#2: It's my 28th birthday, and I'll cry in Party City if I want to
An essay on growing up. Welcome back to the GRIEF AND MEDIA PROJECT!
This is a monthly essay from GRIEF AND MEDIA PROJECT. For more like this, plus a media database, weekly newsletter and podcast, consider becoming a subscriber.
I kicked off my birthday this year by having an emotional breakdown at Party City. With Jack’s help, I decided to throw myself a little birthday party at the park, with a Nothing Bundt cake, dinosaur paper plates, root beer and, of course, a crown for me.
But while walking through the aisles of Party City, I was struck with memories of the past, ones I’ll never get to live in again. It made me really aware of how different this birthday would be compared to any others I’ve had before—for better and for worse.
I like to think about life in blocks of five years.
Five years ago, I was turning 23. I was living in Los Angeles and hating it, mind you, and going on what felt like a new date a week. I just got gum surgery and loved to tell everyone about it. I remember sitting at my birthday brunch and telling a friend, “At 23, it’s not cute to be a virgin anymore,” something I didn’t actually believe but was saying self-depricating-ly for comedic effect. Of course, in this block, I met my now-husband, got married (something I always thought I’d do two blocks from now, at 34ish), watched my mom get diagnosed with cancer and then die, experienced a global pandemic, got a cat (I used to hate cats), moved back to San Diego then to Boston then to Portland, Maine then to San Francisco, think that every year I’m starting grad school but then something happened that I couldn’t, cry because of grief and not knowing my life purpose plus additional little things I never used to cry over. Though you couldn’t have told me this on my 23rd birthday, the only expected part of this block was that I would have sex.
Five years before that, I was turning 18. I was about to graduate high school, my dad died months before. I immediately got my belly button pierced and then my nose, but I was too scared for a tattoo, deciding my brain was too undercooked to make such a permanent decision. (That was next-block activities.) I was about to start college at San Diego State, a place my parents wanted me to go because it was local. I was resistant at first, but thank god I did. In this block I made lifelong friends, solidified a lot of my career interests that I still hold, started my first jobs in my field, had an anonymous dating blog, graduated college, moved to LA, missed my mom despite talking to her multiple times a day, missed my dad but didn’t know how to say it, dated, cried over boys, lost my childhood dog Lucy and, I think for the first time, discovered who I was.
Going back two more blocks, to when I turned 8. I remember wearing an all-black outfit, from a beanie (it was May in San Diego, let us not forget), to likely Converse. All I could think was, “I look so cool.” I loved to experiment with fashion as a kid, something I’m rechannelling now, blocks later. My aunt Beverly took me to Build-A-Bear at Fashion Valley Mall after school, and I made my dog stuffed animal that I carried around everywhere for years after. (And I mean everywhere. I once took her to Universal Studios Hollywood, where there’s a Shrek section and an actor playing Donkey who talks to people on a loud speaker. He couldn’t stop talking about me and my Build-A-Bear, much to the delight of my family, and my delight as well as someone who loves being center of attention.) In fact, she’s still in my closet—I refuse to have her on the bed because she’s too special. Afterwards, Beverly took me to Pinkberry, then we drove back to East County and went to Souplantation, a now-defunct San Diego staple. I cherish this birthday, because I didn’t know that in this block, Beverly would be diagnosed with cancer, and in the next, die. Beverly was, is, my favorite family member outside of my immediate family. I wish I got to know her past the age of 14. It took me quite a few blocks to process that she’s not here anymore.
Now that I’m 28, there are five years until I’m 33, an age that I think we’d like to try to have kids at—an entirely new stage of life. In these next five years, I’ll go to grad school, hopefully establish myself more in my career, maybe write a book, ideally grow this website, finally travel internationally, dance more, worry less, whatever it may be. And in the next five years after that, maybe I’ll have a couple kids and buy a house, or become a real estate agent and sell homes in Laguna Niguel. (Sorry, Selling the OC has infiltrated my brain.) I suppose the beauty is that as much as I plan, I’ll never really know. I guess planning is best reserved for five-year blocks.
Birthdays are loaded, I’ve discovered, and revisiting Party City makes all the memories come flooding back. Going with my dad just to try on the different masks and crowns; walking in with my mom weeks before Halloween to try to find bits and pieces for a hyper-specific costume idea; getting decorations for a Fourth of July pool party at our house, equipped with hot dogs and strawberry margaritas, though I was only allowed a small sip.
Happy birthday to me. (Is that lame to say?) Here’s to the next block of life, full of memories and probably hardships, but I hope lots of laughs and lots of love and a never-ending stream of dreams.
Thank you for reading. If you liked this essay, please subscribe and share with a friend!
