Complaint #002: Birthdays

As much as I'd like to write about topics as pertinent as last week's, it simply isn't feasible. I'd burn out in about three and a half weeks. So, this week I'm taking an easy one; something easy to complain about, but something with which we'll definitely have a little fun.

Disclaimer: This post isn't recommended to those with low levels of maturity or weak stomachs.

I've come to really resent birthdays. I think it's normal for a person, as they mature, to become less and less excited with their own birthday (receiving new shirts and pants, though practical, can't replace the thrill of getting Hot Wheels and a Charizard card), but I've come to hate all birthdays: yours, mine, that guy across the street's (actually I really have never cared about his). I think, more than any other factor, Facebook is the reason for this enlightenment. I wouldn't say Facebook is the cause, but rather the lens which revealed the truth of why I shouldn't like birthdays.

I'm too lazy or uncreative to make my point in paragraph form, so here is a list of reasons I don't like birthdays:

1. Obligation: Facebook, because of it's notification of every friend's birthday, opens up an obligation to wish each of them "Happy Birthday!" (or similar) when the date rolls around every year. I know people who do wish each "friend" good tidings on their specified date every year, whether this person has communicated otherwise the entirety of the three hundred sixty four days previous. I'm sick of it. The act has lost all sentiment and has become an empty gesture of acknowledgement. This is why I don't do it. I feel no guilt of obligation to do it anymore and I don't think I've posted an actual message wishing someone "Happy Birthday!" (or similar) in quite some time. Ahh, it's such a feeling of freedom to not do it.

2. Remembrance: This one kind of is all Facebook's fault. When you receive a wall post from someone wishing you "Happy Birthday!" (or similar), you instantly question whether this person actually knew yesterday that it was your birthday today. Other than a select few, I assume everyone wishes me a happy day on May 3^rd every year because Facebook told them it was my birthday. I'll be honest: I know about twelve peoples' birthdays, and five of those are my nuclear family (although, this post should convince you I'm not the typical person regarding those days, so other (normal) people probably know more). So, if there was any sentiment left in that "Happy Birthday!" (or similar) message, it's now gone. If I do wish someone a happy day on their birthday, it is almost assuredly on the phone or in person (Facebook still probably told me, but at least the interaction seems somewhat personal)

3. Meaning: What does a birthday mean? Let's break it down to its most raw form: A birthday is an anniversary of the day when your biological mother spent several hours in excruciating pain expelling you from her vagina (I told you I didn't recommend you, with your weak stomach, to read this). Why are we celebrating this? Honestly, I cannot figure out why we do this. Also, once you get to the age when you realize this, you don't want to be reminded every year that you're one year closer to your death (unless, of course, you find pleasure in knowing this). I prefer to focus on the present, not the past, not the future, but the right now, where I'm living.

4. Alternative: You say, "But Will, a birth is such a beautiful moment. We should be celebrating it (and its subsequent anniversaries)." I'm sorry, but I say, "Nay!" Have you ever seen a birth? I think I had to watch one for ninth grade Health class; it really isn't beautiful. You want to know what is beautiful? (And I don't want to think much past the surface of this) The act that occurred approximately nine months prior to your birth. That was a beautiful moment (I told you I didn't recommend you, with your low maturity level, to read this (although, that brings in to question how I'm qualified to write this)). Anyway, back on topic: Sexual intercourse was a great action of love bestowed upon us from God (Book recommendation: Sex God: Exploring the Endless Connections Between Sexuality and Spirituality by Rob Bell). How much less beautiful would it be if you had budded off of one of your parents? Not only was this a more beautiful act than your birth; it also represents the moment of your creation. Granted, you were nothing more than a cell that eventually split into a ball of cells, and then into some freaky fish-looking thing, and then into a human-looking fetus, but the act of sex started your creation. So to this I say: We should be celebrating Conception Day (or Approximate Conception Day for those who can't narrow it down enough).

So, to those who are sensible, stop celebrating these wretched days (wow, that's a bit overreactive) or tell me why I'm wrong below. Otherwise, enjoy your day and if you take anything away from this (other than the fact that I'm incredibly odd), it is that we should examine the acts we do out of habit. What is the action's purpose? If the answer is obligation, conformity, or there doesn't seem to be one, then stop what you're doing. Saves a lot of time and, admit it, you caused a little personal growth by doing it.