when ‘happy birthday’ doesn’t feel right
adding years but losing meaning (a call to reclaiming your life)
Do you flinch when somebody mentions your birthday’s coming up?
I get it. There’s a strange feeling of resistance to being grateful, despite knowing that growing older is a privilege not everyone gets. And yet, sometimes, the thought of another birthday brings more weight than joy. They call it the birthday blues.
And you start to wonder: When did life start to feel heavy, like staring across a dark, silent lake shrouded in mist?
Why does each passing year feel like slipping another stone into your pockets, slowly dragging you down?
Maybe his growing up also means seeing more disapproving looks from his father—the burden to prove his worth.
Maybe her aging makes her feel invisible, undeserving of a second glance, though she once lit up every room she was in—the burden to stay youthful.
Maybe the boardroom no longer waits for him to speak—the burden to stay relevant.
Maybe it’s you realizing all your unfulfilled dreams while feeling like you’re running out of time. There’s the burden to find a purpose.
Or maybe you’re not feeling anything at all. No want, no regret…just numbness. And you ask yourself: Is this all there is?
Whatever it is you’re feeling, it’s valid. Sit with it. Be kind to yourself.
But don’t cling to it. As the Stoics teach, equanimity is the goal—to remain steady in the ups and downs of life. To feel your emotions fully, but not let them permanently define you.
The Finitude of Life
Let’s get one thing clear: life is finite. And you’re not wrong to feel uneasy about growing older, knowing you’re inching closer to the end.
That sadness, in itself, is proof that you value life. You mourn the passing years because something in you still loves what’s here.
We can start with this truth and use it to our advantage.
Accepting life’s limits helps us live more deliberately. It means learning to balance will and surrender—to focus on what matters, knowing we can’t do everything. It means accepting that no matter how much effort we pour into something, we may still fall short…and that’s okay.
Letting go of the illusion of permanence is a real act of maturity. Embracing change means learning how to grieve well—to say goodbye, without resistance, to what no longer fits.
“Living our lives to whatever extent we can, in clear-eyed acknowledgment of our limitations.
It’s not merely a matter of spending each day “as if” it were your last, as the cliché has it. The point is that it always actually might be”
—Oliver Burkeman, Four Thousand Weeks
You don’t have to figure it out all at once
Wisdom grows quietly, year by year.
Trust that your inner compass will guide you—if you stop, every now and then, and check where it’s pointing. If you find yourself off course, that’s okay. Recalibrate. Start again. As long as you’re breathing, it’s never too late to change direction.
Be comfortable with transitions. With starting over. With grieving old versions of yourself and exploring who you’re becoming.
Author George Leonard called this “the spirit of the fool”—the willingness to begin again, over and over, without shame.
Own the privileges you were born with, and the burdens, too. Be patient with the rough draft that is you—and believe you have space to evolve.
It’s time to leave behind the scarcity mindset. The world isn’t running out of meaning, or chances. Someone else’s success doesn’t diminish yours. If you stay curious, consistent and open, the right opportunities will inevitably find you.
Own every version of yourself.
You don’t have to be who you were yesterday. It’s okay to change your mind.
If a new spark appears, follow it. You might even discover a life you never imagined.
Reflecting on your possibilities
For some reason—maybe one only a higher power knows—you’re still here. Still breathing. And that is permission to just be.
Sit down. Write out your worries.
The lives you could’ve lived. The lives you still could.
Take inventory not to dwell on your failures, but to remember your possibilities.
Remember the dreams you buried under someday, the passions you packed away behind maybes, and not yet.
Dust them off and act on them today. You don’t need another January, or another birthday, to begin again.
Still here, still becoming
Step outside in the break of dawn and watch the slow and gentle rising of the sun as it stretches across the horizon. That’s how life is supposed to be lived: awakening slowly and gracefully.
Run up the hill. Feel your lungs burn. Feel the frantic pounding of your heart. Feel the world and remember: you’re still a part of it.
Life is not supposed to be easy, nor is it meant to be hard. It just is.
We’re not required to be happy all the time, nor doomed to be miserable. Life unfolds on its own terms and it will surprise you, no matter how hard you try to be always ready for anything.
So go gently. Take things one moment, one day at a time.
We are meant to thrive in this wild, unpredictable landscape—not as fragile orchids needing the perfect conditions, but as dandelions: resilient, enduring, quietly beautiful and purposeful. Able to grow anywhere.
“It’s beautiful to know this wild creature is somewhere inside, invisible, leading her own life, but safe.”
To hold our gaze steady on the horizon, with a defiant glint in our eyes. Fully aware of what we have now. Hopeful for what’s still coming.
Life is a slow unfolding. Don’t rush it. But don’t wait for the perfect moment, either. Live every “present”. Make it yours. Unapologetically.
And when the map disappears, as it often will, navigate by wonder, not by fear. By curiosity, not control. By hope, not panic.
And remember, something bittersweet is happening to you:
You’re not just growing older,
you’re still growing up, too.
Please, tell me your story
The celebrations and defeats,
All the dark times you felt alone,
And you were knocked down to your knees.
Tell me when you woke up smiling,
And the crying in your bed,
All the tears you had in childhood,
All the fears left in your head.
The grazed knees and their insults,
That lonely birthday in the rain—
I’d like to know of all your triumphs,
And what remained as gnawing pain.
Tell me when you were lifted higher,
And then the sudden fall.
Because,
if you have neither…
Did you even live at all?
—@heycatnip
I really love this, it’s something that so resonates. The prospect of getting older and fearing birthdays is all too real, but it’s all perspective and I love that this really emphasises that lengthened perspective on life and everything have a rhythm and flow that we adapt to.❤️