It was my wife’s birthday recently. She usually declares that the whole month in which her birthday occurs to be her “birthmonth.” At the start of the month, she makes a list of all the things she wants to do in that month, and she commits to doing them. She also tries to celebrate the whole month as if it’s actually her birthday.
For example, she takes risks by expressing herself and not holding back; she sets firmer boundaries with people by asking for what she wants and by saying no to what she doesn’t want; she takes better care of herself by exercising and by not believing thoughts.
On her birthday this year, I wished her not only a happy birthday, and not only an excellent birthmonth, but a wonder-filled birthyear. This is her special year, the year when she gets to be, do, and have anything and everything she wants. This whole year is her year. This year, she is free to be what she is with abandon!
One of the wonderful things about having a birthyear is that when it expires another birthyear starts. You literally end up having one birthyear after another, all aligned perfectly back-to-back. So, instead of celebrating her birthyear, I have been encouraging her to celebrate her birthlife.
During her birthday, I made sure to repeatedly congratulate her: “Happy birthlife, baby!” Even after her birthday ended, I’m still telling her “Happy birthlife!” When her birthmonth ends, it will still be “Happy birthlife!” Even— especially—when her birthyear ends, it will be even more so “Happy birthlife!”
In fact, the only time I won’t be able to congratulate her and remind her that it’s her special life, is when she’s dead. If I could, then I would congratulate her on a “Happy birthdeath!” Even though it will still be enjoyable and perfectly fulfilling, she won’t be around to enjoy it; what she truly is will continue to be no-thing and everything on her birthdeath.