Your birthday is an anniversary. Did you know that? You only have one original birthday, unless strange things are afoot. Every year after that first entry is a revisit.

I don’t mind a revisit. I’m not someone who gives up on birthdays. I like celebrating the good things: hit me. I’m less a fan of remembered misery, but anniversaries show up there too.

I’m lousy at relationship anniversaries not least because my generation tends to turn everything into something worth memorializing, no matter how trite:

Babe. It’s the seven-month anniversary of the first time we had ice cream together.

Give it a rest.

I may not be good at couple anniversaries, but I do a good job at keeping track of the significant dates of family and friends. I’m not big on capitalism anniversaries – I don’t care about Doughnut Day, or Beer Day, or Best Friend Day – but I remember your big and small stuff.

I remember because I write them down. I write them down and cross-reference them into my phone and onto the wall calendar. Multiple entries help in the not-forgetting sweepstakes. Happiness is a backup. I set the whole year up on January first. It’s part of my new year routine. 

I especially like anniversaries that come with stuff – birthdays and Christmas spring to mind, though my mother did a wonderful job of making every occasion special. It’s her fault I’m such a fan of getting presents. It’s not about the stuff per se. It’s that people thought about you and made an effort. Plus, unwrapping is a joy. ^[i]

I have a few personal anniversaries to my credit. More than a few, to be honest – I am in my middle years – but these are the ones I tend to attend to:

it’s been fifty-four-and-a-half years since I was born;
it’s been thirty-seven years since I got my driver’s license;
it’s been thirty-six years since I graduated high school;
and it’s been twenty-eight since I got my BA.

It’s been four years since I’ve thrown up (in an eating-disordered way);
it’s been three years since I quit smoking; and
it’s been three years since I finished treatment for breast cancer.

And, as of November 5, 2023, it’s been six years since I published my first WordPress blog post.

I’m pretty proud of the milestone, and being proud of myself is a nice change. I often go in a different direction when it comes to myself.

I consider six years of posts no small thing. One more year and I’ll match my longest romantic relationship.

As I said, I’m not at my best coupled up.

I’m proud of what I’ve done here. I’m pleased with the content and with my growth, personally and as a writer. Especially when it comes to tagging. Not everything is self-care.

I’ve hit publish on eight-hundred-and-one posts about this, that, and the other thing. Some of them are dogs in hindsight, but that’s okay. We do the best we can. I started making edits to them at one point, but the list is long and I’m lazy.

I self-published a collection of essays from the blog, and I corrected those ones. That was another neat thing to have under my belt, though I didn’t add it to the anniversary list.

Thank you for being on this journey with me. I appreciate your presence, your responses, and your comments. They often make my day.

Here’s to the anniversaries to come.

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[i] If you’re going to use a gift bag, wrap the present that goes in it. Also, gifts are kind of about the stuff, so be thoughtful.

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