“Pick your person and make it snappy, tick-tock, your tree of life can’t wait much longer.”

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Her mother’s words clamored in her head like an angry smoke detector begging for a fresh battery. The mantra, taunting her as she entered her 30s, became louder each night until she couldn’t sleep. How she longed for the sound of the music that played in her head from her childhood. Or the thunderous bass from the dance clubs in her 20s. Back then, she swung from the branches of her tree and dug into the soil, believing someday, she would finally reach China.

But no time for climbing today, she is off to another wedding, another baby shower. She squeezes her toes into those designer shoes and stumbles out to the party. Glancing up to check the time, she hears it TikTok TikTok, screaming in contempt. It might as well count out the seconds with words; it could say “old-bag-die-alone-old-bag-die-alone.”

She knows she must find her partner soon; maybe he will be at the party or even on the subway as she heads uptown. But sadly, she doesn’t see him there.

Instead she climbs, discovering offshoots she hadn’t envisioned during the time of the biological click branding onto her psyche.

Still so much to touch, taste, and see, but the girl could not forget about the one branch her mother cherished. And she, too, craved the fruit it promised. So, she turned back, following the path her mother taught her. She chose someone to marry and crawled out the very end of the branch holding her seed and fruit.

When her baby boy arrived, she was besotted and filled with a harmony greater than any discovery imaginable; she felt peace.

Yet, as time passed with her newfound love clinging to her breast, she saw that above her the sky was dimming. The taller branches suddenly too far to reach. As love with her romantic partner faded she poured all of herself into the child. She balanced precariously on the branch that she thought would be her sanctuary. But the weight of too much expectation began tearing the branch from its trunk. As it was losing its life force, so was she, and so was the man she once thought to be hers.

So the girl did what all great explorers would: she strapped the child tightly to her chest and climbed again. Soon learning that the shrubs from her mother’s day were gone. No longer were weak bushes the only climbing option.

Her tree was as high as she could stretch, with each step a new footing appeared to lift and support her as adventures came to life. As they soared above the saplings of the past, she smiled, tilted his little face to the sky, and whispered: only redwoods, my beloved; only redwoods, for us.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.