I was freaking out about spending my birthday alone again this year.
I'd been dating someone, and when he got sent away for work, the first thing I thought, selfishly, was that he was going to be away for my birthday.
And NOW what was I supposed to do?
I'd been reticent to throw myself a birthday party, plagued by the times I've been stood up in LA, bailed on, forgotten, disappointed, passed over. I didn't trust that anyone would come.
Sometimes it's easier to be alone, than to put yourself out there, and be turned down.
Sometimes it's easier not to love at all, than to love and not be loved back.
But, on my birthday, I opened myself up to the possibility of that dreaded failure. I gave people a chance to prove themselves rather than assuming the worst. (Though, to be honest, I prepared myself for the worst.)
And you know what?
They brought flowers and gifts and hugs and kisses.
They told me they were so happy to have me in their lives.
They wanted to celebrate with me. They were happy I was born (something I have not been very happy about as of late).
This is the best gift I could've gotten on my birthday.
And so I woke up on October 1 with a headache but no heartache. I started a new month, with a new lease on life. I am Baby New Year, wide-eyed, full of love, ready to lean on those around me.
If I fall, hopefully someone will catch me.
Because if I expect the worst, I'll never get the best out of life.
Just Another Day
A Tale of Two Tickets