Every year my mother asks me the same question: “What do you want for your birthday?”
My typical response is a groan.
Why I dread the question, I don’t know. Probably because I never have a clear idea in my head of what I do want (hello, indecisive), and even if I do, I hate to ask for anything.
This year was different. First of all, my mother didn’t ask the question. We’ve had a lot going on in the family, and lots of company, so it’s perfectly understandable. And secondly, I’ve actually given the matter some thought.
My contemplations actually started before this, the eve of the first anniversary of my 34th birthday.
Yes, I’m having a hard time with the whole 3-5 thing. Can you tell?
For me it’s a big birthday. One on which it is more than prudent to take stock of the years that have led up to this moment, as well as to ponder what the future will bring.
Sure, there’s a CD I’ve been wanting, and a list of books I’d love to have. Jewelry is always nice. And who doesn’t like to get flowers?
But while I wouldn’t turn down any of those things (ahem), I’m thinking I should be thinking on a larger scale.
Maybe it’s the natural maturity which comes from reaching an age which until a couple of years ago I thought was absolutely ancient. But I like to think of it as wisdom. Or better yet, enlightenment.
So, what is it that I want for my birthday? It isn’t world peace or a speedy remedy for the Gulf oil disaster. (Although, don’t get me wrong, both of those would be fabulous.)
No, my birthday wish is for a cure for cancer...