Swimming
Swimming in the mornings is a favorite ‘hands busy, mind free’ time. As my body swims my brain drifts, open to what floats in. Today, dying showed up.
I was playing a mental game, stepping into the shoes of someone way outside my understanding (Covid denier, Islamic jihadist, etc.). How would my worldview look if their behavior made sense?
Today’s game was: how would I feel if dying was perfectly fine, if I was quite happy to make the crossing, to leave behind this unfathomably mystifying and beautiful experience of being alive?
Deeper and deeper I went into this reality, until as I approached the end of the pool lane for a turnaround, I was at peace, happy to die. But at the moment before what seemed like crossing into death, I felt scared, “Stop, this is just imagination. I’m not ready to actually die yet. Don’t go there!” Swimming back, I was relieved to return.
I’d gone to that place where I was perfectly happy to die. It felt restful, quite beautiful. I doubt I could have deliberately died in the swimming pool, but it felt that way; like a hallucination or out-of-body experience.
I can understand how some friends, who have intentionally died, may have felt. When the right time comes and you are ready, it’s okay, it’s peaceful and good.
The next day I had coffee in San Francisco with a long-term friend.
Coffee
My friend of over 40 years, soon turns 91. He lives in a retirement home that has been more-or-less in lockdown. Before Covid, we had met monthly. Now it’s been a year and a half. As before, we had a delightful visit. He mentioned how strange it is to be in his 90s. “No one in my family lived to this age. I didn’t expect to. What do you do at 91? I don’t know what it means.”
My friend’s comments about being 90 got me thinking. In 10 years how will it be for me? For most of us, 90 is unchartered territory. Will I know who I am, use a walker, live in a care home? Will I be asking the same question I’m asking now?
New Plan B
Leaving my friend, I continued musing about 90 and drove (floated) across San Francisco to the Marina waterfront, and through Crissy Field to the fishing dock, Torpedo Wharf, just east of the south end of the Golden Gate Bridge. I got another cup of coffee with cream and honey at the Warming House and strolled out the wharf to the Asian crab fishing folks, who pulled in the occasional small Dungeness crab, much to the delight of the cell-phone-clicking out-of-towners. I watched a large one-legged seagull hobbling around. He looked in excellent shape. We each adapt.
Apart from the obviously local fishing folks, and the dedicated San Francisco super-healthy joggers, I’d guess the rest of us were tourists, me from Marin, and judging by the languages, the others from far and wide. With blue skies and fluffy clouds, mild temperature, and everybody enjoying themselves, I felt great. After visiting my friend in semi-lockdown, this was freedom and the joy of being alive.
After a true happy hour, I drove up the hill and parked at the south end of the Golden Gate Bridge on the west side at the old gunnery batteries. I strolled down a path that goes under the bridge and is popular with bicyclists. I’ve never been there before. That got me thinking of a new view for my Plan A and Plan B.
In my life, Plan A would be that everything continues as it’s been for the last 20 years. Plan B would come into play if I have a stroke, heart attack, or major impairment that cancels Plan A. (Plan C would be the end-of-the-road. I’m dead.) Covid has thrown a wrench in these plans. Now I have a new Plan B.
The new Plan B is like the old Plan A, but it’s local. Once frequent trips to Europe will now be within mainland US, plus Hawaii. Instead of exploring quaint European medieval towns, I’ll do what Europeans do when they visit the United States, explore our world-class attractions.
I’ve lived in the Bay Area for fifty years but have never been to this entry path to the Golden Gate Bridge. Beautiful and fascinating. No wonder it was full of tourists. I did my usual, offering to take pictures of the couples from Pennsylvania, and Arizona, and again from Arizona. My smile was just as big, or bigger than theirs. I had a ball, and it didn’t take a mega-planned trip or anxiety-inducing plane flight to get there. New Plan B is easy. The old Plan B is now C, (and the old Plan C is now D.)
I’m adapting and enjoying it!
If this connects with your current thoughts, please let me know. I’m always keen to hear from you.
Thank you,
Barry
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