A Birthday Reflection and Welcome
For the last several years, I’ve been posting a short reflection on my birthday.
At 33, I set out to have more lightness and ease to my life. I hoped for a year of less regret, resentment, and doubt. I wanted to learn to be gentle with myself and others.
At 34, I admitted I wasn’t free from the grip of comparison, but I celebrated our move to a new city and church, as well as some strides I’d made in my physical and emotional health.
At 35, I confessed to still wanting to be seen—as smart or funny or clever or kind, while internally feeling small and odd and fearful and not enough so much of the time.
At 36, I mourned my first birthday without my mom. Her loss was a reminder that life is much shorter than I often think and that waiting for ideal conditions is futile. I’d hoped to brush off some old dreams and get started.
In each of these years, I confronted some of my oldest companions—the voices of the self-critic, the performer, the comparison-obsessed, the people-pleaser, and the perfectionist resounding in my mind. I hoped that by exposing my fears, I’d conquer them, that darkness might flee once brought into the light.
I’m 37 today. I’ve not rid myself of old habits yet, but they’re diminishing.
I’m getting better at cheering others on before defaulting to judge whether I am superior or inferior in comparison. Another person’s journey, success, or dream fulfilled does not have to be a mirror held up to my own. I can celebrate without competing.
I am also realizing that paralyzing perfectionism isn’t healthy, but my ability to see what is and envision what could be is a gift. It’s what gives me motivation and drive for a better world and a better me. It’s when that gift turns toward self-deprecation, self-loathing, and self-centeredness that I struggle.
But the performer dies hard. It won’t go down without a fight. It makes me want to put on a brave face, tell you that 37 will be “my year,” and that I’ll work to achieve my goals this year. I’ll lose the weight. I’ll write the memoir. I’ll be super-mom, super-wife, super-pastor, super-everything. I’ll be my best self.
What I’m sensing I need this year and always is to slow down, is to stop hustling, is to lay down the rush of overachievement. What I need is intentionality, stillness, presence, and permanence in a world of haphazardness, commotion, distance, and replaceability.
I’ve found myself increasingly anxious and prone to comparing, competing, and giving in to a “right now” mindset lately, especially on social media with its temporariness, the whims of the inscrutable algorithm, and a focus on metrics. Because I’ve made genuine connections with once-strangers, stayed in touch with beloved family and friends, and sometimes experienced a lot of joy and fun in those digital spaces, I’m not quitting social media completely.
But in an attempt to push back against the fast-paced, performance-oriented, impermanent nature especially of Instagram and Facebook and whatever else is “cool” these days, I’ve launched this website. It’s a space where I’ll share reflective writing (like you’ve seen on my Substack; my Substack will transition to a once-monthly newsletter with links to recent posts). It’s also a space where I’ll be sharing about my favorite things, one of which is reading. Book reviews and chatter are hosted here in a separate blog with a separate Substack newsletter, in case you have zero interest.
I know cassieetter.com won’t be perfect. I know I’ll find myself looking at the data, the email subscriptions, and the hits here, too. But my hope is that this will be one way of committing to myself this year. This is an investment in my dream of writing. This is a change of pace from bullet train to a leisurely stroll.
I’ve been reading The Return of the Prodigal Son by Henri H.M. Nouwen and was struck by these words of assurance that come from knowing one is Beloved by God.
As the Beloved, I can confront, console, admonish, and encourage without fear of rejection or need for affirmation. As the Beloved, I can suffer persecution without desire for revenge and receive praise without using it as proof of my goodness. As the Beloved, I can be tortured and killed without ever having to doubt that the love that is given to me is stronger than death. As the Beloved, I am free to live and give life, free also to die while giving life.
My prayer is that I would become more certain of this truth each day in the coming year and that you would, too.
