A Birthday Coupling: Sharing My Birthday With My Beloved.
My husband’s birthday and mine are one day apart in May (conveniently, mine comes first, so we basically get to celebrate my birthday twice).
Neither one of us is into astrology, nor have I ever analyzed or researched what this actually “means” beyond the fact that it underscores my certainty that he and I are spiritually paired. We share a unique bond, like Gemini twins.
On every birthday since we met, my husband surprises me with an unexpected gift that demonstrates he knows what I need, like a new iPhone, business cards for my writing and blogging promotion, or an artsy ring from a store he knows I like. I usually buy him clothes, because I’m lame, and because I know which store in Manhattan carries men’s XXL (Banana Republic, J Crew, no. G-Star, yes) and I’m too impatient for anything that requires craft.
He is the opposite. On my fortieth birthday, a few months after we had gotten back together, he surprised me with a “me” video montage that highlighted and celebrated my journey from divorcee to meeting him. When he proposed to me, on a beach overlooking Bermuda, his proposal came by way of a video card too. And for this birthday, I awoke to his most poetic card yet. Our story in title cards, set to a song with ethereal lyrics about how tiny and inconsequential we are in this vast universe, solitude imbedded in our DNA. And when we weave our souls together in love, like two intertwined DNA strands, it eases this solitude.
I assumed that was my present, until we got home that night from a party. I was recounting an anecdote from the evening, getting ready to wash up and he told me to come over to the couch where two large sketch pads and packs of charcoal and pencils lay.
“I think you should draw again,” he said. “You’re an artist.”
An artist. I was. It was how I had begun. When I was a kid, I went through a vicious bought of insomnia, and would lay out paper and colored pencils on my desk, my comforting friends who I knew would be there for me later in the quiet loneliness of the night. I attended the School of Fine Arts in college. I see feelings in pictures and cheesy visual metaphors. But amidst life and my job, where I nurture and sell other artists, I had forgotten that I was one.
I stood there in shock, tears streaming down my cheeks. My reaction surprised us both. I hadn’t told my husband that I missed drawing, nor had I even had a fleeting fancy to buy some supplies. But I had been feeling frustrated with my writing. While my book is out on submission, I’ve been plotting other endeavors. Go back to revising my novel. Have it ready to go once the memoir’s fate is revealed. Write a new blog post. Write and publish an essay in The New York Times (as if the only thing that’s stopping me is writing it). Like Ann Packer wrote in a recent piece for the NYT, being between projects is a strange and anxiety provoking place – always feeling like you should be doing more, doing something. I had been feeling stuck in between indeed, but I didn’t know it.
But my husband knew. “I thought it might be good for you to be visual, get back to your basics. It could help your writing,” he said.
For a moment, I wished he had included some black pens in the gift, so I could make my typical ink designs, which are really just sophisticated doodles, but then he told me he left those pens out intentionally. 
Doodling is my crutch, my safety blanket, my nervous energy worked out on a page. But I wasn’t going to grow from that. Doing the same thing I always do wasn’t going to inspire fresh ideas or manifest a buried emotion in a new form.
So this year, a new light was shed on the meaning of our back-to-back birthdays. Yes we share a midnight between two days on a calendar, but mainly, we share something more rare – the intangible and ephemeral. The gratification and fulfillment of being seen and understood, sometimes better than you understand yourself. It eases the gnawing sense of solitude we carry around as not only artists, but as humans.
Oh, and by the way, I’m not promising to share any of those would-be drawings, as programmed as I may be to share my private life and feelings. I’ll save that urge for this blog.
Uuuuuggghhhhh so GOOD!!! Right on:
“how tiny and inconsequential we are in this vast universe, solitude imbedded in our DNA. And when we weave our souls together in love, like two intertwined DNA strands, it eases this solitude.”
And hope u don’t mind – I’m gonna have to copy and paste over to my painter Dad who’s currently suffering from painter’s-block, your part about the black ink pen being left out so that your missing crutch could free you to other expression. Reason being – He’s afraid to paint because his hand doesn’t work the same after his stroke, and he’s feeling it has to be as realistic and detailed as it always was, but it doesn’t! He can paint big or paint with gobs of gorgeous color! So yes – I’m thus inspired with your words to share, thank you for those, and thank you for, well, you! 🙂 Xoxo
Oh of course share with your father! That’s so interesting and I hope it helps. Thank you for reading! Love.
Wow, Oritte, I’m so impressed by this. By the writing, by his insight, and by that “doodle” above! My favorite line, “The gratification and fulfillment of being seen and understood, sometimes better than you understand yourself.” Yes!
Thank you, Lynn! So grateful for your support and encouragement.
This is another wonderful blog! So you are a gifted writer and artist! I think you should consider combining your two talents, either in blogs or your next book. Your husband is quite the romantic too. Intuitive and a gem!
Nina, what a cool idea! I’ll add it my “what the ef should I do now?” list. Ha. I’m really glad this resonated. Thank you so much for reading and commenting.
Wonderful. Happy you’ve found whom you found.
Thank you, G!
I agree about combining drawing and writing. It’s such a great expression of everything. Love that Daynan is so in tune with you. So liberating!!!
And I love your abstract art!!
I once worked on a TV campaign and when the client ran out of budget before we even got started, I immediately pressed for radio. The TV idea was visual. But you didn’t need a screen to see it. Turned out to be one of the best things I ever did as an Art Director.
Great writing creates visuals floating in front of you, that only you can see. Even without the sketchpad, you have always been a painter to me.
Wow, thanks so much Bob! Such a great point. Thank you for sharing.
This discussion reminds me of one of my favorite lines from “A Christmas Story”,
“Now, I had heard that word at least ten times a day from my old man. He worked in profanity the way other artists might work in oils or clay. It was his true medium; a master.”
It’s really amazing to have that little “nudge” come from someone who knows you so well, loves you so much, and sees what you need. A happy birthday, indeed!
Thanks so much, Laura! xo
Love this and look forward to reading all of your blogs.
Hi! Thank you so much for reading. Catch up soon!