Once I turned twenty-one, I pretty much stopped looking forward to my birthday.
Groundbreaking bit of insight, I know. Most people dislike getting older, so I usually chalk my birthday blues up to that phenomenon. But something nagged at me this year—likely because of all this introspection I’ve been doing lately—compelling me to investigate. My birthday is just another date on the calendar, after all. Yet it still blindsides me with a strange creeping sense of dread every single year. Why?
As soon as I hit my mid-twenties, birthdays became an annual reminder that I wasn’t measuring up to everyone else’s yardstick. By the time my mom was 32, she’d already established what I used to consider the main pillars of adulthood: Marriage. A house. Kids. A mailbox with her name on it. A sense that her life had arrived. And then, when I wasn’t looking, my little sister did the same. In 2025. Something I wouldn’t have imagined possible.
Libby Drew somehow[1] snagging all those same “adult points” by 30—the age I used to think I would—knocked my self-confidence. Admittedly, that’s not hard to do. I’m easily shooketh. What it really did was undermine my belief that 2025 was a difficult time to achieve the same milestones our parents did back in the late 90s. Clearly, “modern times” aren’t an impassable obstacle when you’re determined enough and have the means.
So when my 32nd birthday arrived, I found myself knee-deep in disappointment—which is the polite way of saying I felt like a failure. All day, that mean voice in my head kept warning me: You’re not where you should be. Logically, I know things have shifted since Mom’s time—economy, job market, you name it. But there’s no denying my sister’s success: she has everything I once thought I wanted. Does that mean I failed to chase it hard enough?
Well, here’s the scary truth: I’m not sure I want those things in the same way anymore—or at least, not yet.
I’m not anti-marriage or anti-house or anti-baby. I’d just prefer to shape my life for who I am today, rather than follow the outdated checklist my child-self left behind. All of that stuff can wait until it’s a future I genuinely want. I’m allowed to rewrite that list, despite what my wistful inner teenager might say.
Funny thing is, the clouds always clear a few days after my birthday. Turns out it’s not aging that bums me out, but the fear that I’ve botched my imaginary timeline. Once my dreaded birthday is over, I slide right back into my routine and return to the path I chose. No problem. That daily routine is my lifeline.
Mornings start with my Journal, where I copy[2] down a quote—often from Mary Karr’s Lit or another beloved book I rely on for inspiration. One quote. No more, no less. It’s a simple ritual that reminds me why words fuel my soul. It also plants my feet firmly on the ground before I dive into my own writing. Starting my day this way feels like a tiny bow to the craft that’s shaped me, and that discipline gives me direction.
Finally, I’m ready to let go of the timeline that no longer suits me and embrace the life that does.
Sure, it might not look like the standard American Dream blueprint that my mom embodied (then later had to dismantle and rebuild anew), or the one that my sister’s perfected in her own right. But I’ve got a different dream, and I’m forging it day by day. It might take longer and look messier, but it’s mine—and I’m allowed to revel in it.
So, let this post be my belated birthday toast to anyone else rethinking an old “should-have” list. If you’re battling the same anxiety, consider this your permission to find a brand-new blueprint, too. It’s never too late to let yourself grow in a new direction.
And hey, eat that damn birthday cake—just not the kind that makes you want to compare yourself to everybody else.
[1] OK, saying “somehow” might give you the wrong impression. I know exactly how my amazingly bright and incredibly gifted little sister pulled this off. After she graduated from college, she went straight to work at a big-deal company, saving up her monies while making wise investments. She moved back home and started working with Mom, and it wasn’t long before her interests grew to include real estate. She took a risk on herself, and it paid off. She unreservedly deserves every good thing that’s coming to her, and I’m so very proud to call her my sissy.
[2] This piece of advice I adopted from Mary Karr’s The Art of Memoir.
inspo: my dreaded birthday // the joy of depression // my high expectations (and possibly my mom’s) // a child’s idea of adulthood // stressing out over things I have no control over // recognizing the pattern of comparing myself to others
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Beautiful!
Thank you, Momma
First things first: Happy Birthday!
This is truly top-notch and BEAUTIFUL writing.
Two lines really pop out at me:
“I’d just prefer to shape my life for who I am today, rather than follow the outdated checklist my child-self left behind.”
(this one hit straight to my heart!)
” But I’ve got a different dream, and I’m forging it day by day. It might take longer and look messier, but it’s mine—and I’m allowed to revel in it.”
WOWZA!
Such seemingly simple – yet profound words!
May we all strive to live our lives for who we are TODAY – messy or otherwise. And may we revel in all of it.
Thank you for this deep and moving piece.
Ms. Darlene praise with TWO standout lines—o, happy days! Thank you, as always, for your love. ❤️