A good friend of mine has just celebrated another birthday. She has come to dread them. For her they shout the passing of her years in a way which makes her uncomfortable.
Birthdays are funny things. Do you remember when we were little how important each birthday was, because we were in such a hurry to grow up or grow older? At some point we even measured our time on this earth in half years. And whilst I never had a party I always had a cake and a present to mark the day. In my family your birthday was always your special day.
In some cultures the anniversary of your birth is not always the day that is marked. Sometimes it is the saint’s day after which you were named. In mediaeval times only the nobility celebrated their birth day , whilst the rest of the population marked their saints’ days. Most cultures use a particular birthday for a rite of passage. For us it is legal adulthood at 18, where we gain the right to vote, legally have a drink, and marry.
Some folk want to hold back time . We live in a society that celebrates youth and looking young. The multimillions spent on disguising grey hair, easing wrinkles and maintaining a youthful slimness, is all rather mind boggling. I’m not sure just how much vanity or desperation is involved in all of this.
I have grey hair and I feel I have earned it. I have a slightly wrinkled face and certainly a sagging body. Each grey hair, wrinkle or undesirable inch represents a battle won, pain endured, or tragedy borne. I do not want to end my days looking only ‘slightly used’. I have more to show for my life than just these visible marks. My sense of humour is not only intact but enhanced . I maintain a positive outlook and most importantly when I look at my life as a whole I am truly grateful for my many blessings.
So when I look at my self in the mirror I do not see the scars of life. I look at the survivor smiling at me and I smile back.