This week, Sunday Letters is a Monday letter. Better late than never.
Last month, I turned 40. A big number. Four decades.
I’m not a big celebratory person. Birthdays come and go; they’ve never carried the weight for me that they seem to for others. I’m not even a big fan of cake, and there has been times when having a slice has felt like an obligation.
Reaching 40, though, comes with expectations. Social media suggests it should be celebrated loudly. Big trips. Big parties. Big declarations.
But what does it actually mean to be 40? To be 40 and a mom and an entrepreneur? Have I "made it"? I have more questions than answers. And as I have no answers at all at the moment, I thought I would share a few stories from years 1 through 40.
Year 1
Occasionally, during family gatherings, we ask my dad to retell what we call the “sword fight story.”
When I was a newborn in Korea, a man broke into our house with a knife and attempted to harm my family. My dad sprang into action. He grabbed what we assume was one of those decorative samurai swords people keep mounted on their walls and confronted the intruder. There was a struggle. He wrestled the man to the ground and held him there until the police arrived. As a child hearing this story, it felt like something straight out of a movie. A story of heroes and villains, danger and triumph.
As a mother, the story hits differently. Now I think about fear. I think about instinct. I think about how that moment must have embedded itself into my parents’ nervous systems. I see now why they were cautious of others. Why they were fiercely protective of us. Love, sometimes, looks like vigilance.
Year 10
I’m living in rural Corrientes, Argentina. I’m the only one who wakes up at 5 a.m. to go fishing with my dad. One morning, we catch a big fish. He shows me how to gut it, cleaning it on a rock by the river. As the fish guts fall into the water, I watch a swarm of fish rise to the surface to feed.
I remember being stunned.
First, by the harshness of nature. And second, by the beauty of it. In my recollection, it was a rainbow of fish — all different colors, shapes, and sizes — rising from the water like bubbles. It was the first time I remember witnessing something both brutal and beautiful at the same time.
Year 20
I study abroad in Milan. This is my wild year. When you let a sheltered child go, she will go. I live in a house called “Villetta” with 29 other study-abroad students. To this day, I say I’m extremely lucky with the people who enter my life, and this group shaped my worldview outside of my parents for the first time. They were open, loving, creative, intelligent, curious, determined, and party-loving.
One night, during one of our infamous house parties, I locked myself in the bathroom and couldn’t get out. Yes, truly. I could not get out. Clearly, I was highly inebriated. I remember my friends banging on the door, shouting for me to turn the lock the other way. Desperate to rejoin the party and convinced the door was permanently sealed, I did what felt like the only logical thing at the time.
I jumped out the window.
I landed in the side yard, somehow got my four-inch heels back on, climbed a fence, and re-entered the house. All I can say is: the amazing humans of Villetta took care of me that night and the lesson here is the safety net of chosen family.
Year 30
Deep in the infertility journey and at the height of my desperation, I stumbled upon Gabrielle Bernstein's speech about spirit guides and asking for signs. At that time, I had no spiritual life and wasn't very into the woo. But I was desperate and after bawling my eyes out I said, “Please spirit guides, if you’re out there, help me. Show me a sign. My sign is the moon.” The next morning, I logged into my email at work and at 6:07 a.m. there was an email titled: “and your heart is the moon.” That moment changed everything. After that, I began seeing my sign everywhere.
You could argue it’s a generic symbol, sure, it's in a lot of places. But then a friend gifted me something with a card that read “moon child.” Then another gifted us a 3D-printed full moon lamp with my husband and me etched into it.
And then we had our rainbow baby. Coincidence? Maybe. But it softened something in me. It unlocked something.
Year 40
A newbie. Just starting out.
The most memorable moment so far is from last week in Joshua Tree. We went stargazing, and it was profoundly grounding. Standing there under the vast sky, I felt small, but in the best way.
I am still becoming. I'm shaped by vigilance, by beauty, by wildness, by friendship, by desperation, by hope. All lessons from decades before.
I hope I get many more decades to gather stories to share with you all.
With love,
Maria
Founder of KAEIU