Difficult to Sate

I am usually cranky on my birthday.  Ever happen to you?  My existence is distinct.  It’s a rather important ritual at the individual level.  But beyond a core group of people it's like a phone number: it's rather tiresome to remember.  Beyond your intimate circle there are simply too many people out there.  Way too many.  All the individual wants is recognition.  But it's rarely that simple and difficult to sate.

This year I pulled off something wonderful.  We went out of town for the weekend and climbed a mountain of my choice and then drove home.  Enormous, resounding box tick on “my” day, three days early.  After that the core family has done the needful and there isn’t anything left pending realization.  We all climbed Heng Shan together.  Done.

This day neither my older nor my younger nor my wife mentioned my birthday before the train left for the school.  I'd be lying I said I didn't notice.  But I could say, I didn't much care.  This year it wasn't so important.  I was fine with whatever the day would yield.  I must remember the benefits of willful preparation.   

First thing in the morning I had a call that I’d prepped for unnecessarily. The gristle I’d been warned of passed easily and all was lubricated like olive oil on a pan.  Then I set out on my bike during a cloudy version of my day.  I wanted to buy a new head set.  While I was out why not have some lunch?  I chose the expensive and not especially memorable nor French, French Bistro. Filling in a way that felt unfortunate, I needed to head back to the place I bought my headphones.  I couldn't figure out how to turn them on.  I wanted to listen to music on my birthday bike ride home.  By now, the New York Times should have my day listed up on the masthead.   A bit less of  thrill than seeing it in print, but a thrill, nonetheless. 


Wednesday, April 19, 2017