I'm not opposed to the passage of time. I don't dread the creeping, ticking dial of one year adding to the next. As I have no desire to die at this particular moment, I'll gladly accept the advancing year with a wry smile.
I like assuming the adding wisdom and poise I like to think gathers around my person the moment my birthday strikes at midnight. My soul feels heavier, and I equate this added weight with experience and maturity, and in no way see it as some fabrication of my imagination.
I like surrounding myself with those closest to me come celebration time. For years, I've boycotted parties. I'd rather spend the day with those that know me best, who demand no show from me. A documented tale of birthdays past chart very intimate gatherings. Nothing garish or forced. I am nothing on my birthday if not relaxed. This particular birthday has departed from the pattern in necessity. I am surrounded by acquaintances and near-friends. I spent yesterday alone, celebrating on my terms.
I'm balancing between bemused anxiety and existential brooding. Perhaps it's my recent series of life changes. Perhaps it's feeling the slow sting of adulthood. Perhaps it's realizing how lonely I really have been. Perhaps it's realizing that I have accomplished all I had hoped I would at this point. Perhaps it's the fact that my life plan stopped here and I have a hell of a lot to figure out from tomorrow on.
Regardless, happy twenty-fifth.
