Go Shorty, It’s Your Birthday
My birthday is in three days.
I’ll be 46.
Between now and then, I’ll spend every odd waking minute wondering when the fuck I got so old. I’ll spend the even minutes thinking about why I have such a complicated relationship with my birthday. It’s not about the getting older part. I honestly don’t really care about that.
I think it starts with the timing of my birthday.
For starters, it’s no longer just my birthday. I now share my special day with my baby boy.
Secondly, January 4th is a speed bump in literally everyone’s get-your-shit-together-in-the-new-year framework. It makes me feel like a nuisance to convene innocent bystanders for an obligatory cake and balloon party when they just re-started eating vegetables and hitting the gym.
And finally, because my birthday is so close to the new year, I associate my next lap around the sun with a fresh start. Self improvement. Goals.
Here’s an example: I’m stuck in a TikTok loop about how important it is for perimenopausal women to take creatine. It’s 2025! My birthday is right around the corner! Maybe I should give myself the gifts of muscle health, brain health, mood stability, sleep quality, and bone health! FUN, right? No. Not fun. Responsible. Wise. BORING.
But when I don’t set a resolution for the new year, I do kind of feel like a loser. Like I’m committing to staying the same forever. Or I’m opposed to personal growth. I’m not. I just don’t feel like my inadequacies need to be addressed each year:
Like swearing. If I were hit on the head by a flying lacrosse ball and lost all language except for swear words, I would not give a single shit. (People who swear a lot tend to be smarter than the average bear, anyway.)
Or being a loner. I have a couple friends that I can call in the middle of the night to bury a body. I also have a handful of mom friends that I love spending time when I see them at school events and birthday parties. I just don’t feel the need to create reasons to leave the house. I like it here. It’s cozy.
Or wasting hours daily scrolling TikTok. I like it. It’s relaxing. It allows for controlled disassociation after a long, busy day. It also provides health education, tells me what jeans I should be wearing, and keeps me apprised of current events. And don’t get me started on all things Bravo. It’s like CliffsNotes. (RIP, Paige and Craig.)
Learning to embrace these delightful little intricacies about my personality is a huge win for me. I have spent the majority of my life thinking in absolute terms. Black or white. In or out. Good or bad. Winner or loser. I have written in prior blogs that this way of thinking was detrimental to my mental health because it perpetuated perfectionism. And that’s no fun for anyone. Part of my strategy for ridding perfectionist thinking was to take a break from setting resolutions for a few years. Without arbitrary goal-setting, I was able to flutter like a butterfly towards being gentler with myself. So I leaned into a soft life in 2024 (which I also learned about on TikTok, BTW). The term originated in the Nigerian influencer community as a way to combat the strong Black woman narrative. It rejects hustle culture. It prioritizes self-care. And it encourages intentional life choices by setting and enforcing boundaries. A year in, I feel more content, better rested, more satisfied with my life, and generally calmer. My brain chemistry is stable, I am no longer depressed, and my nervous system is more settled. So settled, in fact, that I am dipping a toe into the waters of resolutions. A baby toe. I am committing to January only. We’ll see where it takes me.
Here’s where I have settled:
Take stupid creatine like the internet wants me to do.
Eat one salad every day.
Eat protein with every meal.
Run one mile every day.
Strength train twice each week.
Try to walk 10,000 steps per day.
Spend time outside every day.
Stop working through my lunch hour.
No alcohol.
Make time for writing.
What does this have to do with my birthday? Excellent question. I thought this blog would go in a different direction. Maybe just consider this a reminder that I’ll be 46 in three days? Or cite it as the evidence you need to be kinder to yourself? Or maybe I actually am getting wiser as I get older? I don’t know.
Happy New Year, all. I hope 2025 is exactly what you want it to be. I hope you are exactly how you want to be, faults and all. And if you’re not, I hope you find the courage to make changes, in your very own way. ❤
