My goodness, how time seems to fly when you age.
I remember seeing an article about how time appears to go so slowly when one is a child and quickly as an adult. The article mentioned the perception of all the discoveries one has growing up gives the allusion the second hand on a clock progresses at less than its actual pace. When all the newness is gone, when routine becomes routine, when it is the "same old same old", that is when the days, weeks, months, and even years start to blur. (Maybe that is why I enjoy the liturgical calendar so much. It is somewhat "ever changing, ever new".)
I think that is why it is good to celebrate milestones. Stopping to smell the roses, to acknowledge points on the calendar, to give time the time it deserves, this is a way to ground ourselves in the here and now, to recognize our existence and significance, to know "(y)ou are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here."
Of all those dates, the one is your entry into the world has to be, in a sense, "the source and summit" of all those commemorations. Without this moment in time, you have no moments in time. Yes, "no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should." It is up to us to demarcate those special spots along the stretch of eternity.
This, for me (and I hope yours is as well, for you who stumble across these words) is one of those stopping points. I will always choose the first part of Hamlet's question. I embrace Robert Browning's encouragement. There may be a time when I must take up Dylan Thomas's cause, but eventually I will submit to God's will to leave this mortal coil. Right now, despite all the "sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world."
I will be a part of it.
To paraphrase the lyrics, "I just want to celebrate another year of living. I just want to celebrate another year of life."
And so I will.