Something to count on

There is, perhaps, nothing so steady, predictable, and at times frightening in life as the continuity of the calendar.  No matter what is happening in your life or the world tomorrow will bring a new day.  And every year, it will bring with it another birthday.  

Around this time every year, without fail, I celebrate a birthday.   A worthy cause for celebration, birthdays are an important ritual.  It is a yearly acknowledgment to yourself and the people in your life that this day is a good one, a day when the unique person that is you entered the world.  

Growing up, birthdays were joyous occasions filled with balloons and bright colors, chaotic present openings and copious amounts of cake and ice cream.  Somewhere just past the first flush of adulthood, birthdays begin to be less of something to celebrate and more of something to endure.  Older still, they become something that many start to dread.

Every year that passes I begin to understand this sentiment a little more.  As a child, birthdays are a sign that you are growing up, gaining experience and independence.  But once you pass that imaginary hump, birthdays instead slip over into the fine distinction of marking the basic fact that your earthly body is ageing.

Certainly, this is still something to celebrate.  Without doubt, I would prefer to grow older than the alternative, and I’m sure most would agree with me.

As I grow older, I also understand that ageing is simply a matter of perspective.  I am fully aware that I am in the prime of my life and am nothing but thrilled to be the age that I am.  I an also clearly remember what it was like to view a 30-plus-year-old as someone who was simply old.

The summer I was 20 I shared an office space with a 30-year-old.  He frequently made references to the need for “us young people to stick together.”  This always garnered a behind-the-back eye roll and snicker amongst those in our office who actually were “young.” At 30, this poor guy was anything but young.

Now that I have come up to and rocketed past his age, I have far more sympathy for what he was feeling.  Now when I come across college-aged kids, I am embarrassed to admit that I fully believe that we are still contemporaries, when, clearly, they wouldn’t agree with me.  When I see a younger person now their youth simply mirrors what I still see when I imagine myself.

Every year that I age, I have more appreciation for people older than myself.  As they say, growing older is not for the faint of heart.  It is difficult to accept that you are no longer young, that you may be too old to be in a certain place or wear certain clothes.  That your body may not always perform like you think it should.  I’m beginning to understand why older people shy away from a camera or a mirror.  What you see in the mirror rarely corresponds with how you see yourself.   It’s easier now to see that life is not a circle, but instead an uphill battle with gravity.

Somehow, though it happens to everyone, when you are young you never actually think that getting older will happen to you.  Youth seems to stretch before you.  Now, as I’m on the cusp of, well, something older than “young,” I understand that in fact it’s the opposite.  You are old far longer than you are young.

With each passing birthday I find that I’m happy with this phenomenon.  Youth carries with it so many uncertainties that fall away with the simple march of time, replaced by confidence and a contentment with ageing that is hard to imagine when you are young.  As for the relentless dependability of the calendar, I suppose it is just another lesson to learn as you grow up and grow older.  Rituals and predictability are, after all, comforting.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington.  September 19, 2012

New beginnings

Every year as the calendar flips over into September, I feel a little thrill of anticipation. As an adult, I attribute this to the approaching autumn, my favorite season. But deep down I know that this feeling is a relic of my childhood, a remembrance of what September always brought: the first day of school.

Like many children, I adored the first day of school. I remember looking forward to the coming school year with such eagerness. An entire year stretched out before me with a trove of exciting days, undiscovered promises and perhaps, even some learning. My brother was a year ahead of me in school, so every year I had a peep into what was awaiting me. This made the start of the school year that much more exciting for me as I finally got to discover the secrets that he already knew.

This week, my daughter will have her first day of preschool. I realize that preschool is just a few hours a couple of days a week and will probably not compare to how I feel when she starts kindergarten. But to me, it feels like a significant milestone nonetheless.

As the calendar rolled over into September this year I felt an extra thrill of anticipation. School is starting, and I get to experience it all anew through the fresh eyes of a parent.

In the weeks leading up to this day I had a few surprises as a parent of an upcoming student. I received her school supply list, which was not, as my child mind remembered, a suggested list of supplies your child might need, like a pencil box or backpack, but instead a long list of the things each family needed to supply to the school. I had to fill out an extensive background check to be able to volunteer in her class. I was informed of the various fundraisers we will perform throughout the year, joining the ranks of other parents who are constantly pawning boxes of donuts or wrapping paper onto their friends and neighbors. And while I was somewhat surprised at the level of involvement required for preschool, I was excited at the same time. This is a new era, for our world and for our family. Certainly when I was in school, background checks were not required of parents. But I would far rather fill out some extra paperwork and ensure the safety of our children in this modern era than the alternative. Like children, we parents must adapt as well.

As I kissed my daughter goodbye, I was attentive of what I was sending her into. A world where every day her mind will expand, bending to absorb all the educational and social experiences school will give her. I am also aware that I send her out into a world that is no longer within my control. This is not the first time she has not been beneath my supervision, but as a stay-at-home-mom I am accustomed to having a level of management over her experiences. I am aware that this first day of school is not just a milestone for her, but one for me as well. If parenting is a gradual give and take between preparing your children for the world and then letting them go, then this is a start for me as well.

Since my daughter is only three, and this is only preschool, the importance of this day in her life is probably far over her head. For her, it’s an exciting day to meet new friends, sit in a circle on a colorful carpet, sing songs and play games. But for me, it’s also a new beginning, and maybe, a little bit of an end too.