I woke up this past Tuesday morning and lumbered down the stairs of my home in pursuit of coffee and breakfast. Nothing seemed that different. The creak from the top stair under my feet sounded louder than it should under my gentle step, as I tried not to wake anyone else in the house. The dogs were alert and happy per usual, but dogs are like that; the nuance of a day doesn’t resolve nor waver our furry friends’ sheer delight in just being alive. The air felt cool inside and out, curated for a mid-May morning.
On my kitchen counter sat a brightly colored gift bag with a whimsical “Happy Birthday” written on the side. I turned 47 on Tuesday. For me, it was just another day, but not for those who love me.
I rubbed my eyes and smiled at the gesture on the counter that waited for my attention. I don’t expect gifts, but they sure are nice to receive all the same. I grabbed an apple and yogurt from the fridge and pressed the brew button on the coffee maker.
I’ve been eating the same breakfast for five years straight. I laughed to myself and wondered if I’d be dicing an apple for breakfast this time next year … probably so.
I sat down and took a sip of my coffee, then began to pull sheets of colored tissue paper from the gift bag. Shirts, a belt, cards and a Miles Morales snow globe were lovingly hidden inside. Within the cards were handwritten messages with an abundance of “I love you.”
For some, clothing as a gift can feel boring or without depth. But these weren’t just any shirts. I have a particular style, and these were well within the parameters of what I love to wear. The designs and buttons didn’t just make a shirt, but they made a point. They pointed out that I’m loved and someone is paying attention to me.
Belts are about as exciting as socks, but I sorely needed a new one. I had mentioned this about a week ago. Later that morning, as I fed the leather strap through the loopholes of my pants, I smiled as I relived that simple yet assumingly forgotten conversation between my wife and me. We had joked about how sad the state of my belt had become. Normally, I would have an assortment of belts on hand, but I’d given them to my sons over the years when necessity called.
Miles Morales is a version of Spider-Man from the Spider-Verse. He’s a character that my son, Landon, and I love. I even have a tattoo in tribute to our shared affinity. The snow globe I received was in a mystery box. I had a 1-in-4 chance of getting Miles or one of the other three Marvel characters in the set. I opened the box and saw the black Spider-Man outfit. I knew instantly it was Miles Morales. I was thrilled, not only for myself but for Landon as well. I knew he’d picked it out in hopes of me getting lucky.
Real love for another person is so pure like that. The reciprocity becomes the gift, when all that’s yearned for is the other person’s happiness.
I joked last week with Shannon that I would soon need to leave her out of my columns. I told her that she was mentioned almost every week and I feared that readers may find me to be repetitive and pigeonholed. She laughed and said, “Don’t blame me, you’re the one that’s doing the writing.”
She’s not wrong. I am to blame, because for me, writing comes easy when it’s about who or what I love.
I also talk a lot about being seen. It’s so easy to overlook the little things that make up our day and the ones who play a part in it. In return, it’s even easier to feel overlooked. I think that’s why I’ve never placed much importance on my own birthday. I fear being overlooked on a day that is supposed to feel special.
Being a middle-aged man is weird for me. It’s like an out-of-body experience. I feel older, but I think I’m still young. I often feel as if I’m waiting to exhale, and I don’t even know why I’m holding my breath.
I’ve decided for this lap around the sun that I intend on being kinder to myself. I plan to love myself more and cut myself a break, and if I ever fear being overlooked or unseen, I simply have to ask, how am I loved by others? To which I will respond …
Let me count the ways!
Clay Bowen is a Columbus native who cooked professionally as a chef in fine dining for 12 years and appeared on the third season of Top Chef. He is also a licensed landscape horticulturist. Email him at [email protected].
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Quality, in-depth journalism is essential to a healthy community. The Dispatch brings you the most complete reporting and insightful commentary in the Golden Triangle, but we need your help to continue our efforts. In the past week, our reporters have posted 32 articles to cdispatch.com. Please consider subscribing to our website for only $2.30 per week to help support local journalism and our community.
