why where what how who are you sure?
Aug. 4th, 2007 10:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kassidy62I feel like I'm showing much more of myself than I am comfortable with - it's just not me, not on a public forum. But I'm doing it anyway. Huh.
I was at the beach this past week and it was beautiful - the water was so clear, light green bleeding into dark blue further out from shore, big waves with frothing whitecaps, white sand - just lovely.
But I, fellow friendies, have been having a personal sort of crisis. I thought it was like a midlife crisis, because I'm feeling older and less enthused and burdened and always always seem to have work to do. I have also been realizing that my mother is getting old, too, and time is decidedly finite - I turn my head and so many things have changed. I feel bewildered at how grownup the children have become, and sort of sad. Okay, more than sort of. However, I'm not sure that the problem can be completely defined by calling it a midlife crisis.
Anyway, I'd hoped that the beach trip might help me, as I've been pretty rundown. But it didn't, not in that sense, though I slept well and the sounds and smells and the sunshine were very good for me and gave me a surface sort of peace.
I've gone to Panama City Beach since I was a little girl - sometimes not for years, but I've always went back. I remember going with my dad to the city pier there as a youngster. They fish off the pier, and one night in the early evening Dad and I saw a pair of black shadows under the water, large and triangular, like manta rays. And I remember walking on the beach with Dad, and my foot had a cut and the water stung, and he said, "The salt is good for it." And I took his word as religion, same as I did when he used to cut pieces off raw turnips and eat them - so I had to do it, too, because my dad did it and I wanted to be like him - and he told me to chew them very carefully into small pieces so as not to get a stomach ache. And I did. I was very careful.
Last night I took my oldest daughter to the same pier and we walked it together. She's a little older than I was when I went with Dad. The last of the sun was disappearing and the sky was pink and orange, blue and orchid streaks, and the breeze was blowing, and the fishermen were pulling fish off their hooks. We had to be careful not to get in the way of those that were casting as we walked by. Things have come full circle. I remember those days with Dad as if no time at all had passed. I'm very conscious of being on the far side of that circle now, though I think it seems right. Not so sure why I feel I'm *that* far on that side of the circle, however.
I went to PCB with Dave before I married him. We went on an excursion together and swam with wild dolphins. And I went to PCB when my youngest was one year old - we carried so many things to the beach - bottles for her, diapers, change of clothes, sunscreen, hats, unbrella, etc. - it was really a little ridiculous.
I was at PCB when 9/11 happened - I just happened to be the first one up and I was watching television and saw the first plane crash. Couldn't seem to understand what was happening, and neither could the newscasters.
This morning I walked the beach by myself for one last time before going home. The water was like crystal. The waves were booming and crashing onto the sand. The temperature was comfortable with the breeze. And I stared out at the ocean and I kept thinking how beautiful, how mysterious and old and magnificent and wild. And somehow I got to thinking of things like, "What difference did I ever make?" And other, broader things - why we exist, and how our lives are over in the wink of an eye, and the fact that there's so many of us and we all want to mean something, and being afraid that maybe we just don't. And I'd been thinking that my sadness comes from the fact of growing older and feeling your limitations, but I realized this past week that there was only a very short period of time in my younger days where I felt free and without fear and that unknown possibilities were around the corner. So if I'm pining for my youth, well, it wasn't all that great anyway. Probably many of us didn't have that ideal sort of freedom and excitement.
And I thought about the people I passed by on the beach: the little ones, three of them in a row seated on the sand, waiting for the next wave to wash over them and make them lose their balance; the older couple walking the beach (they looked calm and happy - no existential where what why bullshit for them!); the kids in their teens and twenties who are beautiful and know it - their youth and their surety is wonderful and vital, but it's a flash in the sun, isn't it? Then they grow older and have to deal with their own adjustments as others take their place. I looked at people and thought, "Everything that's you, your memories, what you've learned and survived and loved - is that all just gone, just wiped out when you die, like you've never been here at all?" And that was sad, because I think all the small private things that happen to us and shape us matter. Those people matter, don't they? I think they do. And I looked out at the ocean and the sky and I thought that maybe it's worth living, regardless of all that. And I kept looking and thought to myself, "Can't you at least look at this and love it as is, without wondering and feeling so small?" And I tried. Didn't really succeed.
