Thinking

About birthdays. I remember a year long ago (am I now old enough to say long, long ago?) when the daffodils outside my bedroom window waited until the morning of my birthday to open. I remember thinking that it was a sign, nature's way of noting my birthday. Because I have always thought that everyone should celebrate my special day, Flora and Fauna included. And I have always loved having a spring birthday, something about being born in the month known for coming in like a lion and out like a lamb seems right to me. I guess I can relate (and so can those who witness me in the mornings).

Last year on my birthday I flew back from NYC to San Diego. I had just finished a whirlwind trip full of interviews and spent most of my actual birthday wandering around the city, reveling in being anonymous and wondering if I could in fact make this wild city my home. The decision of whether or not to make the jump East was suddenly very real and it was a melancholy plane ride home. In the airport I was greeted by two dear friends and a giant Happy Birthday poster. I was then blindfolded and taken to a rooftop bar (with an interesting elevator ride in between) where all of my dearest friends were waiting. Did I mention that my plane was about an hour late? The fact that my friends had waited for me to arrive (and hadn't touched the cake) on a "school" night well, it still brings me to tears. It was perhaps one of my best birthdays--ever. A night I have gone back to time and time again in the past year, a magical evening that enveloped me in love and made me feel secure in the decisions I was making.

So, here I am on the eve of my first official NYC birthday. As I walked home tonight I was thrilled to see purple and white and yellow crocus popping up in my neighborhood. Mother nature found me, 3000 miles away, and my lovelies well, you haven't really left my side.