"I am large. I contain multitudes." - Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

Monday, October 25, 2010

Jetlag Train of Thought

I am in the middle of jetlag from my work trip to LA and had some FaceTime time with my best friend Zippy at 4am my time (4pm NYC).

While catching up on each other's lives, we talked about the deluge of greetings he received on FB on his birthday, to which I shared that I didn't put my birthday on that space. He asked why and I said I like it when my friends remember my birthday. He laughed and said it seemed like another test of friendship. I denied that it was.

Because it isn't.

There are many people I love in my life. But those I love special are those who make it a point to include me in their lives. I guess it's a single person's way of thinking. I live amidst families - really, more so now in my 40s than ever before. And family is top priority, I get that, truly I do. To the point that I understand that since I have no family of my own, I am not particularly top priority to anybody but God. I say that with no self-pity or self-disregard, it's just the way things are. I get it. Sometimes, I'm sad about it, but those moments are few and far between. Most of the time, I don't mind. Between you and me, I wish I felt happy about it more often. I want to be honest in this space, so I'm admitting that lately, I'm not. But it's ok. I'll live. It'll pass.

So going back to why I don't post my birthday on FB, I think it's because I like to be remembered. Not in a please-give-me-some-attention, throw-me-a-ticker-tape-parade sort of way, no. It's not that I will necessarily love someone less for not remembering. It's that I find I love special those who care enough to remember me. Especially in the midst of most of my family-first friends who may not think of me that often (Which is understandable - busy lives, significant others, raising children, working, etc. Again, I get it.)

But for this little heart of mine, it brings me such elemental joy, being remembered. I can't begin to tell you, or even attempt to describe it. Because it won't come close.

Which is also why some people come across to me like God's warm embrace. When others reach out to me, not necessarily to vent but to genuinely inquire about me, even if I have nothing of consequence to share, it touches my heart. If they only knew how much I needed to be remembered. It doesn't even hit me until after the fact. I don't get an understanding of how much it matters, or how desperately I yearn for it, till it happens. And when it does, I am grateful. No. I am beyond grateful.

And that is why I don't post my birthday on FB.

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