What happens when you ask for what you want?
I used to want to forget about my birthday.
Because, over the last four decades, it's been one of the most miserable days of my life...
Birthdays weren't a big deal in our immigrant household. Beyond eating long life noodles out of superstition or eating a cake from Diamond Bakery, there weren't any noteworthy celebrations.
As I started to get invitations from American friends and attend parties filled with decorations, piñatas, and parting gifts, I wondered:
'Is this how it's supposed to be?'
It's a question I've asked often in life.
Living in Shanghai, China as an editor in the depths of my bulimia, none of my family members called to remember.
I justified it as having a hard time with the time zones.
Then, when I was married, I stood in the living room of our Austin, Texas home as my husband shouted at me, stonewalled me, then proceeded to pack for his upcoming trip with my daughter to visit his mother in the midwest.
I brought my daughter to Whole Foods, so that I could buy lunch for us and maybe some snacks for her flight. Mostly it was to get out of the house.
I saw a little girl walking around with a Happy Birthday balloon, and my eyes trailed that balloon throughout the stores as we happened to go through the same aisles.
Then, at the bulk foods section, a man stood there looking to buy something. Somehow, we struck up a conversation about the product, then each meandered away.
My heart was heavy.
Everything in me felt weighted with the immense sadness of knowing I was in the wrong relationship, the wrong place, the wrong life.
My daughter and I got our food, and I pushed our cart to the outside tables. There again, was the little girl with the Happy Birthday balloon, her mother and father and brother laughing alongside her.
There also was the man we bumped into in the store. He was working on a device we'd never seen, so my daughter asked him about it.
When he asked about our day, my three year old said, "Oh, it's my Mama's birthday today!"
She was excited, adorable.
He smiled at me. "Happy birthday," he said.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
He finished lunch before us and left. Shortly afterward, I got up to throw our food away.
As I was placing my daughter in the cart to push our groceries to our car, the man walked out of the store again and directly to me.
He handed me a small cake from the Whole Foods bakery.
"This is for you," he said. "Happy birthday."
I was shocked. I didn't have any words.
"I, uh..." and then I looked into his eyes. They were filled with kindness.
"Thank you," I said.
How could I convey how this single gesture from a stranger outdid anything my husband had done for me over the last three years?
He smiled, turned away, walked away to his car.
I looked down at the cake, took a breath. Then, I looked up again at him just in time to catch him turning back one more time before he got into his driver's seat.
He smiled one last time.
This man gave me hope on a day I had none. He reminded me I was worthy. A stranger saw it when my husband couldn't or wouldn't.
He didn't just hand me a cake.
He handed me an affirmation that there was something better out there for me — I just had to believe I was deserving enough to receive it.
Over the last five years, I've been in the healthiest relationship of my life.
It has taken difficult conversations. Non-attachment. Space, personal growth, and doing the opposite of what I've done in the past.
Because we're both divorced, we approach this relationship completely differently than our marriages.
We say the things. The hard things. The vulnerable things. The beautiful things.
We advocate for ourselves.
We advocate for one another.
We advocate for the greater good of the relationship.
We practice a lot of gratitude.
We learned what we don't want, so we could get to what we do.
I'm about to turn 47 in 6 days, and a couple of months back, I asked my partner something I've never said aloud:
"I would really like to feel special on my birthday."
Heard.
On Saturday, my daughter and I are flying to New York first class to see him, his daughters, and his parents in Long Island.
He's asked his parents to help take care of the girls, so that he can take me to the Manhattan Club the night before, take me to dinner, take me to see the Buena Vista Social Club play. And then, he's excited to wake up in the morning with me to get breakfast and walk Central Park. Then, we'll go home, so that our girls and his parents can celebrate me, too.
He's done the research. He's done the planning.
Before I dropped him and his daughters off at the airport on Tuesday, in the busy-ness of getting out the door, he called me back into his room.
He took my face in both his hands, gave me a kiss, then said:
"I know you asked me to make your birthday special, and I want to do just that. I'm excited to celebrate you in New York."
He knew that when we were at airport drop-off, it'd be difficult to have a moment between the two of us, so he purposefully made one beforehand.
This is what happens when you dare to ask for the life you want to have.
When you change your unconscious belief that you deserve it.
When you align your actions, your words, and your desires.
When you make yourself a priority.
And, when you do the hard work of giving it to yourself first, so that your external world can reflect your internal one.
I wish that for every day of your life, you advocate for everything you've ever wanted — in every single way.
Mahalo,
Judy
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