My birthday is coming.
Strange as it may sound, I'm turning 30.
On August 1st I will be as old as Jesus -- 3 1/2 years before he died.
It feels weird. Just another day, but not really, because I have WAY outlived my life expectancy. Never did I really think that I would some day be 30. It feels like a big deal, and it doesn't. It feels like I should do something to "honor" this day, this self, in some way... but I just want to sleep in and hide.
Luckily I have some friends on the other side. Folks who I see coming into their self-ness and walking with the strut of confident becoming. It looks lovely. I hear good news about the 30's. My mom insists that the 40's are even better than that. With every decade shedding the gawky adolescence of the previous becoming. Thank God for process oriented living.
August 1st is a popular day for birthdays. Myself, Lisa's boyfriend, Addi the Balloon Guy, Herman Melville, Jerry Garcia, Francis Scott Key, uh... Dom DeLuise... fucking Tom Leykis of all people.
My boyfriend's mother also shares the August 1st birthday. Weird, eh? Same day, 40 years later, her potential daughter-in-law (if she has her way!) was born. She's turning 70, I'm turning 30. Nemecia. Her dream house is finally finished -- atop a hill out in Fallbrook, on a 5 acre ranch filled with avocado trees and honey bees. She's having a housewarming party on the 30th, which she intends to serve as a joint birthday party for the two of us as well. She wants me to invite my friends.
Now, I'm not feeling too enthusiastic about trying to get my friends to come down to Fallbrook. Maybe it's low self esteem and not wanting to be too much trouble. Maybe I'm just not the birthday type. Hell, I love presents as much as anybody and possibly more, however, receiving them makes me feel weird and embarrassed. Conflict. There's a permanent kid at Christmas inside of me, always excited on each new day for the potential bounty that it could bring... always seeking buried treasure.... always looking at the ass-end of rainbows for something shiny. I have rubbed genie-lamp lookin' teapots. I have tried to make contact with the spirit and alien worlds. I did a lot of drugs. I think it's all the same impulse for me. There search for something else. Something amazing, I guess. I'm happy as heck that I'm still alive, but the self promotion that goes into birthday parties makes me feel like an asshole.
So here's the birthday pitch: The good news is, in Fallbrook it's beautiful and there's gonna be really good food. Mexican style. Bad news is that gas is expensive and it's far. Like Temecula far.
If you feel like a mini-vacation, let me know and I'll give you directions. We can even make carpools happen. Caravans.
You're all invited, and you're all excused.
How's that for low pressure?