I don't remember very many birthdays before the age of, well, a few years ago. But there is one birthday that I remember that completely changed the way that I looked at my life. Its seemingly unimportant and I may be reaching for some sort of underlying message that doesn't even exist but here it goes:

I can't even recall how old I was turning or which birthday this was, but it was when my parents were still together. The morning was filled with chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream, calls from family members who sang to me on the phone, and I remember getting a limited edition American Girl Doll that looked just like me. She was brand new with light brown hair, and a few freckles- we even added earrings to her ears once I got mine pierced. I felt like we looked so much alike and we shared these traits that made me feel like I was so lucky to have such a great birthday. But once the day ended and the charade that was my birthday depleted, for another 365 days I played with this special doll.

As more and more birthdays went on I started to notice a snag in her clothing, small knots in her hair, and the coloring of her eyes starting to fade. It made me feel like my youth was slowly diminishing just like the freshness of this doll was. Since then, no birthday has felt quite as special, and I can't remember the last time that I truly felt like a carefree kid. Like someone who would wake up with no worries in her mind except whether or not Mom and Dad would make chocolate chip pancakes again or sing me happy birthday together again.

So to me, now birthdays sort of remind me of my American Girl Doll Molly. How we sold her at a garage sale to make more money for my college fund (which I apparently have to save real money for and work an adult job for), and how my childhood innocence seemingly left with her. And with age and birthdays coming and going, I'm constantly wishing I was just a carefree kid again and I didn't have to think about all of the complex things that life continues to throw at me. But I've learned that this life is unforgiving to time, and no matter how nostalgic we may feel towards a special edition doll or a morning full of sugary breakfast food, nothing will ever feel that carefree again.

I've deleted this paragraph four times, let's make it five. Remember when birthdays were fun, happy times? It's a loaded question, how many years I've graced this planet. I've contributed what I can, I'm older than I was then. There are many life lessons to learn, one is how to use the written word. I'll come back to this, I promise, after another decade of remorse, sorrow, discarded drafts and too much bourbon.

I was in my twenties once, living day to day, hoping to survive the decade without succumbing to pain. I hit thirty and realized I'm a third of the way through, if I am lucky. Perhaps it's all happenstance, a roulette of genetics. I take another sip of my drink and watch the condensation drip down the glass, another year in the bag, handed to me with a lemon slice on the edge.

We are all surviving, even if at different tempos. Each year is its own performance, percussion that continues. If the beat goes on, but no one is around to hear it, can you still call it music?

Are you listening to it?