Beyond Seven

Seven years have passed. A septenary, I believe it’s called. I notice this today, on my 42nd birthday. I can’t help but smile at the number, knowing full well that I still don’t have all the answers to life’s questions. But who knows? Maybe they’ll start to appear on day two of life as a 42-year-old.

One septenary has passed. Why do we even give it such attention? Is it more significant what I did between ages 35 and 42 than what I did from 7 to 9? I honestly don’t know. But the number seven does seem special, with so much revolving around it. Our cells renew on average every seven years, a strand of hair stays on our head for about that long, a rainbow has seven colors, baby teeth fall out around age seven, and there are seven chakras... the list goes on.

So, alright—the seven is important. And it matters to us as humans, too: we all enter a new cycle every seven years, stepping into new, perhaps initially unfamiliar territory, only to slowly claim it over time and proudly plant our stakes in the ground.

I briefly reflect on what’s happened over the last seven years. Quite a lot. Seven years ago, I became a mother for the first time, and with my son’s first breath, a long journey of returning to myself began—one that’s still very much ongoing.

Seven years ago, we moved from a small house in the countryside back to the city, where life is loud, pulsating, shrill, and glittering. We moved into a house right by the trees of the city park, a place where I learned so much. It was our haven, our cave, and sometimes even our hell—it had days when we couldn’t leave and days when we didn’t want to leave. It was a good time. And I feel it’s coming to an end. Sometimes I already find myself saying goodbye to things without knowing where the road is leading me. That’s a little sad, and also a little beautiful.

Seven years ago, I began many trainings to fill my head with knowledge, so that I could plunge into self-employment with a pounding heart. I’ve closed many doors in the last years that I had previously opened with enthusiasm, only to realize that there was an abyss behind them. If I hadn’t seen the abyss with my own eyes, I probably wouldn’t have believed it. That’s often how it is in life: we have to experience things to truly believe them.

When I think of the last seven years, they feel a bit confusing. Perhaps also lost. Definitely a little crazy. If I had my 35-year-old self sitting at the table this evening, I wouldn’t even know what to say to her. Maybe I would just quietly place my hand on hers, look into her eyes, and speak words of courage to her. Courage, strength, determination. Definitely humor and a huge dose of imagination and resourcefulness. Or maybe I would do nothing at all and just smile at her, knowing that she will grow stronger than she ever thought possible.

In this spirit: 42—

Bring it on! :)