a knock on the door of life…

For the most part I’ve never really liked my birthday. For the longest time I used my birthday to wish that I would get a horse. That was the only thing on my mind for years. The want of a horse. My family was the type of family to celebrate birthdays with a birthday cake my mom would make, presents, grandparents, aunts and uncles and pictures. I was shy. I didn’t  want that. I didn’t want presents either. I remember one year one person finally realized that. It was my uncle. For my birthday, he tacked up my favorite horse and got on his and we let the horses gallop around the field. It was evening. The sun was out. The trees had falling leaves of various colors. The air was chilly. And. I. Remember. So. Well. That meant more than all the choruses of “Happy Birthday”, more than any other gift, more even than the gift of my horse a few years later. It wasn’t something he bought. And that meant the world to me.

He understood me.

On my 18th birthday all I could do was cry. I felt so old.

On my 24rd birthday my favorite pet, Pooh, was put to sleep. And I still miss him.

Last year around the time of my birthday one of my students committed suicide. That only reinforced the brevity of life.

Now here I am again.

“What would you tell the you you were when you were 12 years old if you could travel back in time?”

I used to read Plath and admire her. She seemed so strong. She didn’t want marriage or children. She didn’t want the typical. She didn’t need a house with a nice fence around it or the perfect job. I wanted to be like her. Strong. Not the typical. Now it seems like everything I never used to want, I want. I want the house. I want the kids. I want the happy marriage. I want the happily ever after. I want to drown in it. I’m tired of the life I lead now. I feel like I have bits of good but they are only a taste. I want the whole thing. I want what my mom had. Loving husband who randomly brought flowers home. Kids to teach things to. A strong faith. A close-knit family. Sometimes when I leave for work I wonder what it would be like to stay home and take care of a child for a few months. I wonder what it would be like to be working in my own house. I want to take on the domestic goddess role. I want that type of life. I want to make cookies. I want to clean. I want to do laundry. I want what I have now only more.

And yet I feel like I’ve never really had the single crazy life I could have led. My whole life has been about doing what’s right. Working to put myself through school. Spending my teenage years brushing horses, riding, doing what I was supposed to do–I don’t have any fun and exciting stories of my wild years. And suddenly I wake up here. Seems like I’ve bypassed much of the middle years and jumped right into adulthood.

And I don’t mind. Really.

I just want to start living. I want tomorrow. I’m tired of today. I want change. I want to feel like I’m accomplishing something instead of waiting for life to knock on my door.

That’s why I was crying tonight. That’s why I don’t embrace my birthday tomorrow. It’s just another day to let me know I’m not totally where I want to be.