The short answer:

Today.

The long answer:

Since you don’t know me, you probably didn’t know that my birthday was today. Then again, most people who do know me also didn’t know it was my birthday, that is, unless they were reminded by Facebook.

When I was little, my birthday was always a big deal. For weeks before the big day, I’d be sure to remind everyone that it was coming up, because I thought my parents might forget if I didn’t tell them seven times a day. And even though I didn’t have elaborate birthday parties, it felt like a special day. After all, anything that comes only once a year has to be special, right? Plus I liked getting free stuff.

But nowadays, I don’t really care if anyone knows it’s my birthday. Perhaps it’s just that after twentysome of these things, I’ve realized that they really aren’t that special. Sure, it only comes around once a year, but so does Arbor Day. Of course, I’ve not developed an aversion to free stuff, but I’ve never gotten any really good gifts anyway, so I doubt I’m missing out on much. I tell myself, I’ll just stay in, do nothing, and be content, again, like Arbor Day.

At least, that’s my attitude on every day except my birthday. Since my expectations have been set so low, how could I possibly be disappointed? But I manage. Truthfully, my birthday has been pretty depressing these last few years. The most exciting thing that’s happened on my birthday in recent memory was a few years ago when I got a birthday card in the mail. (It wasn’t even a surprise, though, since I had mentioned to the sender that I don’t usually get cards, so she told me she’d send me one.)

For the past few years, I’ve just had dinner and cake with my family, who all happen to live nearby. Since my birthday fell on a Tuesday, we observed it on Sunday when everyone was free. I don’t really get any presents (this year I got some sort of ID holder with keyring). For the cake, we can’t be troubled to put on a candle for each year, so we just put on two. This year I failed to blow them out with one puff.

In some ways, it feels a little presidential not to celebrate my birthday on my birthday, but on the other hand, it means that I don’t really have anything to do on my actual birthday. I decided to take the day off, slept until one, went out to dinner with some family, and then came back alone and had some leftover cake. And now I’m writing in this blog.

I’m not really sure what I’d like to happen on my birthday. Maybe I’d like to look back on the year that has just past and be satisfied with it. Usually when it comes time to blow out the candles and make a wish, I think about the wish I made last year and how it hasn’t come true. To counteract this, I’ve started to make my wishes increasingly vague, but they still don’t come true. This year I couldn’t think of anything to wish for. At least next year I won’t be disappointed by that not coming true.

There’s an episode of Seinfeld where Jerry goes out on a first date with an attractive woman with whom he gets along quite well, but then he learns that it’s her birthday and wonders why she isn’t out with people she knows. As it turns out, the explanation is just that “she’s a loser,” even though it’s never made clear why that is. I always identify myself with her, a woman who’s destined to be alone on her birthday for a mysterious reason that no one can truly describe. I guess that’s just how the world works sometimes.

Sorry for being so depressing today; it’s the birthday talking. I’ll feel better by the last Friday in April.

Cheers,
-qm