49 — A Personal Reflection On Time, Embodiment, and How Earth Measures A Life
Forty-nine — is not a number I celebrate in the usual way.
It is a number I feel.
And honor.
Earth does not mark time by achievement —
at least, not the way we are often taught to.
It marks time by gravity,
by what has been carried,
by what has stayed.
Forty-nine years
is not a story I tell.
It is weight.
It is bone… that has learned how to hold.
It is structure… that no longer rushes to prove itself.
With time, certain things settle.
The body learns what it can sustain.
The nervous system learns what is unnecessary.
The heart learns which doors no longer need guarding.
With time, certain things soften.
Effort loosens.
Performance falls away.
Urgency loses its voice.
What remains, for me, is simple.
Presence.
Gravity.
The quiet agreement to stay.
This is one way Earth measures life —
not by how much was done,
but by how fully one remained.
Forty-nine
is not a milestone to me.
It is
a measure
of Earth.
