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by Elisa on September 10, 2011

in friends,ramblings,socializing

“Age is strictly a case of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.”
- Jack Benny

I have never been afraid of growing old. Nor have I ever wished for time to stand still so I could stay young – probably because I’ve always found stillness far scarier than the passing of time.

What is so scary about getting old? Is it purely a point of aesthetics? Are wrinkles and white hair so terrifying? Or is it perhaps the fear of waking up one day and realizing that you have wasted the best years of your life? Is it the fear that, by the time you realize you want to do something, it might be too late for you to actually do it?

I can’t think of a single thing I’d like to do that I am too old for. That probably means that
a. I am completely deluded, or
b. my to-do list is boring and fitting to an old gal like myself.

Last week I turned 35.
Happy birthday to meFor the longest time, my birthday celebrations have been intimate an understated; dare I say, they were barely celebrations at all. For years, it was nothing more than inviting my in-laws for coffee and cake, or going out for sushi with my husband and daughters. We’d have cake, I’d open my presents, that was it.
It wasn’t that I wanted to hide my birthday because I was self-conscious about my age; I simply didn’t feel it warranted a big celebration. I felt that focusing so much on celebrating yourself was far too self-absorbed for an adult, bordering on silly.

That changed recently, when a little epiphany about self-worth and self-esteem put things into a different perspective, and made me feel that I probably owed myself a little celebration.

The opportunity presented itself quickly enough, since my birthday was coming up. And not just any birthday, no – it was the big 3-5, my scary birthday, the one I saw as a cut-off of some sort, as if there was a gate between being young and being old, and on that gate was inscribed the number 35.

But really, aren’t things only as scary as we make them up to be? In this case, 35 was definitely a monster of my own making.

So to bring things back on track, back to my typical glass-half-full outlook – that only seems to falter when a birthday looms on the horizon – I decided to do something I hadn’t done in… ever, actually. I decided to throw myself a birthday party. That’s easier said than done when you are as neurotic a hostess as I am and when your house is never quite ready for guests because… well, let’s face it, household chores suck.

But once I had decided, off went the invitations, before I could find more excuses not to do it.

I still felt a little silly (probably conditioned by years of “why would I celebrate myself?”) and was pretty much scared s***less by the thought of entertaining 10-14 women in my apartment, but it was time. Time to confront my fears about entertaining, time to stop being so damn self-conscious all the time, time to do something for me.

The following two weeks were a little packed, so party prep had to be sneaked into the few time slots that weren’t already taken, but it worked out alright.
candy

There were a couple of stumbles along the way, like sudden change in decor 4 days before due to fairly uncooperative weather; or a few failed attempts at replicating some fancy tissue paper decorations following deceivingly easy-sounding instructions on MarthaStewart.com; but in the end, in a moment of clarity, I opted for simple touches and tried-and-tested dishes that would save me from last-minute panic. Same with the goody bags: after changing my mind several times, I decided to keep it simple: colorful candy matching the decor and miniature lip gloss and nail polish bottles.

goody bags sign

In the end, the party turned out far better than I expected or even imagined. There was a fun, relaxed atmosphere; the disparate group of friends I had assembled got along surprisingly well, and it was awesome to be surrounded by wonderful women who had chosen to spend time celebrating my formerly-scary milestone, who brought with them lovely gifts and thoughtful cards that had me crossing my fingers that my makeup was waterproof.

And when it was all done, I sat down with a glass of wine at the table that, though now clear of all dishes, just an hour before I had been sitting at with my friends, their unself-conscious laughs and easy chatter filling the room and making me feel very lucky, and very much glass-half-full (or closer to glass-filled-to-the-brim.)

And that’s when I realized that not only does the passing of time not scare me… I am actually grateful for it. Because it provides perspective. Because it helps you see what really matters, what you really care about, and what’s really not worth a second thought. Because it teaches you not to sweat the small stuff.

Because in the end, Adlai Stevenson was spot on when he said

“It is not the years in your life, but the life in your years that counts.”

Hear, hear!

{ 22 comments }

Some visitors… no matter how much you may be happy to have them over, they are visitors. It always feels like someone is in your house who doesn’t really belong there. An outsider.

I’m a little neurotic about some things, and much as I like meeting with friends and family, I get kind of panicky when I have people over. Will they like my cooking? Will they have a nice time? Is the house clean enough? I hope we don’t get bored. And when it’s overnight guests, it’s even worse.  Do they have everything they need? I need to come up with space for their clothes and things. Damn, our bathrooms are too small. I have to somehow keep the girl’s schedule while also taking care of our guests.

I recently had a guest. She just left. And I finally managed to relax and have fun while being the hostess.

Jax is one of my closest friends. We met two years ago, when we both attended the SELF Workout in the Park with other New York Yelpers. We went to brunch afterward and completely canceled out a morning of exercise classes by enjoying screwdrivers, spinach and artichoke dip, and pizza. And after our day of inconsequential fun was over, then we kept in touch.

When two outspoken, friendly, chatty people get together, it’s impossible to keep a superficial relationship for long: you either end up getting on each other’s nerves like noone’s business, or you become fast friends – and luckily the latter is what happened with us. We talked on the phone a lot, constantly e-mailed each other, and somehow became integral part of each other’s lives, despite (and this surprised us when we actually thought about it) having met face to face only a handful of times.

I was incredibly excited that Jax was coming – it was one thing that kept me positive during the move and gave me something to look forward to, the fact that I woulnd’t be estranged from all my NY friends, that she was going to come visit me in Switzerland– and I’m glad to say that after the fact, I’m still happy and I still adore her. If you can spend several days in close quarters, living with kids and putting up with bad weather, and still like that person, than it’s meant to be ;-)

And so Jax and I explored Zurich a bit, sometimes admiring things

sometimes making fun of things

occasionally stuffing our faces

and bitching about the miserable weather on and off.

Ok, I did most of the bitching. But I really wanted Jax to see how lovely Zurich is! And I think she saw that somewhat, especially since we spent almost all the time walking along the lake and shopping for chocolate, which are undoubtedly the two best bits ;-)

But even with that Jax said “I don’t think I could live here” and I was shocked – shocked, I tell you! Yeah, not really. The high prices and general grumpiness rub me the wrong way, too. But I decided to make lemonade. Look at the positive. Now I even find myself getting a little defensive. Zurich is not that bad after all. But it sure would be a lot better if Jax lived a little closer.

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Copyright Elisa Bieg, 2008-2009.