Happy Birthday . . . to me. . . .

When we’re young, Birthdays are the second most exciting days of the year.  They are only beat out by Christmas.  It’s a day of Presents and cake and parties.  Most importantly, it is a day that is all about you.  Even Christmas can’t do that.  When we’re young, we can barely wait for birthdays to come around.  Then we get older, and we start to dread them.

Why is that?  What happens that causes birthdays to lose their magic?

Perhaps the problem is that we fear getting old.  When were young, getting older is a good thing.  It means being able to do more things: Staying up late, driving, getting out on our own, paying bills (though this one quickly loses its charm).  But after we turn about 21, the mile stones become less exciting and more daunting.  I remember when I turned 25, how shocking it was to think that I was a quarter of a century.  This was possibly the hardest age I’ve yet turned.  It was about this time that I decided that I wouldn’t worry about the numbers any more; I would just enjoy the birthday.  I would look at the day as I did when I was a kid.  Just an exciting day that was all about me . . . and I got presents.

Unfortunately, this proved to be easier said than done.  As this year’s birthday approached, I could feel the birthday blues creeping in on me.  To be honest, it baffles me.  Logically I know that the numbers really don’t matter.  It’s all relative.  When I’m home at my apartment, I’m one of the oldest.  Most of my roommates are younger than me.  There are times there that I feel old.  At work, I’m the youngest.  They even sometimes refer to me as “youngen” (Affectionately. . . I think).  Despite that, there are times when my co workers act younger then I do.  (No disrespect to any of them, I hold all of them in the highest respect and regard.)  There are also times that I act younger then my roommates.  

The fact is, age is all relative, but if we are so afraid of getting old that we fail to take joy in things like birthdays, then we are already old.

The Quilter's Image

One good thing about quilting is the magazines.  They have great projects and ideas, but that isn't the only reason I like it.  If you look at the quilting magazines you will find pictures of women who are real.  You know, women with curves, wrinkles, and hair and make up that didn't take a stylist several hours to accomplish.  If you ask me, these are the kinds of women that should be in fashion magazines.  These women are just as beautiful as the woman in the fashion magazines.

The standards of beauty today are extreme to the point of being unrealistic and unreasonable.  too many women cannot see their own beauty because they are constantly compared to who, at best, are in the minority, or, at worst, photo shopped and air brushed to look even more unrealistic.  So many women bend over backwards (literally, if they're into yoga) trying to make themselves look like something they are not rather then accepting their own beauty.

One time while working at the shop, I referred to myself as an ugly duckling.  The customer I was helping looked at me and quite seriously told me that all girls are beautiful.  I didn't argue, but I didn't quite accept what she said either.  Everything I have seen in magazines, on TV, in movies, it showed a very specific form of beauty.  But it was a form that I didn't fit.  It took me a while, but eventually I learned to accept this simple statement as truth.  All girls are beautiful.

The fashion magazines, the movies, television, they all lie.  The fact is, there is more than one kind of beauty, just as there is more than one kind of quilt.  There are quilts that are big and some that are small.  Some have tiny prints and intricate pattern, and some have bold prints and large blocks.  But that doesn't make them any less beautiful than any others, just different.  And it is these differences that make quilting so much fun.  could you imagine how boring quilting would be if there was only one style of quilt?  You would make one quilt, and then you would be done.  There would be no need to make any more.  But there is no end to the number of quilts you can make.  There are hundreds and hundreds of different patterns and combinations.  if twenty people were to make the same quilt, they would all be different.  Why can't we accept these differences in people?  Why can't we accept these differences in ourselves?