Aging Like Fine Meh

Birthdays—those annual hall passes we give ourselves to devour an entire cake and then pretend everyone else is the glutton for not having a slice. Honestly, what are we even celebrating? “Hurray, you managed not to die this year!” It’s basically congratulating someone for the least impressive achievement: existing long enough for the Earth to circle the sun once. If that’s the bar, why don’t we also celebrate “You Didn’t Forget To Charge Your Phone” Day or “You Successfully Put Your Pants On Frontways” Day?

Think about it: We mark the 24-hour anniversary of a hospital’s worst cleanup job with balloons, candles, and a card your aunt agonized over at the Hallmark store. “To my nephew who’s grown so big…” Yeah, well, that’s what cellular division does, Aunt Barb, it’s not like I studied for it. And those candles. Nothing says “hey, time’s ticking and your youth is evaporating” quite like setting a fire hazard on your dessert. Each year, you get more wax to remove from the top of your icing—just a little reminder that you’re only a couple more rotations away from wearing orthopedic shoes and complaining about the price of avocados.

You know who doesn’t get this ridiculous fuss? Every other day of your life. Your “Two Weeks After Your Birthday” Day just slips by without so much as a nod. Your “Random Tuesday Where You Didn’t Get a Parking Ticket” is completely overlooked. Where’s the card for that? Isn’t that worthy of some confetti and awkward singing from co-workers who barely know your name?

And what about the day you discovered you could finally cook rice without setting off the smoke alarm? Or the morning you woke up without hitting snooze and you didn’t curse the existence of sunlight? These small accomplishments get zero fanfare. But the day you happened to plop into the world, half the time screaming and covered in goo, gets top billing forever.

And the weird social pressures: “What are you doing for your birthday?” as if not throwing a party is a sign that you’re quietly plotting the overthrow of a small nation. You’d think celebrating the day you got shoved into existence would be optional, but no—society demands you wear a silly hat and appreciate a store-bought cake that tastes like artificially flavored air, all so you can mark the passage of time more dramatically than a tree adding another ring.

Birthdays: the most overrated, candle-wasting, forced-smile fest on the calendar. They want all the attention, but don’t even have the decency to come with a refund policy. Meanwhile, all those other days—where you’re just doing life like a champ—are left standing in the corner, arms folded, like “Really? Balloons and a party for that?”