Wind grazes my cheek. Perspiration dries in my hair. My feet burrow into the cool sand as the sea momentarily flashes with a million photography bulbs capturing the seagulls’ graceful flight overhead. Waves crash. Jellyfish lie listlessly on the shore as manatee swim freely. Breath inhaled as if it could be my last…Exhale.
Death surrounds me.
However, a doctor has not recently informed me that I have months to live. The personal will detailing who will receive my possessions has not been created. A suicide note detailing the pain, the internal trauma, or the hopelessness of life has not been written. Not even a potentially tragic skydiving adventure has been planned.
It’s simply February in Fort Lauderdale: snowbird season. I feel completely out of place.
While basking in sun rays while the rest of the country is frigid, a sense of mortality is hard to shake when all one can see is withered skin and frail bones coating the souls of those tanning on the beach. If those wrinkles could talk, they may ask,
“Was this an eventful and purposeful life?”
Heat stroke must be imminent as I answer that question in my head with a logical response — but in the voice that could become an iconic character: an adorable rodent in an animated children’s film.
It could also be that the Bloody Marys have finally kicked in, which reminds me to partake in another swig. Although a sign states that there is no alcohol permitted on the beach, it is ignored: rebellion at its least dangerous.
The elderly relax in beach chairs as if they worked hard and long for years to reach this zenith. Peace at last. One company and one career was all it took to find the beach in the twilight years. Years ago, that was a possibility. I envy this generation.
Hopelessness gives me a great big bear hug as I admit to myself that there is a gap between roughly 30 years and my ability to claim Social Security which may or may not even exist when I reach the life goal of retirement.
My heartbeat must be racing as I can sense the panic kicking in again thinking of the thousands of days in front of me. It’s normal though. These waves and surges visit me every few weeks and have been doing so over the past 15 years. Deep breaths usually send them to the wayside. That and not worrying which is now a personal trait for those that know me.
Why worry? Many have asked, if not yelled it at me over the years. Perhaps they’ve been right as I cannot control any of this. My life situation hasn’t changed. If I focus on my breath count and calm my mind I can see that I can still pay my bills and carry out my responsibilities. I may or may not have a job waiting for me upon my return. Why dwell on the idea of a third career change when it would really just mean a new challenge, opportunity, and a fresh way to earn income? Why focus on what might be? We control less than we think. This is not a hint towards a God or thee God.
At this moment, I rest on a beach, buzzed on cheap vodka and want to convince myself that I have no responsibility other than to enjoy this day for what it is as I face a long succession of days unlike this tranquility…soon to be replaced by tolerable florescent lighting with cheerful co-workers.
Deep breath. Exhale.
