This never happens in real life My birthday is next week.
For some good reasons, best explained between copious bottles of red wine, my birthday is an intense source of discomfort to me.
I have two dates that are used to track my progress through this life; New Years Eve and the 17th of April. The fact that these dates are close together come as a double whammy of sorts, but I seem to survive regardless. It's in my nature to always try to improve in some way; to take on a new skill or hobby, as if not doing so would be admitting to being some kind of finished work. I guess I'm not yet willing to say that "This is all there is to me", even if perhaps some days it feels decidedly so.
With all this in mind I wonder if my search for non-completion is extreme folly; back-filling the missing experiences in my past, to provide a semi solid structure in which to move forward, a colossal waste of time.
I hear people talk around me; their self doubt is a deafening roar some days. I hope people grow to know their worth, to believe in their ability to change and evolve with time. We were a blank slate when we were born, molded by parents and society. In our teens we rebelled as well as we could (or were allowed). No one ever said we couldn't continue to move forward with our internal revolution ; throwing off the shackles of our prejudices and limiting thoughts well into our later years, and by doing so, to become the best we can be.
Just don't use birthdays and the promise of a new year to measure your progress; but if you do, don't forget the red wine; perhaps using more than is socially acceptable.
