Next month, I mark my 56th birthday. For some, a year closer to death is no reason to celebrate, but I feel optimistic. 56 marks the final year of one seven-year cycle and heralds the start of another. Unlike some who see life in a linear formation (you’re born, you work, you die) I believe our lives are made up of a series of cycles that bring opportunities for replenishment, rejuvenation and reinvention.
There are many belief systems that promote this view: philosophical, astrological, mystical, biological and pedagogical (more of which later). But, I arrived at the conclusion by tracking my own life across this curious sequence, and was intrigued to discover every seventh year did represent a change or new stage. Professional or personal shifts have occurred every seven years; I’ve either been finishing or starting a course or qualification, taking on a new job or promotion, marking the beginning or end of a significant relationship, moving home, into pregnancy or motherhood.
When I was 49, at the end of my last seven-year cycle, I decided the second half of my life would be the creative half. After decades in journalism, teaching and management, this felt intuitively right. Just before my 50th birthday, I applied for and accepted a creative director position within a university faculty and also enrolled on a four-year Creative Writing programme, from which I graduate this autumn.
Seven is a number that recurs in nature and culture, religion and art
The last seven years have been a period of active learning. Both the job I took on and the programme of study I enrolled in, have taught me a huge amount. The course especially represents a major shift in my development as writer. It offered technical insights into new forms of writing – including script-writing and fiction – and introduced me to a new community of like-minded creatives who’ve enriched my life enormously. I believe my next cycle will be a chance to apply all I’ve learnt in a more focused and in-depth way.
So, what is it about the number seven? It’s a number that recurs in nature and culture, religion and art. Shakespeare wrote about the seven stages of man. There are seven continents and seven seas, seven days of the week, seven notes on the musical scale and seven directions (forward, backwards up, down, left, right and centre). Biologists inform us that human cells replace themselves every seven to 10 years.
Rudolf Steiner, the social reformer and occultist, who drew together scientific and spiritual concepts, constructed his Wardolf Education system on seven-year cycles, mapping out a sequence of human development. Hardcore astrologists believe there are shifts in the cosmos every seven years that can affect our lives, and that the planets Uranus and Saturn play key roles.
Seven also recurs in religious beliefs including Islam, Judaism, Christianity and Gnosticism (ancient non-Christian religions). The Bible tells us the world was built in seven days, that there are seven deadly sins and the seven Seals of God from the Bible's Book of Revelation. The Corpus Hermeticum, a series of ancient letters by the purported mystic sage, Hermes Trismegistus, offered seven laws of life. The prevalence of the number seven is certainly impressive, but how or why it works on a personal, human level, remains to me – and to many – a mystery.
No one has a crystal ball or can see into the future, but one thing's for sure: at certain stages, the doo-doo will hit the fan. There are moments when we all feel lost or adrift. We may sense we’re in the wrong job or that our relationship is floundering. We might experience this at an evidenced stress point, such as the quarter-life crisis (at around 25) or the mid-life crisis (in the 50s). We might be in the middle of a ‘seven-year itch’, when individuals start to feel their relationship has run its course.
If we consider the language used in our crisis moments, they are often drawn from the imagery of treading long, difficult roads. We might take a ‘wrong turn’, ‘lose our bearings’ or find ourselves at a ‘crossroads’. Sometimes, we feel ‘over the hill’ or the road runs ‘downhill all the way’. The architecture of institutional corridors is another metaphor we lean into at times of professional difficulty; we hit ‘brick walls’, ‘dead ends’ or ‘glass ceilings’.
If we remove the linear journey, and replace it with the idea of cycles, we are in a more optimistic space
It’s precisely at these moments that the image and philosophy of the cycle proves particularly useful. If we remove the linear journey, and replace it with the idea of cycles, we are in a more optimistic space. We are less likely to be haunted by the possibility we’ve done something wrong or taken the incorrect path. We can reckon with the notion that it was part of one cycle and that maybe, we’re moving into a new one.
I don’t know if my seven-year cycles are to do with the planets, an educational structure, my cells or simply the product of a personality that enjoys new challenges and experience. I’m too much of a pragmatist to buy into any esoteric, non-scientific theories but, I do feel the belief that change is possible and perhaps part of life’s scheme. It's also empowering; everyone has more chances and it’s never too late. Bring on the next cycle!
