Startled and Almost 50!

We moved to California in June, 1994.  Bobby was nearly 7, Julia was 4 and Audrey, just a wee three months old.  That summer, while Jeff immersed himself in  his job at Texas Instruments, the children and I set out to explore our new west coast environs.  On one such outing, we found our way to Capitola, a small coastal  town south of Santa Cruz.   After the hour plus drive, the children were eager to hit the beach and in a flash, the four of us raced to the water's edge.  After Julia and I gauged the temperature, which was absolutely frigid,  we immediately retreated to our blankets.  Bobby however, was undeterred and jumped into the waves, boogie board in hand to conquer the sea. 

I stood guard, periodically checking on my son's safety.  He was paddling like a madman to catch a wave.  All was well.  Back to Jules and Audrey.  When I  again checked on Bobby, my heart stopped because he wasn't where I thought he'd be.  I raised my line of vision to scan further out into the water, the sense of panic creeping up on me, but with unabashed relief I found him on his board,  beyond the crowd of swimmers, where the waves were rising and crashing.  I whistled and gestured that he needed to paddle back closer to shore.

A few minutes passed and it became clear that Bobby was ignoring my instructions.   I asked my friend to watch the girls and then stomped indignantly towards the water.  I whistled again with more urgency and stared out towards my target to make sure he understood that he needed to get his skinny little butt back towards safety.   As I squinted to focus on Bobby to  make sure he knew I meant business, I quickly got over myself,  horrified to realize the issue wasn't of insolence, but danger.  The look of panic on my son's face grimly conveyed that he was in trouble.

In a micro-second, I dove head first into the freezing water.  The absolute shock of the temperature hit me full force.  My lungs, heart, and  every internal organ in my body for that matter,  gasped in response.  I had to instruct my brain to ignore the icy jolt and force my arms and legs into motion.  With each painful stroke, I willed myself to get to Bobby.  And of course, I did.  I wrapped myself around his tiny little body, held on tight to his board and  kicked  like crazy to move the two of us through the powerful riptide, back to shore.

What's The Point?

I tell this story because recently,  I've started having deja-vu recall of the intense physical and emotional shock I experienced on that Capitola day.  Thankfully, there were no life or death emergencies that triggered these memories.    Rather, all of this resurfaced  as I began to recognize (or admit)  that soon, I'll  be 50 years old.  5-0.  The Big FITEE.  Five Decades.  The reality of "time gone by" has  hit me as fiercely as those frigid waves did back in June, 1994.

Have I really been on this planet for half a century?  30 was easy.  40, a blast.  But 50....I'm gasping with disbelief.  I'm numb.   My friends and family who've already reached this milestone  will no doubt "tsk,tsk", "chuckle, chuckle" over my self-absorbed and so-cliched reaction to this "big" birthday.  But for me,  I'm stunned.  Though let's  be clear,  I'm not freaked out in an oh-no, the end is near, depressed kind of way.  I'm simply feeling pressed to  treat this as an important milestone, an ah-ha moment to embark on a few must-do's for the second leg of my century marathon.

And this  blog is Step One in that process.  Not sure how pivotal a role it will play in my march to 60 (OH MY GOD -- THAT IS FREAKY  TO TYPE!!!!), but it is an out-there enough exercise to force myself  to stretch  beyond my comfort zone.  And fifty of not, pushing yourself is well, just a good thing to do.

Ta-ta.