The turning of a year
On birthdays, and self-indulgence, and what matters
It’s strange, looking back, to think about what you think a birthday might feel like.
It’s just a day, one among many; you don’t choose it, and it doesn’t owe you anything. But sometimes it carries weight, especially when the number ends in a zero.
Lately, I’ve been walking beside the versions of myself: from last year, five years ago, fifteen years ago. The ones who sat down with people and dreamed aloud about how the day might go. What we might do. How we’d mark the moment.
That’s not how it happened.
But I wouldn’t change it. Not for a second. The day, and the days around it, gave me more than I’d known to ask for. And still, it kept bringing more.
My best friend and I move through the world in a way that doesn’t need explaining. You show up. That’s it. That’s the structure and the soil. You show up because it matters. Because people matter. You show up, so someone knows they’re alive.
Sometimes you bring answers. Sometimes you bring better questions. Sometimes you just bring a cold drink and a playlist that hits your ears just right.
If that kind of care could take the shape of time, it would look like the past week or so.
The ones who were there. The ones who couldn’t be there. The ones and everything in between.
I’ve never been more proud to make the moment be about me, and refuse to accept or entertain anything else. Not forever, just for a weekend.
And that, too, is part of it.
What I’m carrying into this new decade is simple. Joy can be full of contradiction. Presence doesn’t erase absence. You can feel the shape of what’s missing and still be entirely inside what’s good.
The joy is not diminished. It becomes more textured. It lasts longer. It tastes different.
I’ve also landed on the one clear truth I want to build this next decade around. I’ll keep showing up. I’ll keep making space for others to show up. But from now on, care has to come with you.
Not kid gloves. I’ve had the sharpest, funniest kind of teasing from the people who love me best, and it made me feel seen. That kind of laughter is its own form of respect.
Not solemnity either. There has been so much ridiculousness. I’ve laughed until I hurt.
Not even proximity. You can be far away and still show up, in the ways you can. In the ways that still mean everything.
But I won’t carry the weight of one-sided care anymore. If you can’t be present, and can’t bring attention or thoughtfulness with you, then that’s okay. Truly. I’m not casting judgement. I’m just not making room for that kind of energy in my life any more. Call it a new decade’s resolution.
I love that this clarity has come from what was good. Not from heartache or repair work. But from generosity. From ease. From fertile ground.
If I take nothing else into this next decade, let it be that.
FIELD NOTES: Things I want to do in the next decade
(no particular order, no hierarchy)
Learn to keep bees
Get an Eircode
Find a place that feels like the place
Learn to speak Irish (it’s time)
Get that work published. Or give it everything I’ve got
See more live music, wherever and whenever I can
Learn to drive (see the point about learning Irish)
Write more, think more, care more
Learn the difference between letting go and an open hand
Fall in life, again and again
Step away from games I don’t care about
Tell a short story in a straight line. Even just once
Practice gratitude like it’s something I do, not something I have