Birthday Anxiety

Monday, October 19, exactly a week from today, looms like a credit card payment. I just don't feel for my birthday the way I used to.

When I turned 6, I felt like Princess Cinderalla in my brand new party dress, blindfolded and waving a long stick at a paper mache' Dalmation, my entire first grade class behind me. A few Barbie dolls following a harmonized round of the Happy Birthday song over an inflamed ice cream cake and I was the happiest little girl you've ever seen. Those first ten years of life were so simple and every Oct. 19 was magical. Unfortunately, like most things related to childhood, birthdays after the age of 10 just lost their sparkle.

Birthdays are put on a pedestal in our culture. You must remember every single person's special day, wish them well by phone or interwebs and if they're a close friend or relative, present them with a gift to commemorate the occasion of growing older. If you don't, at a minimum: feelings will be hurt. People are sometimes resentful and hold a grudge for mere absentmindedness. You are a terrible human being if you forget a birthday. This makes the whole ritual of a birthday mandatory, repetitive to a point where some participants just seem to be programmed autopilot. It all just feels so forced sometimes. It sometimes feels impersonal, too. People on Facebook, dangling somewhere between stranger and friend, send their congratulatory greetings for your existence even if they rarely talk to you at any other point in the year.

I know I sound like an ungrateful ingrate. I promise, I'm not ungrateful. I'm so happy that I have people who love me enough to remember the anniversary that mom popped me out. And really, I don't mind helping other people celebrate THEIR special days. All of this is more about disliking being the center of attention and maybe I'm finally over hearing the same tired birthday song.

Every year, as the day fast approaches, I start to feel anxious and this year, it's especially bad. I feel like a timer has been set and I have to hurry up and accomplish something profound in my life. "It's Oct. 19 again, Caitlin. Get livin' or get dyin'."
These feelings are probably the of my graduation in May combined with recent life changes-- I've been asked a lot of questions about myself lately. Almost all of them relate to what I'm doing with my life.

I started two new jobs recently: general crew member at Trader Joe's on Walton in Rochester Hills and barista at Biggby Coffee and 21 & Hayes in Shelby Township. Both jobs are a lot of fun and I work with a lot of really nice people who already seem to care a lot about me. I'm a little sad, though, because I already know what kind of lifelong work I'd like to commit myself to and even have the credentials to do so-- I just haven't found a place to go. It's not necessarily the same kind of labor of love I've always dreamt of, but I do need some money if I'd like to move out West with Phil.

What kills me is when I have to talk with people about this temporary lapse. Strangers in line while I'm working cash register will ask me "Where do you go to school?" Other times, I'll run into people I haven't seen in a long time, many who seem to be doing well for themselves. I automatically feel that I have to explain myself and this is wearing on me a bit. Between jobs, I'm just trying to write when I can.