There is probably a single word in German for the instance in which a complete stranger recognises it’s your birthday before you do. Case in point: last week, when I rang the bank and gave the customer service agent my date of birth.
“Oh wow, that’s today!” she enthused, as I rubbed sleep out of my eyes, slightly alarmed at this effusiveness. “Are you doing anything special?”
Not a lot, as it happened. When you’ve done more than 40 full rotations around the sun, birthdays start to get a bit lacklustre. This year, it meant some nice food and wine in front of It’s a Sin and, in the latter-day equivalent of getting no homework on your birthday, Brian offered to get up with our daughter the morning after so I could nurse a mild hangover in relative peace. Aside from that, my birthday was a day much like any other.
Pandemic birthdays have been low-key affairs: a situation in which some are relieved to sidestep the big shindigs, while others lament the opportunity to go full Kardashian. Some people have been ingenious with their celebrations, creating huge virtual Zoom rooms of revellers. In the absence of real-life family and friends, one British couple even filled their room with cardboard cutouts for a birthday “party”.
Yet even in non-lockdown circumstances, I’m not sure I’ve ever really been one for big celebrations. There would be the occasional festive dinner, but they’ve been muted compared to most celebrations. In fact, I’ve downplayed most of my life’s milestones and achievements. I have four university degrees; never been to a single one of my graduations. In a previous life, I worked in film, and was invited to premiere after premiere of the films I worked on; I have yet to experience the thrill of seeing my name roll up on a big screen.
My 21st was spent working in a London pub, before I took myself out to a gig, alone. Where most of my peers were renting out local GAA halls and shaking down distant relatives for cash, I was cleaning up cigarette butts from the floor of a Mayfair boozer, somehow smug in my ascetic celebration.
Pandemic wedding
More recently, I’ve been planning a pandemic wedding. Mention the proposed date to people, and they actually squeal with giddiness. Except I’m not giving people that most cherished of occasions – A Big Day Out. “It’ll be small,” I warn them, trying to dampen their enthusiasm. “Family only. No bridesmaids. No flower girls. No speeches. No cake.”
Meanwhile, I have pals who think nothing of hauling everyone they know, right down to the lollipop lady from school, to the back of beyond for a black-tie wedding. I know plenty of people who mark their birthdays by renting out restaurants, creating set menus and generally treating the occasion like… well, a one-person wedding, actually.
I suspect my decision not fully celebrate my own professional achievements lies in the misguided belief that if I did, I'd somehow get complacent
The thing is, I’m starting to suspect that their way of doing things – these big, overblown celebrations – might be the better way.
Why have I been so reluctant to celebrate the great things in life? Did I think that people wouldn’t want to share the same enthusiasms as me? Did I worry people wouldn’t make the effort, and so I didn’t even bother to ask?
Won’t be around
After all, getting older and reaching certain ages is both an achievement and a privilege. Sorry to puncture that Saturday feeling, but there will be people who have celebrated muted birthdays this year, vowing to do it all in person next year, who just won’t be around to do so. There will be those who will lose someone in the coming months, and in their grief, will turn to the memories of life’s celebrations – weddings, christenings, birthdays for comfort.
That’s why we should celebrate like we are a member of Kardashian family: with total conviction that we are worth it. Life is often boring, hard, tragic and depressing; we should be taking any opportunity we get to spoil ourselves and our loved ones, to rejoice that we are still here, and to appreciate what we have. Celebrations – especially the big, overblown, extravagant ones – are really an act of self-love. Far from being the preserve of those with terminal notions, they are often favoured by those who know how to simply enjoy the moment and give gratitude.
Misguided belief
I suspect that my decision to forego those graduations and premieres, and not fully celebrate my own professional achievements, lies in the misguided belief that if I did, I’d somehow get complacent. I must have thought that I’d rest on my laurels and stop edging forward in life, pursuing more achievements and realising more dreams. And really, how sad is that? That I felt I had to suppress and cast aside my own small victories in life?
Now, more than ever, we should be throwing everything we’ve got at the milestones and achievements in life. This wedding is still a work in progress, and maybe there is, even in current circumstances, a little room for flair and flamboyance. Who knows, there may even be cake.