“Your Father, who sees what is done in secret…”
— words that surface when I’m not trying to be seen.
Today is my birthday. It passes mostly unnoticed, and I find that I am less wounded by the forgetting than I expect. Friends are returning to work. Children are being ushered into new routines. Life resumes its forward lean, indifferent and earnest.
What unsettles me more is not the absence of messages, but the presence of noise. Notifications arrive without knowing what day it is. Feeds refresh without regard for milestones. The digital world remembers everything and celebrates nothing. It hums along, endlessly attentive and deeply impersonal.
I wake into that hum before I wake into myself. Before gratitude. Before age or meaning can settle. I notice how easily a day meant to be marked becomes just another surface to scroll across.
And yet—somewhere beneath the static—I sense a quieter acknowledgment. Not announced. Not shared. A kind of being-known that does not depend on reminders or calendars. I sit with that for a moment longer than usual.
Perhaps being remembered is not the same as being seen. Today, I let the noise pass by without asking it to bless me.
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