Reflections On My 36th Birthday

I want to preface this by saying how insanely grateful I am for my little life and all the people in it. I had the idea to reflect on my birthday since I tend to leer towards the negative of what I have and don’t have. I discuss how lucky I am to even be able to do that within this piece. I never feel I show how thankful I am for the love shown to me on my birthday every year. I hope I am and I hope I show it to others on their special days and every day.

I am not where I thought I would be at the age I turned this year. The real question to ask I suppose is anyone? Does anyone turn 30 or 25 or 45 or 67 and think “I am exactly where I thought I would be.” There has to be someone out there who has, of course. It all depends on what age you’re taking it from. Though for me, my dreams have always been similar at every age.

Here is what I wrote where I would be in some amount of time determined by an eighth grade project (I don’t remember if it was ten years or just when you’re an adult)

I was a Tony winning actress and best selling author who lived in a big farmhouse and raised golden retrievers.

That was my big dream for myself in eighth grade. I had the plan to move to New York City. I was performing and writing and I had a million fluffy friends. So let’s see what I’ve achieved of that:

I am working on a novel, short stories, and flash fiction weekly. I took a break from auditioning heavily and planned to restart with my new headshots and website. I have two cats and a one bedroom apartment in New Jersey.

Okay, not great. But also not terrible. I stuck to the same path I had set for myself when I was thirteen years old. That’s pretty remarkable.

Here’s a few things that I thought I would have/be by this birthday if you subtract the brutal reality we are facing with racial injustice protests and COVID-19:

• My body is not how I want it to be weight, strength and appearance wise

• I am not a mother

• I am unemployed

• I have a smaller than I expected to have place to live

• I own one thing: our car. And that took years to pay off

• I can’t call myself a working actor because I’m not currently (I mean, no one is but again, subtracting the pandemic) and haven’t been in a minute

• I call myself a writer but I have yet to be paid or published

• I still have no good answer to “Oh, you’re an actor? What have I seen you in?”

Here are some things I do have this birthday:

• A happily, supportive, loving marriage with a partner I adore and have the best time with

• A community of friends and family that are my sun and stars

• Two perfectly weird sweet little cats I love with all my heart

• A passion for storytelling and a belief in magic I never lost as I grew up

• Incredible parents and brother

• A place to live that I can afford with a view that is priceless

• My city love

• A healthy body that has been through trauma but still is breathing and moving

I’ve been starting to take stock of things I am grateful for and expectations I had for myself. I think it can be dangerous to assess too deeply what you have and don’t have but I think it can also be cathartic and encouraging to see how life doesn’t always work out how you imagined. I don’t have a lot of things I imagined I’d have like a Tony award. I then take a step back and look at so many hard working, famous, insanely talented performers who don’t either. They are still out there telling the story. I follow many writers on social media who perhaps haven’t been published in the way they expected to but they still write. They are still working on their projects and books and poetry. I see people who have never gotten their shot at a dream and I’ve had multiple. I have minimal roadblocks. I am able to be here and work towards my big dreams. My Tony winning, best selling author, golden retriever owner farmhouse dreams. I get to do that. I’m privileged to do that.

This birthday I will remember and not just because it is different and in a pandemic where I can’t do anything I normally would. I had plans for my birthday that vanished as many of us had for any form of celebration the past few months. Last year, I was in New Orleans and worried about being rejected for a short story I wrote so much so I cried at my birthday dinner. That feels absolutely ridiculous when I think about it now but how could I, or anyone, foresee how the future only a year from then would be? How lucky I was to be there with friends. How lucky I was to explore a city I’ve dreamed about going to for most of my life. How fucking lucky I still am to be here, safe at home, celebrating with my husband and friends and family virtually.

This birthday I will remember because it is a memorable time in the world. A time of change, of looking around with eyes wide open and hearts listening. My 36th birthday spent in a revolution.

How lucky am I to be alive right now.