60 years old! 6 decades on this earth – I find that simply amazing! My thoughts keep returning to the picture of Ruthie, my mother, holding me in front of my childhood home that Spring of 1958. I think about the multitude of adventures I’ve had, the miles I’ve traversed, the many places I’ve lived and visited over this life. It’s easy at times to think I’ve been a stick in the mud and haven’t done enough. I have a bad habit of comparing myself to other more adventurous family members and friends. When I look back at my life, I can’t help but think I’ve been profoundly lucky to have been born when and where I was, to have had the parents I had – warts and all.
It’s taken more than a few decades to accept my lot in life. I’ve been blessed and burdened by a sense of restlessness, of transience that I’ve both embraced and struggled against. I’ve always had a Mary Poppins when the wind changes thing nagging at the edges of my psyche. It’s a sense of restlessness that arises after a period of stability, after a securing of roots and ties that bind me to a place. The ties start to loosen and the roots, which were always a bit too close to the surface anyway, lose their need to anchor me. The wind starts to pick up and soon I’m feeling the urge to move again. I start cleaning out closets, emptying out the basement and scouring the internet for my next landing place.
I’ve always felt like I’m living with a river in my soul. At times I’m floating lazily along with a soft, gentle current – then the white water comes upon me with little warning, although truth be told I just wasn’t paying attention. The rapids do their thing sending me turning and tumbling downstream. Learned the hard way fighting the current does me no good. At some point the river is done with me and I find myself deposited on a gentle sandy stretch of the riverbank – solid ground which looks like a good place to pitch my tent, build a cabin and lay down roots.
Time goes by – I get settled in and comfortable. After a while life’s starting to look a bit too familiar, becoming a bit too predictable and easy and soon I’m scouring the horizon for those telltale signs of the wind picking up and the water rising. I can smell it and feel it – the tug at my soul to move on – to dive back into the river and let it carry me further downstream.
As I’ve gotten older the rapids aren’t sneaking up and surprising me like they used to. I’ve learned a few tricks for navigating white water without quite so many requisite bruises, without being pulled underwater and left gasping for air when I finally rise back to the surface. Most times now I know when to hold my breath and close my eyes. I still get water and sand in all the wrong places but, hey, if I didn’t how else would I know I’ve been gifted another adventure to feed and nourish my soul, my restless spirit?
This latest leg of my journey down the river deposited me in the desert. An absolute feast for the eyes and soul. The Desert – a fitting destination for me who believes a metaphorical river is how I move through life……I’ll keep you posted…
