My bucket list has never been very long. I have always tended to scratch my itches as they have presented themselves. But at almost 73 I realized, to my horror and disappointment, that I had never once been "skinny dipping". When friends asked us to take care of their house, dogs, and swimming pool while they went to a family wedding, I saw my chance.
I wasn't keeping it a secret. I announced my intentions to the world. The host gave me all kinds of advice. Don't turn on the pool lights. It attracts the mosquitoes. Be careful walking in the dark. You might get hurt. I solved all this by doing it in broad daylight Oh I was discreet. I got into the pool up to my neck before slipping out of my suit and taking a few laps, and no one was there to see except my husband. After swinging my suit over my head with one finger and yelling "Whoo Hoo!", I slipped back into my suit (still submerged) and that was that. But there was a revelation as I thought about it later. It was no big deal.
How many other things do we put off doing until "some day" when they could (and probably should) be dispatched without a major effort. OK....there's some effort in everything. We just need a reminder that we really don't have all the time left that we may be expecting. I may be here until I'm 100. Mom made it to 89 and she smoked two packs of Lucky Strikes a day. Still, the clock is ticking. Everyone knows how much money they have. Nobody knows how much time.
Running through a stack of things I was planning to read one of these days, I found the following quote: "The magic you're looking for is in the work you're avoiding." Ouch. The unwritten blogs, the voice over career still on hold, the freedom found in purging old souvenirs and thereby living in a tidy house for the first time in my life. What AM I waiting for?
This week I find myself mourning the death of someone I never met. Andrea Gibson has inspired and touched me since I first stumbled across their gifted and thought-provoking poetry a number of years ago. They were only 49, and so brave that they documented the process of their own death. They had cancer. They never would have committed suicide. Almost the last words they uttered were "I fucking loved my life!" and I decided I want to feel that at the end, whenever it comes. Brave and loving and awestruck and fearless.
So what are we waiting for? With both planet and politics in death throws, how long do we think we can put off doing whatever wacky thing we long for that will not hurt others? Notice the flowers, the birdsong, and the chorus of children's voices as they play. Pay attention to it all. Then swing your swimsuit over your head on one finger, yell "Whoopeee!" at the top of your lungs, and jump into the deep end of the pool.
I wasn't keeping it a secret. I announced my intentions to the world. The host gave me all kinds of advice. Don't turn on the pool lights. It attracts the mosquitoes. Be careful walking in the dark. You might get hurt. I solved all this by doing it in broad daylight Oh I was discreet. I got into the pool up to my neck before slipping out of my suit and taking a few laps, and no one was there to see except my husband. After swinging my suit over my head with one finger and yelling "Whoo Hoo!", I slipped back into my suit (still submerged) and that was that. But there was a revelation as I thought about it later. It was no big deal.
How many other things do we put off doing until "some day" when they could (and probably should) be dispatched without a major effort. OK....there's some effort in everything. We just need a reminder that we really don't have all the time left that we may be expecting. I may be here until I'm 100. Mom made it to 89 and she smoked two packs of Lucky Strikes a day. Still, the clock is ticking. Everyone knows how much money they have. Nobody knows how much time.
Running through a stack of things I was planning to read one of these days, I found the following quote: "The magic you're looking for is in the work you're avoiding." Ouch. The unwritten blogs, the voice over career still on hold, the freedom found in purging old souvenirs and thereby living in a tidy house for the first time in my life. What AM I waiting for?
This week I find myself mourning the death of someone I never met. Andrea Gibson has inspired and touched me since I first stumbled across their gifted and thought-provoking poetry a number of years ago. They were only 49, and so brave that they documented the process of their own death. They had cancer. They never would have committed suicide. Almost the last words they uttered were "I fucking loved my life!" and I decided I want to feel that at the end, whenever it comes. Brave and loving and awestruck and fearless.
So what are we waiting for? With both planet and politics in death throws, how long do we think we can put off doing whatever wacky thing we long for that will not hurt others? Notice the flowers, the birdsong, and the chorus of children's voices as they play. Pay attention to it all. Then swing your swimsuit over your head on one finger, yell "Whoopeee!" at the top of your lungs, and jump into the deep end of the pool.
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