It’s closing in on the end of my 27th year. I feel like I’m unprepared for this transition. I’ve been wicked busy, in a good way, I think… but unprepared nonetheless.
Each year, I feel like I need to write about where I’ve been, what I’ve done, what I’ve not done, and what I need yet to do.
27 was a hard year. A really hard year. I had a lot of people in my life leave – either through death or through their own fuck ups (or mine).
I started working out, fairly hard. I got stronger than I’ve ever been. It was nice, until I got injured. I fucked up my shoulder five times in five months. It’s been horrible.
All I want to do is play.
I’m about to be 28. I can’t just “play” anymore.
Legit. I need to grow up.
Side note—I made it. I made it to my 28th birthday. That is…assuming I live another 1.75 hours, which should be the case. I’m home safe.
I need to make a list of things for my 28th year. I want it to be different than other years. I feel like so many of my years have been so similar. Same shit, same story, same hurt… I need to make a change.
I feel very unprepared. I feel unprepared for my birthday—which really, why does my birthday matter? I feel like my anniversary of being in America is a bigger deal than my birth. I mean, how long have I had to fuck it up here? Jeez…that’s quick pessimistic.
28 years ago, my mom gave birth to me. The other day, I had a pretty intense conversation with an Indian lady who is the mom to a player on my hockey team. She was telling me that if I went back to India, to find my mom, I could essentially ruin her life (my moms life, that is), because maybe she didn’t tell her family about having a kid out of marriage.
Which I guess maybe this is the first year that I’ve thought about it… but I doubt that my birth mom has forgotten about the day she gave birth to me. Maybe she is good with dates like I am. You know, the important ones. I’ve never thought about it, but maybe every February 15th, maybe she thinks about me. Maybe she wonders where I am, what I’m doing, if I’m alive, okay, etc…
Every year, for the past several years, I’ve tried to think more about my friends and my family and my community when it comes to my birthday. I’ve tried to keep my own self out of it…at least publicly. I’ve been so concerned with trying to please others and make this whole thing not about me… that I’ve forgotten about where I come from.
Maybe it’s contradictory, but I feel like I need to check my own shit and give some thanks to my biological mom. She’s probably having a harder time than me on this day.
I need to take responsibility for my own self. I’m about to be 28. I have a lot of work to do. I need to decide what I’m willing to let go of, what I’m willing to embrace, and where I want to go from here. Maybe this time, I will take it seriously.
1 comment:
Happy birthday, my dear friend. See you Sunday.
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