffs of weed, and the trees and the lights and the sunset took on a vaguely artificial, enclosed quality, like a football field, that seemed to underscore the illusory nature of our time in this world.

On my actual birthday, I plan to watch the Mandalorian movie and go to dinner with a friend who couldn't make it that time. Tonight, since I'm free, I plan to celebrate the solstice by taking an edible, going back to the park, and experiencing the drum circle. If I get stabbed to death, oh well, I had to die sometime. I'm glad the days are going to start getting shorter, albeit very slowly. I hate waking up at 4:30 and staying awake because the damn sun is already coming up. That's the downside of falling asleep more easily because I get more sunshine by not living in a basement. Anyway, none of these events will beat Weird Al, but they don't need to.