Sharon Feinstein

How mixed we feel on our birthdays after we grow up. Mine is next week on the 22nd. Me, Rufus Wainright and wait for it, Rhys Ifans. Wonder how they’re feeling. It used to be so exciting, the big cake and candles, presents, surprises, ice cream and jelly. Then it moves into expectations and that ticking clock, the job, the baby, need to succeed.
Another birthday, another piece of cake, we should be grateful and feel blessed of course, but its also that smack in the face with a wet fish, ageing, crumbling, noticing things that weren’t there before if you know what I mean. ‘ From our birthday, until we die, Is but the winking of an eye,  ‘ said Yeats, my favourite poet. I have to say as the days move towards next Wednesday I have that foremost in my mind. Time and tide wait for no man. A few months ago I went to South Africa for my uncle’s 90th birthday – he describes himself as being in the departure lounge of life.
While I’ve still got time and hopefully a lot, I’m going to stick to wringing out every moment and think I’ll really celebrate my birthday instead of feeling it could all be snatched away. So back to looking forward to that piece of cake, presents, and anything lovely you’d like to send me.