When I dropped out of Clemson University’s graphic communications program after my freshman year, I decided to become terrible.
Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t breaking laws or hurting anyone or really doing anything outwardly horrible. My version of being terrible was to bottle up and push down every emotion I felt and do my best to never let it out. The logic — or at least I called it logic then — was that I could never harm those I loved if they couldn’t see my emotions.
Two quotes I stumbled upon at that time were unfortunately impactful, and I took them too much to heart. The first one was attributed to Nietzsche when I found it, “To live alone one must be a beast or a god.” (Only years later did I find out this was Nietzsche quoting Aristotle and only the first part of the quote.) To be either a beast or a god delighted my younger self.
The second quote I held close was from Aldous Huxley. “The more powerful and original a mind, the more it will incline towards the religion of solitude.” Again, the idea that my penchant for solitude might mean my mind is powerful and original was fetching. But these weren’t the only influences I had.
Growing up, my role model was my dad. I saw how hard he worked to create a good life for our family — he bought into Dave Ramsey’s debt free program and delivered pizzas for Papa Johns for years to get out of debt. He is selfless in rare ways. And he has never outwardly expressed a desire to be celebrated for it, or seemingly for anything else.
To put it kindly, my dad likes a low-key birthday. No party. No cake. No gifts. Which isn’t to say he isn’t gracious if someone surprises him with a gift or wants to take him to dinner. But it seems enough for him to know that he has served those he loves the best he can.
So I tried emulating him, but often in ways I wish I hadn’t. He’s generally stoic and private in ways I’ll never understand, but thought I could (as the John Mulaney joke goes, ‘None of us really know our fathers.’). Those he may consider close friends aren’t privy to any of his inner workings. I don’t think even my mom — yes, in what feels like a rarity, they’re still together!! — has gained access to those workings.
(Before your thoughts go too far, I dearly love and still look up to my dad! His steady, loving acceptance and guidance in my life has helped me become who I am, even if I never seem to listen to him.)
But the more private and solitary I tried to be, the tighter depression’s grip on me became. Pushing and keeping down emotions eventually created a geyser, and my pursuit of solitude contraposed my human need to be loved and known, so I often ended up pushing away those with whom I wanted to be close. I let this pattern continue unchecked for a few years: I’d keep everything inside and play it cool and ignore anything that hurt until the burden became too much, at which point I’d wreak emotional havoc on whoever was around — most often my parents — then have a private breakdown before bottling it all up again.
A few years of doing this — along with the deaths of my grandpa and a couple friends' mothers — brought it all to a head. My biggest breakdown was in front of my parents and I begged for help. I knew I couldn’t live like this anymore, but I was clueless as to how to live any other way.
By then, I knew my reactive emotions actually controlled me and I was powerless to them. Therapy was a concept I was familiar with but thought it was for the severely mentally ill — folks with bipolar disorder or schizophrenia — not me.
And thus began my journey of mental health and therapy. In the years of therapy I’ve had, along with some formative platonic and romantic relationships, I’ve come a long way and have seen how the opposite of my prior faux-logic is true: opening up and being vulnerable and honest with others, and holding space for others to do the same, is how to truly connect and is the most human thing we can do.
Yet there’s still one holdover from my previous ways of thinking that I’ve struggled to turn around: how I think about my birthday.
This coming Saturday is my birthday. I’ll suddenly be a new age and it’ll be fine.
Some family members and friends will call or text to let me know they’re thinking of me. I’ll say thanks and get weird if there’s any birthday talk beyond that. Hopefully no one gives me a gift. If they do, I’ll say thanks and hope they don’t want me to open it right then in front of them. On the verge of 33, I still have no idea how to react to receiving gifts. I have no plan to learn.
Most people I surround myself with know that what they consider a low-key birthday is often at the upper limits of what I’m willing to tolerate for mine. For years, I told people that I wanted to be ignored on my birthday and I’d pretend like it was like any other day. The thought of people wanting to do something for my birthday brings flashes of being sung ‘Happy Birthday,’ which makes me want to curl up into a ball in a corner and try to disappear. Damn near any attention surrounding my birthday has had me wishing I didn’t exist. (And yes, the irony of writing a newsletter about not wanting attention is not lost on me.)
The past few years my birthday has been marred by intense existential crises. Each May, I was reminded of all the things I’d yet to do and accomplish. I felt like a failure.
When I’d brought up my birthday in therapy previously, my therapists have generally taken the approach that I don’t feel worthy of celebration. It was hard to argue with. So we’d wrestle with that idea and what it could look like to change my mindset around how I see my own value/worth. But after years of trying to work through my birthday woes through that lens, I still think of my birthday as a burden.
My current therapist has a different perspective that hit home harder than I could’ve imagined.
It goes something like this: I have felt burdened by my birthday in large part because I want to please other people by conforming to their expectations of how birthdays should be celebrated, even though my preference is different.
