The figure alone is enough to keep me wide awake, 
the five with its little station master’s belly 
and cap with the flat visor, followed by the zero, 
oval of looking glass, porthole on a ghost ship, 
an opening you stick your arm into and feel nothing.

From Billy Collins’ “Fiftieth Birthday Eve“

I am now several years beyond my 50th birthday. “Zero birthdays” have always held great significance. I have had a “Before I am [insert a zero year] birthday list” since I was 15 and diagnosed with Turner syndrome, and my future became much less absolute, promised, infinite. My lists have always looked like a “If I only have this specific amount of time, what do I want to do with it?” My lists thus far have included finishing a marathon (before 30) and self-publishing a book (before 40) and buying my first home (which I accomplished during my 51st year, but I will still count it). I have done all that. My marathon time was not great, but I finished. My book was not a New York Times Bestseller, but it can be ordered on Amazon today. My house is everything I asked for.

I am not sure why I started making lists. Maybe it started from a desire to make a big deal of those particular life milestones. Maybe it started from a desire to commemorate the blessing of another year by doing something. Maybe it started simply to set some deadlines for goals that had been floating around my mind for great amounts of time. Whatever the motivation, I achieved what I set out to achieve by my last two zero birthdays.

I made my “Before I am 50 list.” I made a postcard/vision board. The postcard includes favorite quotes: “To be awake is to be alive.” — Thoreau. “I am what I am not yet.” — Maxine Greene. “Instructions for living a life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.” — Mary Oliver. There are also pictures of my favorite people and images of accomplishments I want to achieve. It is my broad strokes, rockstar, big love, world champ, “Before I am 50 list.”

My vision is gentle and courageous and has soft edges. I took a class once where I played in the magic of creating the life I want. Playing in the magic is something I would suggest to everyone. By playing in the magic I mean setting aside fear and doubt and cynicism and taking a little time to become crystal clear about our real work of intention and healing and joy. Whatever you call it — magic can be called by many names — simply play.

I learned a few things while playing. I learned about what it means when our intentions clarify. I learned about what it means to be still and know. I learned that magic is as real as a decision that you make, a lightbulb turning on, a truth being revealed, the strength of scar tissue, and steps moving forward.