The End of the Thirties

When I was a few months into dating my girlfriend, we celebrated her birthday together for the first time.  For me, birthdays have always a pretty understated affair, marked by a single special dinner and maybe a cake.  Not so for my girlfriend.  For her, birthdays are an event...or more accurately multiple events involving as many different activities and as many people as possible.  I was somewhat stunned that first year by the number of celebrations that a single person could have in honour of her birthday.

It took me a few years to realize that this was something that I could use to my advantage, but now that I'm three years into the relationship and a few days away from my fortieth birthday, I know to milk it for all it's worth.  I'm not having a single birthday this year; I'm having a birthday month.  Dinner with friends, dinner with both sides of the family, an Escape Room with other friends*, and birthday tapas with the girlfriend.  I will be celebrated!

And, inevitably, I will be a bit melancholy.  Because there is something about turning forty that feels...old.  Forty marks the end of the decade in which I went through medical school, residency, and fellowship.  It marks the end of the decade in which my father died.  It appears to mark the end of my single life and of dating new people**.  Realistically, it probably marks the end of any chance that I will have a biological child.  While I am hopeful for good things in the upcoming decade, I can't help but feel a bit wistful for the things being left in my thirties.

How does one let go of so many things that made them who they are?

*Have you ever done an Escape Room?  Puzzles and friendly competition all in one?  Yes!  Love them.

**If my girlfriend reads this, which she only seems to do when I write something she would find remotely bothersome, I can just hear her saying "Appears to?  What does 'appears to' mean???"

My Favourite Sound

With the weekend drawing to a close, the girlfriend and I are relaxing by spending some quiet time together on the couch.  I'm sitting with my laptop on...well...my lap, and she is reading the book The Language of Baklava.  In the background, last night's wedding song, You Are The Best Thing, is playing on YouTube.

As I struggle to find something from my utterly ordinary day to write about, every few minutes my girlfriend breaks out in laughter at something she has read.  I love when she reads funny books, because her spontaneous laughter is one of the best sounds in the world.  Pure happiness.

I am lucky.

The Almost First Valentine's Day

One year ago, the now-girlfriend and I had been messaging each other online for weeks, although we hadn't yet met in person.  This was in direct violation of my personal policy to meet people early on in the dating process - before I became attached to the online version of them - but a real-life meeting was hindered by the fact that she was on a month-long road trip to the Southern States.  So we had only the virtual world in which to get to know each other.  And I was becoming very attached to her.

She returned to our home city the day before Valentine's Day, and I was leaving for San Francisco the day after Valentine's Day, so we had a one-day window in the middle to meet.  Which we didn't do, as I, ever the pessimist, decided that I didn't want to potentially ruin Valentine's Day forever with the memory of a terrible date.  Instead, I went to San Francisco with only a fantasy version of her in my mind, and I spent my days thinking about how to impress her with witty and intelligent stories of my travels.

(The Pride Flag in San Francisco's Castro District)

When I returned, and we finally met in person over a pot of Earl Gray tea (her) and a glass of Sibling Rivalry (me), she was everything and nothing that I had imagined.  She was even more beautiful than she had been in her pictures, and I had to force myself to look away to keep from creepily staring at her.  She was louder and more confident than I had expected, and my shy self felt unpleasantly awkward in comparison.  The date was a short one - she had intentionally scheduled something immediately afterwards so that she would have an excuse to leave - but it left me wanting to know more about this intriguing creature.

And so I have.  Next Sunday (the 22nd) marks our one-year anniversary, and we are both hopeful that it will be one of many.  It has been a tough year in many ways, marked by my studying for and writing my licensing exam, by work crises (mine and hers), and by a cancer diagnosis for my mom*, but it has always been made better by her presence. 

In the words of my Valentine:  "If I had known then what I know now, I would have met you on Valentine's Day."

*Worthy of one or more separate posts, but I will say that here that she is post-surgery and apparently cancer free.  Yay!