Most times I go to PCB, I see dolphins, if only a glimpse. I've seen them at St. Andrew's Bay, seen them from boats and from shore. It came to me that I hadn't seen them this time. Dave had, when he was out with the girls, but I'd missed it. And I looked out one more time before leaving and wished with all my heart to see them, as if that would make everything better. And I felt like a kid wishing on a star or something, and thought, "It's like asking for a miracle, for proof that we matter. Time to go." Because I'm not a kid anymore, right?
Anc then I saw something dark, kind of a moving shadow in the water. I stood stock-still and watched. And there was a fin. A dolphin crested, and another followed. The swam slowly down the shoreline, and at one point one of them was so close to the breakers that I worried for it getting caught in them. A woman called out to her son to look. Her voice was like a kid's, happy and excited.
I followed the dolphins down the beach for awhile. They seemed in no hurry, dorsal fins appearing and disappearing, swimming down the shoreline. I'd say they were purely and simply lollygagging:) One of them was playing, I'm pretty sure, because he rolled and splashed.
So beautiful.
I'm not looking for anything in particular from you, flist - I think I just had something to tell, and a friend or two who I hope won't think I'm being too sentimental and who could stand to hear it.
But I, fellow friendies, have been having a personal sort of crisis. I thought it was like a midlife crisis, because I'm feeling older and less enthused and burdened and always always seem to have work to do. I have also been realizing that my mother is getting old, too, and time is decidedly finite - I turn my head and so many things have changed. I feel bewildered at how grownup the children have become, and sort of sad. Okay, more than sort of. However, I'm not sure that the problem can be completely defined by calling it a midlife crisis.
Anyway, I'd hoped that the beach trip might help me, as I've been pretty rundown. But it didn't, not in that sense, though I slept well and the sounds and smells and the sunshine were very good for me and gave me a surface sort of peace.
I've gone to Panama City Beach since I was a little girl - sometimes not for years, but I've always went back. I remember going with my dad to the city pier there as a youngster. They fish off the pier, and one night in the early evening Dad and I saw a pair of black shadows under the water, large and triangular, like manta rays. And I remember walking on the beach with Dad, and my foot had a cut and the water stung, and he said, "The salt is good for it." And I took his word as religion, same as I did when he used to cut pieces off raw turnips and eat them - so I had to do it, too, because my dad did it and I wanted to be like him - and he told me to chew them very carefully into small pieces so as not to get a stomach ache. And I did. I was very careful.
Last night I took my oldest daughter to the same pier and we walked it together. She's a little older than I was when I went with Dad. The last of the sun was disappearing and the sky was pink and orange, blue and orchid streaks, and the breeze was blowing, and the fishermen were pulling fish off their hooks. We had to be careful not to get in the way of those that were casting as we walked by. Things have come full circle. I remember those days with Dad as if no time at all had passed. I'm very conscious of being on the far side of that circle now, though I think it seems right. Not so sure why I feel I'm *that* far on that side of the circle, however.
I went to PCB with Dave before I married him. We went on an excursion together and swam with wild dolphins. And I went to PCB when my youngest was one year old - we carried so many things to the beach - bottles for her, diapers, change of clothes, sunscreen, hats, unbrella, etc. - it was really a little ridiculous.
I was at PCB when 9/11 happened - I just happened to be the first one up and I was watching television and saw the first plane crash. Couldn't seem to understand what was happening, and neither could the newscasters.
This morning I walked the beach by myself for one last time before going home. The water was like crystal. The waves were booming and crashing onto the sand. The temperature was comfortable with the breeze. And I stared out at the ocean and I kept thinking how beautiful, how mysterious and old and magnificent and wild. And somehow I got to thinking of things like, "What difference did I ever make?" And other, broader things - why we exist, and how our lives are over in the wink of an eye, and the fact that there's so many of us and we all want to mean something, and being afraid that maybe we just don't. And I'd been thinking that my sadness comes from the fact of growing older and feeling your limitations, but I realized this past week that there was only a very short period of time in my younger days where I felt free and without fear and that unknown possibilities were around the corner. So if I'm pining for my youth, well, it wasn't all that great anyway. Probably many of us didn't have that ideal sort of freedom and excitement.
