Upon reading the title of this piece, I’m inquisitive as to where most minds wander. Personally, upon contriving this name, Why I Don’t Say Happy Birthday, my thoughts immediately jumped to the daily appearance a red notification signaling Facebook birthdays, which oftentimes celebrate the lives of individuals with whom I haven’t spoken in years (or even an entire lifetime). What an incredibly weird virtual age it is that we exist in. However, despite these initial thoughts, this specific piece does not encompass the reluctance to waste precious time and energy wishing our virtual friends (aka utter strangers) a happy birthday. It’s quite the opposite, in fact. This piece involves wishing those we used to be quite intimate with, dare I say, in love with, a happy birthday.
Some might think that this underlying thought the most random, insignificant topic to delve into. Others, however, definitely have confronted this weird predicament at least once in their lives. As an emblematic anecdote, shall my friends and I discuss our exes, one of the key indicators of the animosity or goodwill in any past relationship surrounds: “Did he / she wish you a happy birthday?” The response to this question is often dipped and drizzled in emotion, regardless of the answer, notwithstanding how recently or distantly into the past the relationship came to an end. In some cases, the couple separated a few weeks prior to the significant other’s ultimate lap around the sun, or countless years had passed, yet nonetheless the day for some was as painful as banging your funny-bone on a granite countertop, while for others, as seamless as breathing. In certain instances, a heart leaps when it sees a number appear on the screen of their cellphone years later. Others fall asleep disheartened at the fact that the one partner upon whom they had been waiting to wish them a happy birthday, had said nothing.
The idea behind this piece is not random as you might think. A colleague of mine had been “on and off” (romantically) with a guy for some time, shortly after he moved to Europe. On his birthday, she asked me and another colleague in a troubled and exasperated voice, if she should send this man a message for his birthday. My eyes automatically lit up, because I’ve had this topic on my Google Doc of blog topics ever since I had found myself in the same conundrum very recently.
I had gone through the ups and downs of a post-breakup routine, including copious amounts of Gilmore Girls with a box of tissues, a wine night with close girlfriends, and a new journal. Despite this oddly comforting sequence, I still dreaded the impending birthday. The fact that this day mentally taxed me to such an extent was not logical by any means, but that’s precisely why it merits discussion (even if you’re not a “birthday person,” which, many are not, I’ve come to find). It could be emblematic of any holiday, anniversary, or day you’ve coined a special one. These annual events are peculiar given the connection with this person, who was once so close that you would have been clinking champagne glasses or throwing a kickass surprise party with them by your side, but now they’re solely a memory, and the strangeness and tenderness that such a day brings is an emblem of just that. Instead of an anniversary of their death, this person is still alive (hence the celebration of their life, aka, birthday), and such a day is a reminder that they are out there somewhere, still alive, but in so many ways, dead to you. And this, my friend, epitomizes the difficulty in losing someone who lives: You still wonder if you should wish them a happy birthday.
My answer, as you could have probably guessed by the intonation of my writing thus far and the sheer title of the piece, is short and simple: No. You can spend a million years convincing yourself that you don’t care if they respond, or that you’ve done the “right thing” by sending a cordial message. Only you truly know deep down whether or not you care, but I can promise you this: If you wish an ex “Happy birthday,” there’s a high probability that you are not doing the right thing for you. Instead, you are doing the right thing for them; to be likeable and polite or to prove that you’re doing “just fine.” Or perhaps, in the effort of self-destruction, you deeply yearn to know of them. Unless you are 105% okay with (deep down, not what you want to feel or what you want others to think you feel) your ex not responding; replying a mere “thanks”; lashing out on you; shoving in your face how happy they are without you; or opening the floodgates to how much they’ve missed you; don’t.
While I admire the emotional maturity of those who are able to amicably leave a relationship and remain friends, I believe that in most cases, at least directly following a break-up, the last thing either party needs is communication, let alone friendship. Studies show that when we fall in love, our brain emits a high level of endorphins, which in many ways, mimic the effects of drugs; emanating highs of sheer elation and bliss. Similarly, when we go through a break-up, our brain displays activity mimicking that of a withdrawal. As smokers attempt to quit their deadly habit, they typically leverage patches to ween their way off such an addictively satisfying practice, and in opposition to previous fulfilling highs, they struggle through the deepest of lows, and battle to let go. Oftentimes, they fail. However, it is the “cold-turkey” route to quitting drugs that is the most painful, yet also the most effective, and the same logic applies to dating. When you cut someone off completely, you will likely wake up to the physical feeling of your heart tearing from your body. Similarly, while this withdrawal eats away at the strength and willpower that we’ve relied on to stay away from that person’s contact in our cellphone, we must lean into that burn. No shortcuts. No cheating. No “Happy Birthday.”
As a summation to this post, I have taken the responsibility to move beyond the relation between ex’s, birthdays, and drugs. Ha. Here’s the real message, and take it as you will. Life is short, especially when you waste a few years waiting for a single, dreadful birthday (or whatever day it may be for you) to come and go. When I once asked one of my best Ecuadorian friends why she was so reluctant to fall in love, she responded, “Tan corto el amor, tan largo el olvido” (Love is short, forgetting is long). While I believe this message to be both profound and true, my hope for the readers of this piece, is not to not fall in love. Instead, I implore you to fall in love, with as many people as possible, romantically, in your familial relationships, and in your friendships. This will aid you in life, dating as many people, and determining what you like and don’t like in partner. However, you must also recognize when it’s time to move on and let go. Find the power within yourself both to forgive your own oversights, alongside the pain your partner caused you, even after promising they never would. While life is short, most love is often shorter, but no pain should last as long as either. Cut it off, forgive both them and yourself, and let go. Live on. And stop saying “Happy Birthday.”