Happy birthday, Dave

Three facts and one more fact about today:

1. It's the birthday of Dave Chappelle

2. It's the birthday of Jean-Michel Jarre

3. Today, exactly 26 years ago, Windows 95 was released.

It's also my birthday.

I hate birthdays. I hate being at the centre of attention for an arbitrary date. I hate that it's a reminder that another year has gone by in which I got much less done than I wanted to. I especially and unequivocally hate any kind of birthday songs.

Last year was the worst birthday of my life. Less than a month before I had started my first full-time job and had moved to Berlin again. I stayed at a temporary flat where I didn't feel home. So on my birthday, going back to that flat, tired, and after an 8h workday I wasn't yet used to, I watched a movie I didn't like, ate prepackaged potato salad, and drowned in self-imposed misery. That month, most of my days looked like this. The thing that made this day special was that it was my birthday.

The opposite of love isn't hate. It's indifference. And for something to feel as bad as that, it has to have some meaning.

Celebrating one's day of birth is arbitrary. It doesn't have an intrinsic meaning. What makes it worth celebrating is that, somehow, the culture I grew up in, decided that it is worth celebrating. It doesn't derive it's meaning from the date, but from it's yearly repetition.

I also don't care about Christmas. In our family, we don't buy each other gifts. I don't go to church. If it would be up to me, we wouldn't have a Christmas tree. Still, I like Christmas as a set date to spent some shared time with my family. We updated the cultural celebration with something that reflects our values. To us, it doesn't matter how anybody else is celebrating it.

Instead of making it to a date of regret and self-hate, it's time to rethink what I want my birthday to be about.