Changes, cellularly speaking
You know that factoid about how cells eventually turnover within seven years? If you’ve somehow never heard it, let me explain it poorly to you. It's sometimes said, far more poetically than I’m stating right now, that your body makes new cells so often, that your cells will all be turned over within seven years.
The poets and romantics of the world think that whatever person you were when you felt great sadness or trauma is shed after all those years. I’m not sure if it’s even scientifically true, but I think of that often, especially now that I’m 30, having lived through four cell turnovers in my life.
On a cellular level, I first met Eric as a completely different set of cells. When I met some of my friends, I was half the cells I am today, meaning they met the old me and the new me at the same time. I sometimes wonder, “Did they secretly prefer the old lump of cells that I was, or do they like my cells right now?” Lastly, My mind races just wondering about who I’ll be in my next cell-based turnover, at 35.
I went on a walk around the lake with my friend and her dog. She reminded me of something I’d said four years ago, at age 26 (about 2/3rds of the way through my 4th cell turnover). She said, “remember when you used to hate hiking? And you said it would be one of the 5 things that wouldn’t summon you in a conjuring spell? You hated hiking.”
I did remember saying I hate hiking, so I agreed with my friend, and I’ll be honest, I still don’t consider myself a professional outdoors person. It doesn’t take much digging into old blog posts, even ones posted within the last year to know that I have to be physically dragged onto the trail. But it was interesting to be remembered by that proclamation I made 4 years ago at this point. I mean, really! How was my third generation of cells supposed to know the fourth generation would hike more than all of her friends combined, and (dare I say) enjoy it?
At 26 In that 4th cell cycle, I started writing this blog you’re reading right now. I was also financially stable enough to travel for fun, and it was the first year I’d flown on a plane to get somewhere, meaning my cells from any era before 26 had never been on a plane and just died without ever experiencing that sensation of going somewhere further than Chicago. Maybe these current cells of mine just crave exploration (insert artsy photo of me looking over a cliff here, or something).
Or maybe people are capable of change. With my full chest cells, I can say that this 5th generation of cells bravely proclaims many things the previous cells wouldn’t dare say. For example, these cells love Taylor Swift openly, and no previous cells were brave enough to say that! But anyway, people change– cellularly speaking.
When I reached my current cell turnover, I wondered what my previous cells wanted to see but never did, and I wondered how to give these current cells the best seven years of their life. I’d love to say my cells have familiarity on their side, but my life, like most, is constantly changing, and so are those within it.
Sometimes my current cells still feel the muscle memory of previous cells and attempt to text an old friend something that reminded me of them, but the newest of the cells stop me before I hit “send.” Because of that, I empathize and understand that poetic side of this vague cells factoid.
Those old friends don’t even know these new cells of mine. They probably never will.
They may see the cells while scrolling through Instagram, but they will never see how these new cells smile, or how they look slyly across the room making eye contact that says everything while actually saying nothing, and they’ll never get to hear these new cells tell an elaborate personal story about the highs and lows of my day.
These cells of mine, constantly changing, are capable of moving forward from silly bold claims previously made and my old melancholy memories. I’m glad I’m not permanently the way I am, and that my body is always replacing the old with the new. I hope I’ll be better at explaining this in my next cell turnover, so remind me in five years, and my new cells will get back to you.
