I love celebrating my birthdays, even birthdays that end in “0.” Unlike my friends who cringe when they think about their next round of birthday candles, I look forward to the big day with kid-like anticipation.
My secret to great birthdays is simple. Each year I go somewhere or do something that I’ve never done before. That’s it. I plan out exactly what I want to do and then go do it all by myself. There are no disappointments, no waiting for others and no forced gooey cake fests.
I took control of my birthdays at age 19. Over the years I gazed at elephants in Africa and Asia, saw the Mona Lisa for the first time, drove an open wheel race car on a European track, and enjoyed grilled lobster on a beach in Bali. One year, I sat in a petite crushed velvet seat at the centuries old La Scala Opera House in Italy. A few years later, I stretched out on a big blanket at one of the Grateful Dead’s last concerts.
I don’t always plan over-the-top adventures. More often I stay close to home and visit regional landmarks, museums, parks and offbeat restaurants that I wouldn’t get around to visit if it were not for my birthday.
A private lesson qualifies as a birthday-worthy, first-time activity. It’s perfect for busy people who can’t commit to mastering a new hobby, sport, or musical instrument. Birthday lessons also allow just enough time to learn what you like and don’t like. I now love making soufflés. I don’t need to go skydiving again. Adrenaline rush aside, a balloon ride gives you more gentle moments in the sun.
When I was younger, my birthdays were often about athletic challenges. I still have a New York Road Runners Club race entry bib that says “Happy Birthday” in big letters. When you set out to do something you really want to do, even the hardest hills become part of the fun. Nothing spoils your day.
One year, long before electronic gadgets allowed for back country communications, I went camping all by myself. Even though I’m an experienced camper, I had never hiked deep into the wilderness without a pal. It’s an eerie feeling when you’re all alone. You think of Jack London books and imagine all the scary things that can happen to you. I loved that weekend because I stared down my fears and won in the end.
I roasted marshmallows on that wilderness trip – one after another after another. It takes zen-like patience to roast a marshmallow to perfect airiness. If you rush it, your lovely puffed-up treat will burst into a fire ball of crispy blackness. I wrote in my birthday journal that year, “I hope when I face my last days on earth that I can close my eyes and recall the smoky campfire smells and sublime pleasure of a fire-tanned marshmallow collapsing on my tongue.” I was content that evening. It was a perfect birthday.
It’s funny how I get quizzed about my birthday ritual as if there was something selfish to it. People ask, “Why not share the experience?” My fast response is that my family doesn’t miss eating one more birthday cake; we celebrate plenty. Besides, I’m the first to organize unique outings and get-togethers geared to everyone else’s idea of fun the other 364 days of the year.
The bigger point is this: I don’t just hope for my wishes to happen someday. I make one of my somedays happen on my next birthday. You can too.
It’s all about taking time to enjoy the marshmallow you want to roast.