Oof!
As a people pleaser, putting this into action is hard! But a lot of the work I’ve done has been learning to accept myself as I am and know that my wants and needs and desires are just as, or more, important as anyone else’s.
Which isn’t to say I’ve perfected this skill. I still care about what others think more than I’d like and let my fear of doing things others may not approve impact some of my decision making.
But because I was so focused and confused about how my self worth played into my birthday, this idea has never come to mind in this context.
If there’s any day of the year people should be able to do whatever they want, it’s their birthday. For friends, family, and partners alike, I’ve always believed that and have gone along with whatever shenanigans the birthday person wanted to get into without question. Yet I’ve spent my entire adult life struggling to acquiesce to others' birthday expectations because I thought my want to not do much of anything would disappoint them.
But I don’t care anymore. I know that allowing what others think to influence me in any way keeps me from doing the things I really want to do and I’m tired of not doing the things I want to do.
As my therapist said, ‘Choose the perspective (I want to be left alone; I want to have a party and feel celebrated; I want something in between) that feels good to you. It doesn’t matter what it is.’
So, last night I decided what feels good. I texted a handful of my friends and invited them to hang out for my birthday and set a boundary around how I want the gathering to be — no gifts, no cards, no singing, no toasts, and only sly, whispered happy birthdays will be accepted.
And so, for the first time since high school, I’m looking forward to celebrating my birthday. ‡
Reading
This week I bookmarked loads of articles to read later, but didn’t read quite as much as I’d hoped. Nevertheless, I kept up as best I could. Here are my four favorite articles I read last week:
An Israeli Newspaper Presents Truths Readers May Prefer to Avoid by David Remnick, in The New Yorker
Remnick, the editor of The New Yorker, brings our attention to Haaretz, one of the only Hebrew language institutions in Israel covering and contending with the realities of what is happening in Gaza, the West Bank and Israel when almost all others cover these tragedies in a more state-approved way.
The Vatican’s Gamble With Beijing Is Costing China’s Catholics by Francis X. Rocca, in The Atlantic
Rocca lays out how the Vatican is handling the Church’s presence in China and how Pope Francis’s compromise with the Chinese Communist Party gives the CCP more power over the Church’s operations, impacts Chinese Catholics, and the likely long term consequences of the agreement, but staves off a schism in the Church. For now.
Why Was Alito Flying the Flag Upside Down After January 6? by Adam Serwer, in The Atlantic
Serwer continues his stellar coverage of the Supreme Court with this scathing breakdown of Justice Alito’s most recent scandal. Something is fishy about a sitting justice claiming his wife flew the flag upside down as a strike in an ongoing neighborhood battle.
The New York Trump Case Is Kind of Perfect by George T. Conway III, in The Atlantic
Conway, former husband to Trump advisor Kellyanne Conway, continues his ongoing coverage of Donald J. Trump’s legal troubles. Striking a balance of glee for the former president’s potential fate, reporting on the facts of the case (he’s been in the courtroom most days of the trial), and being honest about his own past with Trump, Conway lays out why this criminal trial is good for Trump’s first, and why he was wrong to doubt that previously.
Music
My listening hasn’t varied too much from last week’s, as I’ve been riding the high of being front and center for LCD Soundsystem last Tuesday, and have been blasting them and shaking my ass at every opportunity.
So this week, I’m going to highlight some albums from last month that I’ve loved. Throw the playlist on shuffle and enjoy!
Vampire Weekend’s Only God Was Above Us (4.5.24)
Vampire Weekend is back in good form with “Only God Was Above Us.” Ezra and the Chrises — with some help from old bandmate Rostam — have continued to refine and evolve their sound in wonderful ways. Callbacks to all their prior albums abound (tell me the guitar on Prep School Gangsters isn’t ripped from Contra) and help highlight how far their sound has come. The only disappointment is that I’ll be out of town when they come to town in June!
Scott McMicken and the EVER-EXPANDING’s When It’s Happening (4.19.24)
Scott McMicken, best known as lead guitarist of indie-pop stalwarts Dr. Dog, writes a damn good song. His second solo effort, “When It’s Happening,” showcases his unique perspective on sounds and songs, enlisting a motley crew to bring his vision to life (including my buddy Clay on horns!). Since moving to Western North Carolina, McMicken and company have helped turn the already burgeoning music scene in Asheville into a national powerhouse of indie music.
St. Vincent’s All Born Screaming (4.26.24)
St. Vincent (aka Annie Clark) is back in old form. Her previous effort, ‘Daddy’s Home,’ left me wanting, having traded her signature blazing guitar for modern takes on 70s rock. But the gift of ‘All Born Screaming’ is how she seems to have taken the best of all her previous work and distilled it into a gorgeous, haunting album.