Another year older; a different kind of anniversary.

Today marks the final year my birthday will start with three on it, and boy has this one hit me hard. Life isn’t as I imagined it would be—this past year is far from the one I had expected or dreamed of, and living alone in a new city I definitely haven’t gotten the fresh start or do-over I was so desperately seeking (for many reasons beyond my control, and some choices I’ve made along the way that haven’t worked out how I’d hoped either). I’m disappointed, a little sad, but still optimistic about what could be possible going forward. It has been a far more quiet, low key, isolated birthday to say the least for a lot of us this year.

But even those of us in trying, isolated circumstances — like people in prison or solitary living in strict lockdowns — will find a way to create a narrative to describe the passing of another year. Even though our usual birthday festivities, like time spent with loved ones, family and friends and celebrating have been replaced with monotony and days that seemingly are indistinguishable from one another, that almost seem to roll into the next — living a real-life version of groundhog day — we still try and find interesting ways to account for the passing of another 365 days, and remember it in some meaningful way.

Why do we bother to count the days?
If we feel there is nothing real to celebrate?

The careful accounting of days allows those of us who are isolated to note a period of hardship that has been endured and survived.
To highlight and celebrate that we have found the strength to persevere through a tireless situation with determination and optimism, and that this anniversary can stand for proof of our gusto.
It also provides the occasion to reflect on the inevitable progress we have made, even if it feels tiny, in the world, we will one day leave behind.