Not too late after all
If you time it just right, you can play on the sandbars before they disappear. (Plum Island, Massachusetts, August 2021. Photo by AER)
As we motored the sailboat gently into its slip at sunset, there was bedlam on the dock.
A couple dozen people were hanging out there and upon a large sailboat adjacent, eating and drinking—but mostly drinking. “Welcome to Laurie’s birthday!” they shouted.
It took awhile for someone to come over and grab our lines to help us tie off (something we didn’t strictly need but is always nice to have).
As we derigged, there were whoops and hollers. A couple of guys had climbed upon the rigging of the party boat and were swinging from the halyard. Eventually, one of them swung out enough to jump into the bay. Splash!
A few women started stripping down to their underwear and or/changing into swimsuits. One climbed onto the boom of the sailboat alongside the guys, steadied herself carefully, and then executed a perfect dive about eight feet down into the water below. Others jumped or dove off directly from the dock. The full moon was rising behind them.
As we picked our way past discarded clothing and seated revelers to go home, I realized for the first time that I was probably a decade older than the oldest person present, and possibly two decades older than the youngest. In my mind, age wasn’t the thing that separated me from this group. No, I thought first of how distant I felt from them because I don’t drink alcohol, and then of how I might never be bold enough to jump off of a sailboat at twilight, and how I certainly wouldn’t be the first one, and in any case I definitely wouldn’t dive. And how I would never be spontaneous or comfortable enough with myself to take my clothes off at such a party. Only then did I recognize the age gap and feel a sense of wry amusement at the irony of how little I have changed since my teen years. I may be an extrovert, but I have never been the life of the party.
The pandemic must have been hard on the people who love parties and are good at them. It’s been a long time since parties were a key part of my social life, and now I’ve moved to an area where I know few people and don’t expect to be invited anywhere. I don’t miss the parties, really, but now that people are starting to do fun things again, I am discovering that I want to do fun things, too. I want to get outside my normal routine and challenge myself. I don’t want to live vicariously through other people or the world of fiction. I want to have my own interesting experiences.
So on a recent Saturday, I chose to leave my house instead of hanging out at home. I even brought my towel and bathing suit. My journey took me to a beautiful beach in the late afternoon. And when my nieces asked if I would come swimming, I chose to say yes. Together, we boogie-boarded in the surf until the golden light disappeared. It was fun, and I felt like a child again.
I don’t know how many more years I’ll be able to do that kind of thing, but I can see the crossroads: I can hasten my decrepitude by withdrawing from discomfort and novel experiences, or I can hang on to vitality and well-being by challenging myself physically, mentally, and socially. I can’t stay young, but I can stay youthful—or at least vigorous, active, and open. I can make a habit of saying yes even when it’s a little uncomfortable.
I can see how easy it would be to shrink down into myself and blame my small life on advancing age. “I would have loved to learn to surf/write a book/hike the Appalachian Trail. Too late now!” I’d be off the hook. I’d be released from hard work, obligation, and pain. But that’s not actually what I want.
There are still so many skills I’d like to learn, places I’d like to go, and feats I’d like to accomplish. I don’t know if I have time to do them all, but that’s not a good enough reason to say, “Oh, well,” and give up. I may never dive off of a sailboat, but that’s not because I’m too old. Not yet. In the meantime, I have a responsibility to myself to keep learning, growing, and living.
