Becoming 42.

He wants to know the story of our first kiss. At 11, he is starting to have feelings creeping up around passion, love, relationship. And there is a girl. One who has been in his life for as long as he can remember. She is his best friend, he hers. When Dave and I were dreaming and joking around that we wanted to build a wedding dock some day, that extended out to the water so one of our kids could be married at the Magic Lake, he was the first one to claim it. 

He wants to know the story of our first kiss because his first kiss is in his becoming. Because he adores our love.

I made a deal that if Dave and I share the story with him, he has to agree to share his story, some day in the future. 

"Well, I need to think about that..."


Becoming 42 scared me. I actually tried to slip right by it, un-noticed. The opposite of how I have spent the last three birthdays. For the last three years I have celebrated and let myself be celebrated. I loved turning 39 and 40. 41 was beautiful, now including my beloved.

I think it scared me because I am now inside of the rise. You know the ashes and the burn happened. And happened. Then happened a little more. For the last few weeks the shift, the flow, the newness has become obvious. I don't feel like the same person. My cells have changed. I look different. I move different. I am showing up in relationship differently and looking at my business differently.

A dream cycle finding its completion. Surprises waiting. Love deeper than I ever imagined and that depth equal in pain when things are off.

Becoming 42 scared me. It is the rise and I have been burning down for so long, I forgot what it feels like to no longer have flames around my spirit. I forgot what it feels like to become so beautiful and whole and loved and magical. Because the burn, the down, the pain are familiar touch points.

As I rise I try to fight it. 42 is almost 45, 45 is almost 50, I barely have any time left for the unbelievably amazing life I am drawing in. Why is it going so fast? Why does my neck look so old? I don't want to do this, to step into this, to let go of the burn.


She texts me and tells me that I am now entering another 7 year cycle. Of course my cells are different. Of course it feels unsteady. Of course I am pushing against something so brand new I have yet to understand it or feel it.

She texts me and says she has this vision of 42 being a magical age, that it somehow has become a year she imagines is for tackling the impossible. 

He calls me, "Babe, I know you are having a hard time around turning 42, but I want you to know that I am OK with growing older. I want to grow older. You and I are like 8 years old in our spirits but we are going to grow older. All I want is to grow old with you, with you by my side forever."


They surprise me with a visit on my birthday. They bring babies and laughter and the only thing I ever want for my birthday.

Time. They give me time. To feel loved up. They tell me how beautiful the house is. They are my people in this life. The ones that will also grow old with me, by my side in all our chaos with our families, together.

Time. The most magical gift I can ever receive, time with the ones I love. As the year turns over and I am looking at time inside the rise. 

I understand it now. The rise in all its magnificence has sped up time, not time as in minutes ticking on a clock but time as a feeling space, as a place that is living, feeling, knowing, learning, loving. It is time felt at a different pace, in a new reality with new cells with everything changing changed inside of change.

I changed time when burned it all down. The most magical gift I could ever give myself.

She left me a note on the dining room table. 

Once again proof of the magic you are able to create and call in. So like...withe your superpowers...I am eager to see the awesomeness you continue to make happen. At any age. Shit just keeps getting better.


Our first kiss happened the second time we were together. He had brought his tools over to fix some cabinets that were broken. He told me later he wasn't sure he could fix them because his hands wouldn't stop shaking, because he wanted to ask me if he could kiss me.

I poured us both some water and we sat on the couch. I can't remember what we talked about but I let my leg touch his so that we would both relax, I knew touch was his love language the moment I met him.

Somewhere during that time he asked if he could kiss me. I looked him in the eyes and put my coffee down. Without words I climbed onto his lap, facing him, legs on either side of his body.


I felt his surprise and joy and fear flow through me. I feel him in a way I have never felt another person. His feelings become part of me almost before he knows he is experiencing them.

Then he kissed me. Soft. Almost like a tease. Our mouths together but barely. The tenderness and gentleness. Tongues touching and playing in the most delicate way. It took my breath away. It filled me with longing. I felt like I was melting into him.

I am not sure which parts of the story I will share with our 11 year old. Maybe I will let Dave tell it so I can hear it from his perspective. 

Time will bring his first kiss and I imagine he will share parts of his story with us, it is who he is. A story teller. 

I might be 42 or 45 (I have requested 45). 

Time. I get it now. It is my gift. My favorite gift. It just keeps getting better.