Big Birthdays? No Big Deal

By Emma Kate Miller

Turns out I’m a bit of a birthday Scrooge. The big 5-0 has arrived with the same level of excitement as previous milestones—meaning none at all. While others embrace the party planning, I’m keeping it low-key. It’s just another day, after all.

Don’t get me wrong, I love other people’s birthdays. Give me balloons, cake, and a good excuse to buy presents, and I’m in my element. But my own? Hard pass. The New Year’s clock had barely struck midnight before the questions started: What are you doing for your 50th? Answer: as little as possible. Maybe it’s because I organise and attend so many events for work, but the thought of a party about me makes me want to run for the hills. And the well-meaning attempts to schedule multiple birthday-week meetups? Lovely in theory, exhausting in reality.

I know I’m annoying. But I’m an old lady now, and that’s my right.

And as for gifts? Honestly, don’t worry about it. I’m a nightmare. I don’t want things. If I need something, I get it there and then. I’m picky about everything I use and wear—this is what happens when you hit 50. You know which perfume you love, and you don’t let it run out. You already have your nice jewellery, and you actually wear it. So experiences are where it’s at for me.

My eldest turns 21 in the same week, so we’re celebrating together with a long weekend in Venice—a full-circle moment, since we marked our 1st and 30th birthdays there too. This time, no pregnancy, no buggy-hauling over bridges, and our 19-year-old gets to experience it in person rather than in utero.

So keep the designer bag-l'll take a vaporetto from Marco Polo straight to the hotel instead. Oh, and if you insist, a Bellini at the Danieli.

Now that feels like a birthday worth having.