My birthday week is here, and I don't feel celebratory at all. I feel sad today. I can't articulate what's got me down. But I seem to not be able to reconcile the idea of being one year older and closer to not being able to do all those things that I feel keep life meaningful.
I had a happy week on the sailboat, doing the usual things that I like to do in spite of the chilly weather. I also had a good day yesterday, rowing to one of the popular creeks in the area, meeting up with some old friends at a restaurant along the creek, having lunch and then rowing back up the creek to the landing. It was a good row, not too vigorous but just enough to get the heart pumping aerobically. Working my arm muscles on the oars and having people wave as I went past. It was a good time.
But today has found me feeling anxious and nostalgic for being young again. A song came on the radio the other day, and I actually could feel myself being transported back to my 20's and that feeling of having a long life ahead--the invincibility and joy of something new every day. I felt it right there in my mind and spirit, and it seemed so real.
And now I have all the things that I could possibly need, but my body feels tired after several hours of physically working, and the aches remind me that the clock is ticking away my life--counting down the minutes and hours towards oblivion.
This is depressing writing, and most likely, a lot of my feelings here will be gone in a few hours. I hope so, at least. I'm going to a meeting tonight, forcing myself not to isolate and stay home. And if I wake up tomorrow feeling sad, I'll go for a run/walk on the dirt road. I'll stir up some endorphins and hope for the best.
But right now, I feel like crawling in a hole and curling up.
“When you're young, you always feel that life hasn't yet begun—that "life" is always scheduled to begin next week, next month, next year, after the holidays—whenever. But then suddenly you're old and the scheduled life didn't arrive. You find yourself asking, 'Well then, exactly what was it I was having—that interlude—the scrambly madness—all that time I had before?” ~Douglas Coupland