I walked around my home in the dead of the night, long past the time the kids and spouse went to bed, with only the twinkling warm lights of the holiday decor for company. I lingered by the nativity, pausing just a bit before the tiny lighted ceramic tree by the doorway, lingering just enough before the tall Christmas tree to snap a selfie before I walked to bed.
It was my birthday.
I look forward to it each year with the excitement of a child. When I was younger and naive, I looked to others to create magic for me. Now, I do it myself. I curate the day to look and feel the way I want it to. I order my gifts, my indulgences from weeks before. I gift myself experiences (Stray Kids concert tickets), gizmos (a monocular to bird watch and hopefully see a clearer image of the moon), clothes (Taylor Swift Eras tour hoodies) and, something a little out of reach (over the head beats noise canceling headphones).
I tell my kids what I like. I tell my husband what cake I want. I make sure the candle is ready and the knife is out. I ensure that when the day breaks, I know it will unfold the way I want it to.
It did with sweet surprises thrown in. A stuffed toy and jewelry from my older kids, lifesavers and gummy bears from my youngest, a variety of cakes from Saathi and, a huge crate of Korean snacks from a friend.
All day, I found myself responding to wishes that came in through all the social media platforms I am on.
I capped the day binge watching an older kdrama, turning the laptop off well past when the date on my phone changed to the next day.
A year older, definitely wiser. In the year that went past, I have actively crusaded for the things I want. I have prioritized myself over everything else. I have discovered the joys of belonging to multiple fandoms and in the process understood that joy takes work. It takes leaning into the things you love and want without shame. It requires a mental reset, giving up useless feelings like guilt and regret. It compels you to acknowledge that time is the only constant and each day you are alive is an inexorable march to the day you shed your mortal coil. It behooves you to live each day to bring joy in whatever form it may be.
This year for me, joy took the form of music and my oppas and geges. Some days, it was the joy of seeing words take shape on a blank page. On other days, it was sitting in my study long past my bedtime deconstructing plots of dramas. Every day, it was walking forty five minutes listening to Taylor Swift or BTS or Seventeen or Ateez or Stray Kids or Alexander Stewart. It sometimes was trading reels with my virtual besties. Other days it was DMing my teens on TikTok.
Each year since I turned forty, I have increasingly isolated myself, only responding to calls that come in, rarely making any. If my twenties and thirties were all about being the one who reached out, called, texted, emailed or visited, this past decade has been about staying still, culling and refining.
I am excited to see what the next decade will bring. I am not afraid of the fifties, instead I am excited, I am curious and I am raring to go. I have a feeling it will be the best one yet.
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