I recently took my first family vacation in 3 years. It was an incredible time together, and I am already looking forward to our next one.
It was also the first family vacation my six-year-old daughter has taken where she has been a fully conscious person. Before COVID she and we traveled a lot. By the time she was three she had visited 14 countries. But all those travels were when she was too young to really understand what was going on, or how or why it was or would be different than what came before or would come after.
As this vacation ended, and we packed our bags to return home, my daughter asked over and over if we could just move to Namibia instead of leaving. If we couldn’t do that, could we at least stay another couple of weeks, a single week, a few days, a single day at the VERY least?!
I began to recognize a familiar melancholy. Initially it looked like what I felt as a child towards the end of a weekend, or summer vacation, or Christmas. However, this one was more pronounced than those more predictable and consistent episodes. What my daughter appeared to be experiencing was more akin to a feeling my parents described when my sister and I were young as “too much birthday.”
This “too much birthday” came about after we had intense and prolonged enjoyment of something (vacation, our birthday party, etc.), and then all of a sudden, we would get SO sad. At the time my parents explained it as just being overwhelmed with too much fun, and then being emotionally exhausted as a result. This makes a lot of sense. As with any intense and prolonged dopamine spike, there will be, and was, the inevitable trough and emotional down period that goes with that.
Though true, as an adult observing similar feelings and behaviors in my daughter, I think I noticed something different, or at least something additional. This is because the questions did not end with her wishing to prolong this particular vacation, i.e., it wasn’t just about prolonging the dopamine spike or delaying the coming low point. Talulla followed up by asking if our safari guide, Brian, who had been with us for two weeks could come back home with us (side note – for anyone looking to travel to Namibia, message me and I can connect you directly with Brian for an AMAZING adventure). When the answer was no, she asked if she would ever see him again. I answered honestly, saying I did not know for sure, but it was unlikely. She wanted to know why. Why would we not be back in Namibia (though we still might)? Why could I not promise we would see Brian again?
As I explained to her how vast the world is, how much more there is still to see, more than would ever be possible in a single lifetime, I saw the gears turning behind her eyes. Without ever having heard of it, she began to recognize the timeless truth behind Tim Urban’s “The Tail End” post (if you haven’t read it yet, you should). No matter how young or old we are now, how many or how few years we have ahead of us, there is a finite number of anything we will do or experience. This is true whether this is something as mundane as brushing our teeth for the last time, or for a truly once in a lifetime trip like this one was, and the clock is ticking.
Though Urban’s visualization makes this concept hit home more forcefully for many people, the underlying truth of what he says has been recognized for thousands of years. It was something the Stoics were well aware of and tried to remind themselves of with regular frequency. It led to one particular flavor of the Stoic practice of futurorum malorum præmeditatio, or negative visualization. Oftentimes this practice was used to project what could go wrong in the future to better inure yourself to what may come. Another way to practice this was, and is, to better value and appreciate the things you have, rather than to constantly craving more, by meditating on the time when you will no longer have or do those things any longer.
Author William Irvine calls this flavor of negative visualization the “last-time meditation.” As he writes in The Stoic Challenge:
[In a last-time meditation] you acknowledge that because you are mortal, there will be a last time for everything you do. There will be a last time you flip a light switch, a last time you eat dinner, and a last time you say goodbye to your parents, spouse, children, and friends. You have already done some things for the last time: there is a very good chance, for example, that you will never again dial a rotary telephone, type on a typewriter, or take a math exam. There will be a last time you lay your head on a pillow, as well as a last time you take a breath.
As a six-year-old it is easy to think that everything that is always has been and always will be. Truth be told, most adults live their lives as if they are under the same delusion. Understanding that she will never again experience in the same way something she enjoyed so much, and that she might never again see someone she enjoyed being with so much, was a difficult and powerful realization for her. It is also something I think we are both still trying to process.
All of this to say, I am not sure there is a way to get rid of the feeling of “too much birthday.” I am even less certain that I should or would get rid of it even if I could. The highs of life are elevated higher because of the lows we also experience. As much of a student of Stoicism as I try to be, I also believe there are times for the ups and downs. To experience them, to fully feel them, even when they bring tears to your eyes, isn’t that part and parcel with being human? Isn’t that an inextricable part of living and fully experiencing life?
As sad as my daughter is now, as we both are now that this vacation is over, I would take this feeling 100 times out of 100 if to avoid it meant I also had to avoid the highs and pure joy of those magical days with her and the rest of the family in Namibia. Just like birthday cake, it isn’t something I will indulge in on a daily basis, but every now and then, “too much birthday” certainly has its place.