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The clock on the bus shelter read 6:40 pm
My wife and I are rushing through the busy streets of midtown Manhattan on a Saturday evening to make a 6:45pm dinner reservation. I am struck by the cacophony of lights emanating from stores and traffic lights, food carts and flashes from cameras, that make the darkness of the evening seem bright as day. I have lived in New York City for over 20 years, and I remain in awe that I live in this city that some people only know from television and movies. Also, living in New York means that when you are trying to get somewhere, by a certain time, I must leave the awe of New York City to the tourists. The tyranny of the restaurant reservation systems in this town, heightened by the energy of dining out, especially on the Saturday evening of Halloween weekend requires deep concentration.
This dinner for two was part of my 60th birthday celebration, and the restaurant where I wanted to have my birthday dinner. Since the actual day of my birthday was in the middle of the week, and reservations in the middle of the week did not align with our schedules, we had a nice family birthday dinner on the actual day. We arrived, breathless, only a minute late and were hustled through the dining room toward a side room where some of my closest friends and family, from near and far, shouted SURPRISE!
If I ever complained about another year passing, it ended in that moment when I realized I’m still here. Unprocessed trauma, grief and depression, had followed me since adolescence. I have known deep despair. Many (many!) years of therapy and psychoanalysis have made possible life and career changes, developing healthy connections and love, easier to manage. Every year, since my late 30s, I see every birthday as icing on a cake!
The group assembled that evening has been together to celebrate weddings, births, coming of age celebrations, anniversaries, funerals, and birthdays. A few of my friends made toasts, acknowledging how long we have known each ot