January 6 is my birthday. For many years—rain, hail, sleet, or snow—I've always been able to thrive and go about this day festively and in a most enjoyable fashion (not that the obligatory shot of tequila has anything to do with it).  Like other holidays—because let's be honest, birthdays are holidays unique to each individual—I've learned that the older I become, the less weight or emphasis I put upon all the celebratory rituals (like parties, for example).

Don't get me wrong—I enjoy taking pause to reflect upon the many years I've been able to enjoy life, but if there's going to be some big blowout having, party hat wearing, confetti everywhere, vomit-provoking party... just for me… well, somebody else would have to see that this happens. Not me. I enjoy recognizing this day, but as I've said before... it's usually low key. But has anyone ever stopped to think about from where did this tradition of celebrating birthdays come?

Many centuries ago in Europe (back when only kings were worthy of birthday celebrations), it was believed that evil spirits took interest in people the most when it was their birthday. To ward off this perceived danger and vulnerability, family and friends would surround a person, on the day of his or her birthday, with festivities, foods, gifts, arts, and crafts; thus, instigating and bringing about of good, warm, and happy thoughts—actively dissuading evil spirits from partaking their odious and devilish activities. Heinous superstition?

Anyway, there's my food for thought with regard to birthdays.

-R