36

I always spend extra time in intentional reflection in the days before my birth day, remembering the year in its fullness - the celebrations, joys, shitty first drafts, and pains. The strangest realization I have come to is that I do not believe I have imagined life after 35. Not that I concluded life would be over, but my imagination never stretched beyond 35... 

Throughout my childhood into adolescence, I repeatedly wrote out in my diary the secret recipe to my life: my official 25 year plan. I would go to college, probably Harvard or Yale, because in truth, did any other schools even exist to the daughter of Korean immigrants? (To be fair & honest, my parents never once pressured me to attend an Ivy League nor any particular school. Strange how cultural expectations materialize in one’s mind all on its own.) Then, in some miraculous poof! I would be a practicing pediatrician, working with children and making sure they felt better. If I had the time, I would also be a dance teacher, you know, on the side. I would marry a dashing Korean man and have six children. (This plan developed in middle school after I fostered a passion to play volleyball.) Once I had my six children - 5 boys, including a set of twins somewhere, and a little baby girl - I would also begin coaching...the volleyball team, that is, since there would be 6 of them. In each iteration of this entry, my pen etched the page with hope and longing. Across each Lisa Frank page, Sanrio character paper, or just the lined notebook page (I clearly got more mature with my diary selections as I got older, aka boring), I imagined these scenes playing out. And I looked forward to 25 because the world had convinced me that this narrative and timeline was a must-have.  

In elementary school, Umma (Korean for mom) and I would walk hand in hand through Stratford Square Mall every few weeks, and we would "eye shop" all the amazing dresses and suits. Marshall Fields and Carson Pirie Scott displayed chic black suits with gold buttons and silk flowy dresses that was the right combination of dressy yet business professional. As we walked and gawked, Umma would squeeze my hand, lean down to my ear and whisper, “When you’re 30, you’ll wear suits and dresses like these women and you’ll have a fancy job.” And in that whisper, my shoulders pushed back an inch, my head tilted just a few degrees closer to the sky, and I stood taller. I saw myself doing just that.

As I began my teaching career at 23, the reality of turnover and burnout was carved into my mind. The lucky number was five; get through year 5 in education. Past that hump, log, whatever you call it, and therein lies a passive permission to exhale that you made it. Until then... Don’t rock the boat in school, sweat the small stuff, love on our students. Work to let those ridiculous asks and pushes from admin bounce off of you. Work to maintain that half stern, half smile face with each defiant F** You that flies your way. See each student and affirm them as if it's the only affirmation they'll get. No matter how many gray hairs peep out, how many pounds gained, personal relationships compromised, achieving year 5 means earning that badge in the world of teaching. Little did I know, I would earn more than a n invisible badge. I learned and grew as a person from the over 400 students I had the privilege of fostering relationships with by year 5. Then, somehow, year 5 passed and rather than it being a goalpost, it was a pit stop along the way to opportunities that began to snowball into action. The number of years became less of a marker, and more a blur folded into the haze of responsibility and calling, passion and pursuit. To the five, add seven years in administration roles and arrive at 35; seven - ironically a number symbolizing prosper life, happiness, renewal, and perfection. 

Numbers are just numbers, but numbers that make some sense, in logic or heart, can hold meaning and worth. It becomes something of our creativity and imagination. I imagined these numbers for some reason. However, nothing comes to mind for 36, or frankly, anything after 36. Perhaps this nothing-ness is not for the lack of creativity to imagine but a shift in what that creativity allows for.

I am entering 36 with a posture of mindfulness and being present. It is a constant choice that is being made to embrace the now, all the while learning from my past and hoping for my future. In 36, my creativity lives in the here and now, a blank canvas. Approaching each interaction, pocket of down time, opportunity and setback as a new colorful stroke added to the imagery that is being crafted. Being present pushes in me an openness and an openminded-ness that I have only felt and experienced in carved out moments. In 36, it feels like more of a lifestyle. And as scary as that can be (because clearly I was a child of plans), I know I am not just present, but also bold, grateful, oriented and prioritized, and I embrace my present, my 36, with a wholehearted creativity. 

“If you must look back do so forgivingly. If you must look forward, do so prayerfully. However, the wisest thing you can do is be present in the present...gratefully.” -Maya Angelou

Creativity is..."perceiving the world in new ways, finding hidden patterns, making connections between seemingly unrelated phenomena, and generating solutions..." -Creativity@Work