It was my birthday. I don’t make a big deal of it. I never did. My mother used to tell me that even as a child I
disliked birthday parties.
My only reason for mentioning it at all, is because it’s a perfect example of how little things do matter, and matter a lot. In this case it was the outpouring of good wishes I got, the sheer number of people who bothered to acknowledge the day.
Honestly, it was mind blowing. It started on Saturday when a few friends and relatives decided to beat everyone to the punch and be the first to send their birthday wishes my way.
On the actual day, Sunday, it began with a friend bringing over a gift and some gorgeous tulips. Then there were all the Facebook messages and posts. Dozens and dozens and dozens and dozens of them. They were from friends and family near and far. Childhood friends, work friends, old friends and new friends. Friends I’ve never met, but have bonded with through our blogs. And cousins who are scattered here, there and everywhere.
Amazing and wonderful and touching and so thoughtful.
As if that wouldn’t have been enough my closest friend took me out for the afternoon and then for dinner. It was cool, but sunny and bright and so we explored a neighbourhood we don’t often go to. It’s become a hot spot for young singles and there’s tons of really interesting boutiques, galleries, restaurants, pubs, cafes and even some start-ups.
We wandered around happily for a few hours, going in and out of shops, stopping once for coffee — shunning the Starbucks across the street for a small, indie spot that was packed with locals. Great coffee, by the way. Then we headed over to a sleek resto-pub for their usual Sunday night roast beef dinner.
The day could not have been more perfect, which brings me to the point of this story:
What made it special, what made it important, what made it matter were all the people who took the time to let me know they were thinking of me on this day. Pure and simple. As the best, most meaningful things always are.