Thanks and gratitude
First of all, I give thanks for this day, a day that commemorates the day I came into this world, little in the hand and struggling to survive. I thank God for His grace, His love and His bountiful blessings.
I am by the grace of the most benevolent and merciful God, the most potentate who rules over heaven and earth wherein I find love, joy, peace good health, hope, faith and expectation, 43 years old today.
I have been blessed beyond measure and been stingily grateful – I cannot give enough thanks but I am thankful that another landmark has come, another year has passed, and a day has arrived for some celebration but I solemnly remember that one of the five people I know, with whom I share this day passed to the great beyond a few months ago.
The identity of birthdays
I have always wondered why I get so sentimental about my birthday and I am not as particular about other big celebrations as Easter, Christmas or the New Year – they are all important and all give cause for thanks and celebration but they are general in context.
My birthday is part of my identity; it is what represents me in all those forms where they ask of my age, when I pick up the phone for some inquiry about my details, beyond the name, account number and address, you will not get far without your date of birth.
It is like everyone wants to know when you joined the club of the world and first drew breath on earth, we live in a birth-ist society that passes albeit benign judgements on when you arrived – it determines what vaccines you get, when you enter school, when you can drink alcohol, when you can vote or if certain tests should be conducted because you have reached a certain threshold.
Accepting where we are
Hence, we should not be afraid for the age we have reached but be satisfied and content that the numbers are increasing and we are adapting better to living in this world, being grateful is not too much to ask for because the elixir of youth is really in accepting where you are, you cannot change your age, it constantly increases every beating nanosecond.
Obsession with looks is vanity; eventually there would be nothing else to pull back without looking like the Bride of Wildenstein [1] or getting ossified whilst externally looking good in Death Becomes Her [2].
If I look 25 at 43, I am either immature or looking good for my age, if someone says I look 65 at 43, I say to them, just hope you look this good at 65 – I feel good about me, warts and all.
Now, at 43, I am happy, I intend to be happier and I expect it to be one of the happiest years in my life.
Join me with a glass of the best bubbly – It’s my birthday.
Sources
[1] Is this the scariest picture EVER of the Bride of Wildenstein? | Mail Online
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