I have to practice saying “I’m twenty-two”

I’m twenty-two!

Having a winter birthday really isn’t so bad. Some years, I’ve had to tolerate slush and gray, but today’s sky was cloudless, the air fiercely cold in a way that felt fresh and clear. Stepping outside this morning was a sensation not unlike catapulting into a frigid body of water for a metaphorical ritual of rebirth. Lily brought me flowers when she came over to have breakfast; the petals popped yellow against the bright blue air and the fragrance was a lush allusion that soon, everything will start to thaw.

I can always imagine celebrating in August though, on my half-birthday. I’ve always wanted to do something ridiculous and ridiculously fun on that day, go to the beach glowing with summer, swim and read magazines, eat ice cream in lieu of cake, sip frozen strawberry margaritas with equal parts sugar and alcohol. I’d catapult into the waves without risking hypothermia. The occasion would be more lovely and lighthearted and my dearest friends would still bring me bright blooms.

So if you get an invitation late in the summer, don’t ask too many questions–just pack your swimsuit and BYO margarita glass.