It was my birthday yesterday. It was a big one. And here's why I did nothing.
By Rachel James (Treasurer/Writer)
I have to tip my hat to fellow Crazytown citizen, Melissa. She had a great post on birthdays that just so happened to publish on my birthday. She had a lot of great tips, and I especially love the idea of doing whatever you want. But here's the thing: I hate birthdays.
Well, not all birthdays - just mine. Maybe it started in high school when all my friends hung out on my birthday without me. Or when I got into a fight with my best friend on my 25th birthday that ended our friendship. Whatever it is, bad things seem to happen on the day of my birth. And I usually end the night feeling like Martha Plimpton's character, Monica, at the beginning of 200 Cigarettes.
I will try to not work on my birthday, but then I just feel this overwhelming pressure to be happy. As if because it is this one day, suddenly glee should be omnipresent. Because it is a day that's "all about me" I should be doing things I like. But I'm far too much of a people pleaser to actually relax into the joy. And I seem to spend the whole day trying to make the happy happen. In the end, I'm exhausted and I just want to be done with it.