Of Birthdays, Worries, and Lessons

Hello My Dear One,

So here I am, one day away from my birthday, anxious, and largely dreading the day as I always seem to do.  Only 2 cards have arrived in the mail, there have been some early well wishes on Facebook, and I got to wear a paper crown that said "Happy Birthday Mr. Hilton" at work on Friday.
Kindergarten definitely has its perks.

My Birthday Crown!

I am not ungrateful for all that my family does to make my birthday special.  Rather, I am disappointed in myself for not being able to appreciate it in an "appropriate" manner, one in which I don't mope or seem sad.  And, I am disappointed that I am unable to express what I want to do in advance so that I could avoid plans that are not what I really want to do.  The worst part of it is, is that the plans that are made are always lovely, thoughtful, and often fun.  But somehow I get lost in the sadness of the day and the fact that I have not accomplished what I set out to in the past year.  I am embarrassed that I am another year older and still not who I thought I would be by now.  I am disappointed that I am not successful in the ways that I always imagined I would be, particularly as I approach 40 with lighting speed.

And yes, I know what a tumultuous year this has been for me and for my family.  I recognize the hell I have been through and the hell I have put everyone else through, and this only serves to remind me of the failures instead of the successes of the year.  Even though getting off of FDA approved meth, voluntarily committing myself to inpatient care in a psychiatric hospital, and getting hired to a position that is challenging, life changing, and most days fun, I find myself dwelling in the remorse of missed opportunities and fear of change.  I get stuck thinking about what could have been instead of what was.

And I look back now and I can see how so much has happened in my life during the past 12 months.
 
I nearly killed myself multiple times.  I spent a week in a psych ward learning that my Bipolar Disorder was painfully real.  I went through a myriad of medications.  I physically hurt myself and objects around me.  I emotionally hurt my loved ones, my wife, my children.  I spent countless hours in therapy.  I got a job.  I said goodbye to a mother that never was, while the physical remains of her latest endeavor still sit in an empty house while she rebuilds herself again halfway across the country.  I have watched my entire world crumble and seen the dawning of a new life that frightens me no matter what I try to tell myself.

I can also look back and see how much I have grown and changed during the past 12 months.

I have strengthened and grown my faith and come to terms with the dualities that I have chosen to live into.  I have committed to writing this blog and have followed through in a way that I never imagined possible.  I have become a better husband, a better father, and a better man.  I have reached out time and again for help when I needed it.  I have seen the true brokenness of my life and I have told the truth.  I have begun to tell the nightmarish stories of my childhood and young adulthood with honesty and frankness.  I have stopped lying to myself and others that what happened to me was OK, and that the people involved were doing the right thing.  I have let myself be vulnerable in an attempt to be healed and hopefully help others on their own paths to recovery. And I have spoken to hundreds of people here and in person about my life experiences and what love, kindness, and faith can do to make us all the individuals we are called to be.

And yet, there is a nagging worry within my psyche as I look toward the future, and what I have to offer, and what I will receive in the coming year.

I worry that I will not advance in my career.  I worry that I will not achieve the secret desires of my heart.  I worry that I will not be fully living into my call as an advocate and professional speaker.  I worry that I will spend the next year worrying.  But then again, as a good Jewish (though practicing secular humanist) friend has reminded me, "If you don't got something to worry about, you got something to worry about!"  It's true, as he also says, "Worrying is how my people pass the time."  And I suppose after 6000+ years of real and perceived persecution, we're a slightly more jittery lot than gentiles.  This internalized cultural sense of self as potential victim has definitely taken a toll on Jews and Judaism.  It leads to a lifelong paranoia that unfortunately has real roots that can be seen even today.  This year 2 synagogues in my state have been vandalized with spray painted on swastikas.  And no matter how much my wife may love Disney, I still cringe when many of the villains have stereotypical Jewish looking features.  I want to believe that being Jewish is something that is as valued as being Christian in this society, but one never sees Passover decorations in the storfront windows of rural Maine.  So, I worry.

Today, as I worry about tomorrow, which of course I rationally know is pointless, I think about every birthday that has come before and what I will experience tomorrow.  I worry that it will be like all the rest, a letdown, a hassle, a disappointment, a disaster, a day filled with activities I don't care for, and enforced "happiness" and celebration.  And in a way I will experience this due to self-fulfilling prophecy.  And yet, I will experience other things as well.  I will be present to my family and I will listen for the positive messages that have been surrounding me and I will remember the good I have been able to do.

The other night, I gave an hour and fifteen minute talk/lecture to an introductory psychology class at a local community college, on gender, transgender, intersex, sexual orientation, and related issues.  It started at 7:45 at night and lasted until 9:10 because of the questions the students had for me.  We laughed together, we learned about each other, and I remembered how much I truly love getting to be a part of someone else's growth and development, if only for a brief moment in time.  Teaching has always been my call.  Walking the path with someone as they learn new information about the world around them and consequently about themselves is by far the most rewarding experience I get to have.  And I am blessed to get to do this several times a year.  And of course I get to do this with 5 and 6 year olds 5 days a week during the school year.  It is my gift to them and their gift to me.

And maybe this is the real gift I have been wanting and the gift that I need to allow myself to receive on my birthday.  I need to accept the kind words of students, no matter their age, who compliment my abilities, no matter what those abilities are.  In kindergarten my drawing, cutting, and gluing skills are stunning.  In undergraduate classes my abilities to discuss my life experiences in a fun, innovative, educational, and relaxed manner that puts students at ease, and creates a safe space for all of us to learn, are stunning in an entirely different but equal way.  When a 5 year old tells me how well I drew and  colored a picture, and that same night a 20 something tells me that I really have a way with people, I know right down to my core that I am living into my call 100%.

Unfortunately, sometimes I lose complete sight of this, particularly on a day like today when I look inward and see the past, the darkness, the resting but ever restless beast, and the nearly 4 decades of birthdays that most often sucked.  And that's when I am called to ignore the beast of mental illness and its dangerous messages of regret, pain, and worry.  I must listen for the still small voice of G-d as I hear the words that were sent to me today, "G-d chose the day you were to enter this world...You, of all of us, should celebrate!"  Amen.

Thank you to all my family and friends for seeing the good and the G-d in me as much as I can see it them, especially when I cannot see it in myself.

Thank you for the celebration of being on this journey with me.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.


-Ari