How Do You Age?

Why do birthdays become less and less exciting the older you get? It seems like the older a person gets, the less joy there is in the celebration of the birthday. When people are young, birthdays are exciting, but when they get to be parents the excitement diminishes. When a person nears retirement, you can’t even mention their age.

For example, my son just rushed into his sixth year with all the gusto he could muster. Everything was the greatest thing. The presents, the pizza, the movie – everything was simply the best. He basked in the birthday limelight like an academy award winner. The smile on his face so genuinely captured the joy and excitement that flooded his heart that there was no mistaking just who the birthday boy was. He’s loved and special and he knows it – in the innocent and unassuming six year old way of knowing it.

By contrast, my brother turns 40 next week. He has declared that there will be no parties, no presents, no scheduling of special events, no singing of “Happy Birthday” by the wait staff at the local restaurant (who sing it to the wrong tune, by the way - he wants nothing. He wanted us all to know, as he has for the past several years, that his birthday is just like any other day and that people need to quit getting all excited about that day – it’s just a day. He did concede a little and allowed the rest of the family to acknowledge that he is indeed a year older – and I think there might be a cake thrown in there somewhere, but not because he wants it.

Going further still, my mother’s birthday will be in September. Although she does expect a card or flower or something sweet, that does not mean she is celebrating her birthday. Rather than saying thanks for a card or small gift, she is just as likely to say: “Who cares about an F.O.B (Fat Old Bag) like me anyway?” (She has recently resorted to creative acronyms for her emotional expressions. I don’t even want to tell you what P.O.E means). Rather than a birthday party, she is more likely to throw herself a pity party, invite no one, and then be silently upset that you weren’t there. Oh, and for goodness sake, don’t mention her age, please.

So, for the sake of my mother, I will keep her age a secret. But I can tell you this: when I turn 59 I’m not going to hide it.

Well, now that you’ve accidentally wandered into the world of my family dysfunction, a dysfunction to which I generously contribute, how do you do birthdays? Do you suffer from B.E.D.S (Birthday Excitement Deterioration Syndrome) like my family does? Has our youth-obsessed culture got you dreading your next birthday, especially the birthdays ending in zero? Seriously, how many times can you be 29 or 39?

I want to propose a new way of thinking. Rather than obsessing about ways to remain young (and therefore important), how about considering the beauty of aging?

Huh? Don’t people get wrinkled and ugly when they get old? Well, for the sake of conversation, let’s pretend for just a minute that beauty is more than what the magazine covers have indoctrinated us into believing. For a moment, let’s think about beauty as something more than perfect skin, slender bodies, firm muscles, and huge…you get the point. Let’s go just a little deeper.

There is a certain beauty hidden only in the wisdom that comes (usually) with age. Oh sure, there are a few old cranks out there looking to make everyone as miserable as they are, but you just got to know that started long before they got old.

There is a deep beauty in a smile gracing the face of a person who has “seen it all.” I mean really, if you can live seven or eight decades on this planet and are still capable of smiling, then there is certainly something right with you – and beautiful, too. It is the smile of priorities finally coming into focus, finding hope in the legacy about to be born, and in the mysterious, almost adventurous, thoughts about what lies beyond this life here on earth.

I really think we have it backwards. Every next birthday should bring more joy, more excitement, at least more satisfaction. There is hope in aging. What a privilege: on my next birthday I get to be 37, and I can’t wait.