Birthday Wishes That Weren’t

In my time on earth, I have wished upon 496 birthday candles. That’s right, I turn 32 soon. 

As my birthday week (Yes, that is a thing.) grows near, it’s important to reflect on the many things that I have wished to be, yet have finally come to terms with the fact that I am just not (so not).

I wish I were one of those eccentric, brooding types 

that could actually comprehend films 

like American Beauty and Donny Darko.

But the truth is that Little Women (Wynonna Ryder edition) 

and The Holiday are my jam. 

I basically just want to 

see women using their talents for the greater 

good (and costars with hot British accents).

I wish I were one with a cultured palate, who drinks luke-warm beer

 and confidently asks the waiter, “What IPAs do you have on tap?”

But the truth is that I still approach adult beverages like a 

clueless 21-year-old and say dumb things like, 

“What do you have that’s fruity? Is that too sugary?

 I don’t know what that is, so just give me a Moscato. 

Yes, the wine that tastes nothing like wine, 

because of all of the sugar in it–that’s the one.”

I wish I were one of those detail-oriented types

 who excel at spreadsheets

 (pun intended 😉) and find tedious work life-giving.

But the truth is that I am a big picture person who moves

 swiftly towards lots of tasks at once and am known for 

saying things at meetings like, “Oh, I guess I forgot to think about 

which room or line-item this big idea would take place/come from.”

I wish I were one of those introspective,  

academic types that play chess

 in a corduroy jacket at a coffee shop.

But the truth is that I live for quick-witted, edge-of-your-seat, 

linguistical rounds of Balderdash in sweats in my living room.

I wish I were a beautiful introverted bookwork who loses herself in 

the great works of Austen and Angelou.

But the truth is that I am an extreme extrovert who 

reads in 30-minute spurts and they are often 

autobiographies of comedians or books on emotional health.

I wish to be one who methodically plans meals 

based on the veggies in her 

garden.

But the truth is that meals are based 

on whichever veggies are pre-cut, sealed, 

and on sale a Dillons (and there is no garden).

I wish to be one that trusts naturally and forgives graciously,

but the truth is that there are 3 names that can still be said and 

decade ole’ grudges gurgle up in my gut.

I wish to be like the assertive types that take crap from nobody and 

drink their coffee strong and black.

But the truth is that my coffee is often sweeter than

 it should be, and I honestly think that I am an 

empath like in that one Andrea Berthot Sci-fi book.

I wish to be a truly liberated woman who ditches

 my cosmetics and “swishes around in a

 tribal skirt”, like Helena in the sitcom Miranda. 

But the truth is that I can’t kick my contouring

 habits and boot-cut jeans, wedges, and a button-up-earth-tone-collared 

shirt let me get.Stuff.Done.

I wish to be an emotionally solid, self-aware person who 

thinks rationally and brings peace into spaces.

But the truth is that sometimes at 2:47 a.m., 

I morph into a rattled hypochondriac who’s 

asking her husband to peer into her ear with 

his phone flashlight for signs of 

Aero-otitis and other exotic diseases.

Although there are many things that I wish to be and many traits of others of which I am occasionally jealous, on this Birthday, I celebrate all of the things that I truly am, all of those who have loved me, and most importantly–I thank the Lord for not being through with me yet!!!