And I thought about the people I passed by on the beach: the little ones, three of them in a row seated on the sand, waiting for the next wave to wash over them and make them lose their balance; the older couple walking the beach (they looked calm and happy - no existential where what why bullshit for them!); the kids in their teens and twenties who are beautiful and know it - their youth and their surety is wonderful and vital, but it's a flash in the sun, isn't it? Then they grow older and have to deal with their own adjustments as others take their place. I looked at people and thought, "Everything that's you, your memories, what you've learned and survived and loved - is that all just gone, just wiped out when you die, like you've never been here at all?" And that was sad, because I think all the small private things that happen to us and shape us matter. Those people matter, don't they? I think they do. And I looked out at the ocean and the sky and I thought that maybe it's worth living, regardless of all that. And I kept looking and thought to myself, "Can't you at least look at this and love it as is, without wondering and feeling so small?" And I tried. Didn't really succeed.
Most times I go to PCB, I see dolphins, if only a glimpse. I've seen them at St. Andrew's Bay, seen them from boats and from shore. It came to me that I hadn't seen them this time. Dave had, when he was out with the girls, but I'd missed it. And I looked out one more time before leaving and wished with all my heart to see them, as if that would make everything better. And I felt like a kid wishing on a star or something, and thought, "It's like asking for a miracle, for proof that we matter. Time to go." Because I'm not a kid anymore, right?
Anc then I saw something dark, kind of a moving shadow in the water. I stood stock-still and watched. And there was a fin. A dolphin crested, and another followed. The swam slowly down the shoreline, and at one point one of them was so close to the breakers that I worried for it getting caught in them. A woman called out to her son to look. Her voice was like a kid's, happy and excited.
I followed the dolphins down the beach for awhile. They seemed in no hurry, dorsal fins appearing and disappearing, swimming down the shoreline. I'd say they were purely and simply lollygagging:) One of them was playing, I'm pretty sure, because he rolled and splashed.
So beautiful.
I'm not looking for anything in particular from you, flist - I think I just had something to tell, and a friend or two who I hope won't think I'm being too sentimental and who could stand to hear it.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Beautiful
Date: 2007-08-05 07:38 am (UTC)And now you've made me jealous - you see, your life has a theme, a quite particular and distinct thread that runs throughout. I seem to have lurched through life -in fits and starts- and sometimes, looking back, I think I must have missed something pretty damned important. Several somethings. There's the "then" and here's the "now" and slap bang in the middle of it, someone dumped an ocean.
As for yourself, just think: PCB is always going to be there. Looking forward you can have the best of both worlds, all the precious memories you've touched upon above, and then some day you'll sit there, maybe in a folding chair, and watch your children walk with your grandchildren, making their own imprints, building their own memories.
"my sadness comes from the fact of growing older and feeling your limitations, but I realized this past week that there was only a very short period of time in my younger days where I felt free and without fear and that unknown possibilities were around the corner. So if I'm pining for my youth, well, it wasn't all that great anyway. Probably many of us didn't have that ideal sort of freedom and excitement."
Many of us? Or, indeed, any of us... Because we all end up pledging to do things a damn sight better than our parents did, and we (most of us) still wish we knew the secrets that our parents must have known in order to survive what we put them through. And sooner or later, we repeat the same lines that our parents used on us, then clamp a hand over our mouths, thinking, "I can't believe I said that!" I guess that's what growing up does to us.
As for growing old, I can't say I'm to thrilled at the prospect. Any impact my presence on this planet might have had will vanish just as surely as those footprints on the beach. But the saviour of my sanity whenever I begin to dwell on such things is that, thank god, I have children. Maybe someday my son, or his daughter, or my daughter's grandson, might be the doctor that cures AIDS or the pilot of the first manned spaceship to land on Jupiter.
And they better damn well acknowledge me in their first speech to the world's press!
Re: Beautiful
Date: 2007-08-06 04:03 pm (UTC)Oh Nik, dear, you are too hard on yourself - don't we all lurch in fits and starts?