Yes, I’ve decided to stop aging.
Make no mistake: I’ll still need to be carded, renew my driver’s license every four years and blow out candles on my cake. But I’ve chosen to stop “aging”.
My birthday was last month. The day before, it was a close friend’s birthday. The week after, it was my mom’s birthday. Maybe it was these recurring celebrations that planted the seed of rejecting aging, or perhaps the ritual of blowing out candles has started to lose its charm for me—I haven’t yet decided.
My birthday always feels trapped between the end of one year and the start of the next, as if time itself is chasing me down, demanding I acknowledge its relentless march. For many of us, the birthday blues are inevitable. Some cry while eating their cake. Others cry with friends and family. Some despise the entire tradition, silently weeping under the covers. Why does a day meant to celebrate us feel so heavy?
Because birthdays often remind us of what we’ve lost: the innocence of childhood and the spontaneity of simpler times. Gone are the carefree days of playing in parks, drawing chalk murals on sidewalks or savoring SpongeBob-shaped popsicles that melted faster than we could eat them. Birthdays whisper of something bittersweet: aging doesn’t just add to our lives—it also takes away.
The carefree moments of youth slip further into the past, replaced by the weight of change and responsibility. Aging becomes a balancing act, navigating gains and losses. And it doesn’t help that aging has been commodified, sold to us with promises of nostalgia in tiny jars and endless slogans. But the push to fight aging is really a push to spend time, money and energy waging war against the inevitable.
So, what if we opted out? What if aging wasn’t something to resist or fear, but something to experience?
I don’t want to market Peter Thomas Roth’s serums to erase the years I’ve lived. I’m far more interested in learning how his 101-year-old mother maintains her childlike wonder. I don’t need to be told how to look younger; I want to feel younger despite the numbers on my cake.
I’m not aging anymore—I’m growing.
I want to grow on my own terms, holding onto the spark of childhood while navigating the responsibilities of adulthood. There’s room for both: the playfulness of a SpongeBob popsicle and the maturity of facing life’s complexities. I want to carve out moments of joy within the routines of adult life, letting curiosity and imagination linger alongside duty.
Growth should feel like a celebration, not a burden. Each year offers the gift of experience. It’s about welcoming the ever-expanding chapters of our stories, embracing all they hold without fear of what’s next.
So here’s to finding joy in the candles on your cake—or ignoring the numbers altogether. Here’s to birthdays that let us cry, laugh and dream all at once.
And here’s to growing in a way that feels right for each of us.
Happy Holidays—and an early Happy Birthday to you in the New Year.