É. Urcades

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December 1

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?

Photo of an arizonan wildflower named desert marigold.

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Title: December 1

Description: Birthday writing

Published: Fri Dec 01 2023 00:00:00 GMT+0000 (Coordinated Universal Time)

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