Happy Winter Solstice!
And yes, I mean that literally. Not that I'm coming down on the neo-pagan or Wicca side of this whole "Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays" debate (though I have been reading up on it this morning).
No, for me, the Winter Solstice takes on a whole different meaning. You see, today is the day before my birthday. And since I was about 8, I've been obsessed with the fact that my birthday falls so close to the shortest day of the year (and sometimes the Solstice actually falls on my birthday).
When I was little, my whining was out of sheer disappointment ("My birthday is such a short day!"). Now that I'm getting older, it seems cruel that the day before my birthday should be so short. This year, today, I am relishing the last moments of being 28. And I'm just not sure I'm ready for 29.
Not that 29 should sound so bad. It's not 30 - but that might be part of the problem. Twenty-nine is a reminder that I'm getting older (and, naturally, haven't accomplished everything I set out to do) without any of the parties and assorted hoopla that comes with turning 30. It's just a quiet reminder that I'm approaching the intangible deadline that is 30.
On the other hand, maybe 30 can't get here fast enough. Last summer, my friend Steve turned 30. He's a screenplay writer, and we spend a lot of time talking about the misery and joy of writing. Just after his birthday, I asked him how he felt about turning 30. He told me it was a relief - because he no longer had the potential to be a child prodigy. All of that pressure to do great things at a young age just evaporated in one day - leaving behind only the sense that imagining himself as the young Beethoven of the screenplay, he was more egotistical and self-absorbed than ambitious.
That makes absolute perfect sense to me. But I don't think I'll be able to shake my self-absorbed egotism until I turn 30 myself. I'm afraid I'm in for a long year of barely controlled inward whining...
No, for me, the Winter Solstice takes on a whole different meaning. You see, today is the day before my birthday. And since I was about 8, I've been obsessed with the fact that my birthday falls so close to the shortest day of the year (and sometimes the Solstice actually falls on my birthday).
When I was little, my whining was out of sheer disappointment ("My birthday is such a short day!"). Now that I'm getting older, it seems cruel that the day before my birthday should be so short. This year, today, I am relishing the last moments of being 28. And I'm just not sure I'm ready for 29.
Not that 29 should sound so bad. It's not 30 - but that might be part of the problem. Twenty-nine is a reminder that I'm getting older (and, naturally, haven't accomplished everything I set out to do) without any of the parties and assorted hoopla that comes with turning 30. It's just a quiet reminder that I'm approaching the intangible deadline that is 30.
On the other hand, maybe 30 can't get here fast enough. Last summer, my friend Steve turned 30. He's a screenplay writer, and we spend a lot of time talking about the misery and joy of writing. Just after his birthday, I asked him how he felt about turning 30. He told me it was a relief - because he no longer had the potential to be a child prodigy. All of that pressure to do great things at a young age just evaporated in one day - leaving behind only the sense that imagining himself as the young Beethoven of the screenplay, he was more egotistical and self-absorbed than ambitious.
That makes absolute perfect sense to me. But I don't think I'll be able to shake my self-absorbed egotism until I turn 30 myself. I'm afraid I'm in for a long year of barely controlled inward whining...
posted by Kit Pollard at
10:21 AM
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