Today’s my birthday.
Over the years that has meant a lot of different things for me. Excitement. Anticipation. Disappointment. Anxiety. For at least a good decade (26ish – 36ish), birthdays seemed to mean little more than a reminder of what wasn’t. I wasn’t married. I wasn’t a mother. I wasn’t making some life-altering contribution to the world. I wasn’t fulfilling dreams or even taking advantage of opportunities right in front of me. I wasn’t fully living the life I had been given to live (this, I somehow just knew intuitively).
Year after year, I blamed the universe (and often God), for not giving me the life I was “supposed” to have…the life I even thought I somehow “deserved.” Part of that time, there was a veneer of confidence as I stubbornly tried to make my own way by earning degrees, starting a business, focusing on a career, building a social profile, etc. In the end, it was in vain. A lesson taken straight from the wisdom of King Solomon: I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind. (Ecclesiastes 1:14).