#47 Happy birthday to me.
(The letter I wrote to wish me a happy life.)
I don’t want to be a unicorn, but I want to be as fun as this cake…
Dear Laura,
Happy birthday! You're forty-seven now, close to those forty-eight that you've been fearing for years, and heaven hasn't fallen over your head--not yet, at least. Isn't that a motive to celebrate?
You might be nodding, with a not-so-subtle smirk on your face, one of those that used to drive crazy some people at work, right? Cheeky girl, never change. I love that about you, even if it doesn't happen so often now: the crazy moments, the inadequate laughs... Do you remember when your boss kicked you out of the office because you couldn't stop laughing at him? Aaah, those times, when consequences didn't play such a big part in your decisions, when you felt free... even when you were hidden in a room only a few visited. You had great times then, even when bad things happened, because you met great people, learned a ton, and, in the process, found yourself.
Many years had passed since then, and now life is good —better, different. Last year, you battled the strong white hairs and the dark thinning ones, lost the battle to those routines everyone says you should be following at your age, and fought your image in the mirror. You've made peace with yourself, accepted the things you can't change, and decided to change the ones you can. What else could anyone wish?
You've planted trees, had children, written books, and quit (most of) the things that didn't help the bigger plan.
You might be frightened about what is going to happen in the following months, and that's okay. I know you feel the weight of your decisions, of the dreams you allowed yourself to pursue, of what could happen if you were wrong, but you're better than that. You're better than fear.
Fear does not feed happiness. It doesn't make you laugh, smile, or help you have a good day. Fear consumes your life: the one you have and the one you'd like to have, kills your instincts, turns you into something you'd never want. It makes you small.
Look at yourself in the mirror. Look carefully at the stretch marks, the love handles, the white hairs, the wrinkles, and the freckles. All of them might seem to you ugly sometimes, but you know that's not all, that's not true, that's not you. You're just getting older, catching up, gathering the signs of a full life that will get fuller.
Show the smile, share the laughter, be as happy as you can be… and don’t forget the cake, nor the bubbles, and share them, and love those you share them with. They are your real present.
And above yourself, make me a favor, a big, huge one: love yourself. We deserve it.
With love,
You, me, us.
