Birthday to me

Today is my birthday. What you do on your birthday is you stand back and think you can get some snapshot of your life: there's my at 6, there's me at 19, here's me at 29. Maybe that's why I tend to ruin my birthdays. Maybe that's why I haven't slept.

Money can play a big role in setting the scene of the life we want to see. When we're looking to define ourselves, we can feel a little better when that person is wearing a new dress. But it's my birthday, we say. It's still you who has to pay the credit card bill.

I was thinking about spending money on this birthday. I made a rule years back that every birthday, I would buy myself a new dress, as if I could purchase some symbol of respect and love for myself. And here it is, another year where I can't really afford one. All I have to say is: But it's my birthday. The king of all excuses. Used only once every 365 days, though you have 364 more you'll think up, until next year comes around and you can't afford a new dress then, either. 

It's my birthday. I deserve it. 

What if for my birthday, I deserve the self-respect to live a life of peace instead of financial desperation? What if I give myself the power to say, I deserve to feel loved and ok, even in a shirt I've worn fifty times and jeans with holes from wear? What if for my birthday, I grow up and leave my ego back in kindergarten? 

I'll work on that one.