so you say it's your birthday

If you really knew me, you’d know that birthdays have historically been kind of sensitive for me. It’s my own fault in many ways–at this point in time, I don’t yet clearly see the way of “choosing out” of the belief system that they are a measuring stick of how much people love me. The measuring stick works like this: First of all, will the people I love remember? Second of all, will they come if I have a birthday get-together, or will something else be more important? And if something else is more important to them, what does that say about our relationship?

Awhile back, I had a few birthdays in a row where friends who had conflict with me used my birthday as a way to express that they were upset, in the form of not being available to get together. Years later and in hindsight, I recognize the dynamics that were at work and see how all parties played a part, and I accept responsibility for my part in creating and perpetuating conflict, and in not cleaning it up.

And, nonetheless, each year since that conflict happened, I notice that I feel a little sad about my birthday. I’ve done any amount of work with my coach around cleaning that up, letting go, etc., and yet it still lingers. So, okay, I’m going to give it more time, trusting that there’s still some gold in there (while simultaneously fully admitting the hurt feelings that can come up around that–it’s such a balance for me when I write here, conveying both how I am truly committed to a vision of owning my life fully and not being a victim, while also acknowledging the parts that are sticky, stuck, difficult or painful).

I do notice, however, that this year things are feeling just a bit different–and I owe that in large part to Andy, who has been World’s Sexiest Boyfriend this past week. It’s basically been “birthweek” around here, not “birthday.” The bed is made. The toilet paper rolls are replaced (and more toilet paper is purchased before I have a chance to put it on my to-do list). What would I like for dinner? Oh no, honey, I’ll load the dishes in the dishwasher. This morning he bought me my morning latte. This is all in addition to his usual, everyday availability for snuggling and random displays of affection (he’s really good at those).

Trust me, I’ve been having fun with this, appreciating it, acknowledging him for it and being full o’ gratitude.

But the thing that takes the cake is this–he planned a special weekend getaway for us. And I have no idea where it is or what we’re doing. All I know is that I’m supposed to pack a bag. And I think I’ve sneakily managed to get him to admit that it does not involve planes, but is a short car ride away. But I’m not sure. 

I’m totally thrilled on one hand, and on the other, I can’t help but have this little niggling worry: Uh, wait. What if I don’t like it? Like what if he’s planning to take us to a romantic…couples workshop? Which I would totally be up for, just not on my birthday, you know? The only clue he’s given me is that it’s warm (that’s a good thing). And I’ve made him promise and swear that it’s not expensive.

See, this is where I expose myself fully–the CONTROL synapses are going, “Danger! Danger Will Robinson!” 

You are officially witnessing this life coach’s “edge” with the comfort zone.

If it’s something I wouldn’t be into, how will I control my face from twitching and revealing that after his hard work and planning and the sweetness of the surprise, it’s not something I’m into? How to avoid NOT feeling like “the selfish a-hole” because what I “Should” be caring about is the thought, more than anything else.

CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL, DANGER, WILL ROBINSON–the control freak synapses don’t want me to focus on the gratitude. They want to know what’s going to happen next, at all times. They want to be on the lookout on my birthday to forestall any possibility of a disappointment, so that they can CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL a resurgence or retriggering of the pain of past birthdays. 

Isn’t it amazing what we humans will resort to, to avoid pain? 

He has almost given in to my pestering several times to tell him what he’s up to. And at the end of it all, he pulls back and doesn’t tell. It’s better that way; I know this deep down.

So by the time this entry posts, I’ll be who knows where, and triggered by who knows what (if anything, at all).

AND I’ll also be with my best friend, the person I adore the most, who makes me laugh on a daily basis, who triggers the crap out of me (and I return the favor), who doesn’t give up on me (and I return that favor, too).

He’s the guy who both replaces the toilet paper roll and takes me out for a surprise birthday weekend. When I am able to push aside the CONTROL switch, I could cry with the awareness that I would not want anything more.