The Truth About Birthdays

You should be happy on your birthday, that's what everyone tells you, it's what the cards tell you in any case. Just like you should be merry at Christmas. It's true, there is more opportunity to be happy when it's your birthday, with the presents, food, family and friends. But all the reasons why are designed to make me anxious; the expectation when you unwrap a gift, enforced activities and being the centre of attention are too much pressure. There's also the food. I have an uneasy relationship with food; I had an eating disorder when I was a teenager and I am a picky eater, which makes menu decisions a lot easier! Luckily, this year, we had a takeaway at home as a treat, instead of going to a restaurant.

My favourite Beatrix Potter character in figurine form

No, birthdays are bittersweet. You think about who's not there to share it with you. My birthday is the same as my Dad's Mum who I don't remember, because I haven't seen her since I was one, her choice; she died relatively recently. My Mum's Mum, my beloved Granny, used to give me a Beatrix Potter figure every birthday. My family have continued the tradition. So I always think of those two ladies on my birthday every year. You think about birthdays past and what you've done in the last year, similar to New Year's. Obviously, you're happy you've made it through one more year in this world, but what have you done with it? Last year, I ticked something off my bucket list, visiting the Bronte's home: Haworth Parsonage. But I'm struggling to think of anything else of note since.

Haworth Parsonage

My nature is not inclined towards contentment. I'm always comparing myself to others, with myself. Contentment is lasting, happiness is momentary. For my birthday this year, it has been about living vicariously through others. I spent the actual day with my niece, taking her over the park and happiness was in witnessing hers, when she said "weeeeee" every time she went down the slide, somehow saying it differently each time. Happiness was in seeing how much she's developed since last I saw her. And happiness was in her sitting on my lap as I read her one of my favourite books at her age and her listening attentively. Children have a way of teaching you to live in the moment, just for a moment.

The next day, I watched a long-awaited film at the cinema, the third best escape after the ultimate reading a book and the second best watching a favourite TV series. It's been 19 films coming and I knew it would be bittersweet. Inside Out taught me that the brightest happiness comes hand-in-hand with sadness.

Me ready for the cinema: Loki dress, (Guardians of the) Galaxy leggings and Hulk socks

On the last day of my birthday long weekend, on the bank holiday, we carried on a growing tradition over the past few years of visiting a bluebell wood for my birthday. Bluebells are my favourite flower and they come out around my birthday, so it's perfect timing. Last year, it was Fountains Abbey. The first year, it was Waresley Wood. This year's wood wasn't the best, but it was where it hit me, why I love bluebells so much. It's not because bluebells, true English bluebells, not the Spanish literal usurpers, are actually purple; all blue flowers are actually purple to my eyes. It's not because they're melancholy, they way they hang down, unlike the Spanish whose bells are better balanced on either side. It's because they require solidity, security and stability; they only grow in older established woodland amidst long-lasting potentially ancient trees. I empathise with them as in order to grow, develop and bloom, I also need time, safety and strong foundations. I'm a real tree-hugger as it's a great way to feel grounded, essential for anyone with anxiety issues. Happiness for me is being part of nature. I like to feel something that was there before me and will be there after me. That's a good thing to remember on a birthday.

Bluebells

All shall fade: A Christmas holiday of farewells

Me and my nephews

Most things are ephemeral, everyone knows that. However it doesn't mean we're any the less sad when things come to an end. The knowledge that almost nothing ever lasts forever doesn't make saying goodbye any easier. Recently there have been several significant goodbyes for me. I really wished it could be Christmas every day this new year.

There are always goodbyes at Christmas. When family and friends get together, people that haven't seen each other for a while, especially in my case when some of the family live abroad, there will be hard goodbyes. Even though we had been on holiday together earlier in the year and the goodbye then was difficult and emotional, the goodbye at Christmas, actually on New Year's Eve, was worse. It should have been easier as they were back and forth visiting people and we didn't seen them as much as before. But you never get used to saying goodbye. It should never be a casual thing.

Christmas meal

Christmas always makes things seem more significant: it's the traditions, presents, decorations, family meals, but mostly the time off from everyday life. It may only be a few days in actual time, but in quality time, nothing beats Christmas; it makes everything seem deeper, more profound, loaded: heavy.

