Every year on my birthday, I’ve made it a point to ask myself where I’ll be a year from now, write it down, and revisit it the following year.
This is a special birthday because I’ll be turning 33.
The number 33 is an angel’s number, and among numerology afficionados is termed a “master number”. The master number “33” relates to nurturing the future in the form of teaching, or passing on knoweledge to others, taking a back seat and granting others the opportunity to flourish.
I learned recently that (in apocrypha) Jesus was 33 when he was crucified.
It seems like in many respects 33 is a heavy age.
This is a special birthday because next year I’ll no longer have to wonder what it feels like to bring forth something ineffably beautiful into the world.
I’ll be having a baby daughter in late March or early April. I think this means she’ll be of Aries. It’s the year of the dragon according to the Chinese calendar, so she’ll be astrologically fire incarnate. I am of Saggitarus and I think we’ll understand one another well.
I was taking photos of a fire a few weeks ago and was entranced by the beauty of a flame. Fire is wild.
When she’s 11, I’ll be 44, when she’s 22, I’ll be 55, when she’s 33, I’ll be 66, etc. I find this very cool from a numbers perspective.
I’m a relatively creative person and the prospects of having all my work (past, present, and future) pale in the face of her existence is a little overwhelming. It’s hard to comprehend at this time.
It’s insane to think about. I try not to anticipate anything in particular.
I wonder how I’ll change in a year?
Will I?
Will my sense of time change?
I’m doing this thing where when I see a parent or a baby now, my sense of time splits and I can see myself both occupying the parent and the child’s place. I can remember the precise moment my dad taught me to draw (it was a tornado, an attenuated squiggle) and I can see myself as both my father and the child he was teaching.
This is a really hard sentiment to capture in text, or explain to someone. It feels like a visceral sense of time/space folding in on itself.
I’m occupying a different perceptual space and everyday interactions feel like time travel. Things like light and letters and space and materials are taking on a new meaning for me. I’m teaching myself math again and somewhat terrified–excited about the prospect of performing as a lens through which my daughter perceives the world and the concepts and the people who inhabit it.
Where will I be in a year?
