28 minutes to 38 years

Each year I reflect in the hours before my birthday begins at midnight. It is a meditation on the year past and the age I was and all the years that have led me to this point. It is something of a ritual and the only parameter is to write.

As an artist it is difficult to maintain the balance. You must congratulate yourself and find your own joy in creations and accomplishments because few others will. At the same time, one must find objectivity and critique one’s own work because even fewer will. You have to let things flow away, but know when to grasp them and hold them and fight for them.

It is 11: 38pm now. Twenty-two minutes to my birthday.

No matter how old you get, I think, birthdays are never commonplace. We each have so few of them. Every birthday is a special magic, a day to see the world anew, to take time to enjoy small things, to celebrate yourself. But as I reflect now, it seems the other 364 days of the year have become more humdrum. After almost 38 years, what new things did I do during this one? Another show, another gig, another garden, another exhibit, another trip; each has its unique moments and flavors and wonder, but they blend and merge and average themselves somehow in the memory mind. But at the time, they are never the same as every other: They are each amazing in their own way. It is just the panic of potential failure has eased with age, the gloss of success has weathered to satin, and the intensity of new things has settled into the contentment of experience.

And somehow, I’m okay with that.

11 minutes.

I broke a tooth this year. Goodness knows it wasn’t the first, and I certainly haven’t a dentist that could patch it back up. It was a canine and it happened right before a gig in a new place with a new company. I still cried. I cry over every tooth that fails me. It is like saying goodbye, a tiny death. This tooth broke into three pieces: The one in my mouth, one big piece, and an assortment of shrapnel. With some patience, I fitted the big piece back in and used temporary filling for the gap and to secure it in place. I take it out, brush well, and fit it back in about once a week. It is just part of the routine now. I wish my younger self had brushed better and more often, but I am who I am and I would not change who I am, even if it meant I had better teeth.

7 minutes.

So what did I do with this year of my life? I painted things and made things and worked with people. I played on the ground with children I love and I taught children on the other side of the globe that I’ll likely never meet in any realm but the digital. I tried to inspire people. I tried to be kind. I tried to learn guitar.

4 minutes.

I loved. I had amazing sex. I cried. I laughed.

3 minutes.

I made a few of my own dreams come true. I made new dreams, new goals, and new aspirations.

2 minutes.

A boy I knew for all his life and most of mine died this year. Seriously, just basically dropped dead at 28 with no previous condition known. Every day is special, but birthdays are especially so.

I did not take my moments for granted. I spent time with people consciously and I spent time with myself. I existed as best I know how.

Happy Birthday, me.