Back to the Future, good Christmas film and good use of the word "heavy"

As if saying goodbye to all that wasn't bad enough, what made it worse was seeing my nephews together, with two nieces on the way, two big meals with all 10 of us and a couple of evenings when it really felt like we were one big happy family again. It all made me look back in a nostalgic way. I can still remember being a little kid at big family gatherings, playing with my cousins, my aunts and uncles around. Now I'm one of those aunts. I never thought it would happen. I love being an Auntie, don't get me wrong, but I feel more like a kid than an auntie. I kept thinking of a song lyric: "If you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing's changed at all. And if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like you've been here before." Yes, but in a different role, or torn between two roles: a child and a grown-up.

I guess I just don't want anything to change. Yet it does anyway. Time marches on. Living is easy with eyes closed. So now, after sitting in the cinema last night, listening to Billy Boyd singing as the credits rolled, an era of my life came to an end. I know now how the Star Wars generation felt after Return of the Jedi, how they must have felt after Revenge of the Sith, except The Hobbit films were infinitely better and not a major disappointment. They also came nine years on and not 16 years on.

The moment that caused the panic attack

I know I lay greater significance on Lord of the Rings than it really deserves due to my emotional connection to it; it symbolises my progression after coming through mental illness as I had my worst panic attack while watching the Fellowship of the Ring in the cinema. The films came out during an impressionable time for me. I was seventeen, school had ended and my life was transforming around me, giving me independence, independence I couldn't handle; life was being forced upon me. It was all a great big scary adventure and I empathised with Frodo leaving his safe and comfortable existence and going out into the big dark world. Now the film series has come to an end, when I'm more secure. My life has changed radically from the first Lord of the Rings to the last Hobbit film. I believe I'm quite valid in mourning the end.

Boromir dies

It wasn't like after the last Lord of the Rings film; I was film savvy enough then to realise they would be making The Hobbit. But because of various rights battles, including between the movie studios New Line and MGM, Guillermo Del Toro bowing out and the time it takes to make a Tolkien/Peter Jackson masterpiece, it took longer than expected. But there was always the possibility.

Sitting in the cinema yesterday, it came upon me that this would almost definitely be the last time I would see a new Tolkien film in the cinema. Billy Boyd singing didn't help matters, bringing to mind THAT moment when he sang before, which inspired the title of this blog post and the soundtrack to Faramir's sacrificial charge. I cried in the cinema after Return of the King for Frodo when he sailed from the Grey Havens. I cried for the characters then. This time I cried for me. I cried for the end of an era. I cried for the film series I grew up alongside. I cried for the person I used to be and for the person I am today. I cried for the past. I cried for the future. I didn't weep. Tears were not even shed; I held them back, just. I wish I could have cried instead of crying inside. But I was in a public place and we had to get home. I just had a moment to myself, to mourn. The quality of the film itself ultimately didn't matter, though it was excellent, but like The Lord of the Rings, I preferred the more innocent first of the series; it was what it signified.

Lastly and least importantly, I lost a friend over Christmas: Miranda. Much has been said in criticism about this TV series and I would be the first to admit that the last ever episode wasn't the best. But I have stuck by her from the first hello, through the highs of the therapist episode right until her inevitable wedding. I empathised with all her social faux-pas, potent awkwardness and lack of confidence. In short, as with all Miranda's fans, I saw a lot of myself in her, especially in the struggle to be herself which it ultimately came down to. And despite the silliness, the unreality and flaws of the episode, it was seeing Miranda finally grow up a little, become more independent and gain some self-esteem that moved me. It was a lovely and lovingly crafted goodbye, with a nod to the viewers. So so long to Customer, Clive, Mike, Chris, Alison, the therapist, Charlie, Tilly, Penny, Stevie, Gary and Miranda. I for one will miss you.

Finally, to sum up, I'm turning to Doctor Who, which has been all shades of wrong recently, right from when Steven Moffat took over, especially in the way the latest Doctor is treating humanity; he used to see us as equals, sacrificing himself for Wilfred in the end; now he sees us as something to look down on, patronising and superior. Anyway, the Christmas episode got one thing right. Christmas should be treated like it's your last; a silent goodbye runs through the holiday, never spoken, until the last day of course. Christmas is special like that. Appreciate and spend time with your loved ones as you don't know what next Christmas will bring.

Well, all these goodbyes are in the spirit of Auld Lang Syne and it's an appropriate way to begin a new year. Here's to 2015 and to last goodbyes.