People tell you the time goes quickly. But really it lurches and stops, races, sputters and gives you moments to catch your breath. I had meniscus surgery last week. I spoke to several surgeons before I found the one that really got me. He looked at my knee, at the xrays and MRI scans. He looked back at me. I was there for what I thought might be a partial or full knee replacement.
He shook his head. You won’t like it, he said. Because you’re a freak. And I mean that as a compliment.
I got it. Maybe because I didn’t marry and didn’t have kids, I’m not as tired as my swollen knee might have suggested.
A week after surgery I think of my temporary hiatus from running and tennis like I view the weeks after the winter solstice, when each day gets lighter and in a few short weeks the helloborus buds poke through the snow. And we’re off to the races again. Easy runs, workouts with the ball machine, testing my speed against 20-year-old runners and laughing at the results.
Meanwhile, I have time to reflect on the urgency of my 20s and 30s; the grandiose goals I set for myself: Pulitzer Prize, Academy Award, Tony Award. Awards. Because in lieu of seeing myself, I wanted others to see me. It was a manic drive right into every wall: bad relationships, bad choices, crazy jobs. (Really crazy – the kinds of jobs that might have been career enders.)
I once dated someone – can’t remember his name – who had ambitions to become a politican. It made me laugh (he was a creep anyway) knowing that if the relationship continued, he’s be political toast. But that’s a story for another day.
Time now cossets me. Picking a color to paint the walls of my apartment. Taking a walk on crutches to the gym (I really hate the term “silver sneakers” but glad Medicare pays for my workouts.), pulling out weeds.
One of my dear friends gave me a card to celebrate my 74th birthday. She’s an incredibly perceptive and empathic friend. The card read: Your age is completely inappropriate for your behavior.
Yes.
Lapse in the Mainstream 