It is strange to be here at this resort on Marco Island, strange to be 56 years old at a resort that is full of teenagers, strange to be at a resort that is so full near a beach that is so full, at this point in the pandemic, the beginning of the third year of a pandemic. When we see disease spikes in the midwest, we could probably trace some of it back to this week of holiday travel. It will likely not surprise most of us to know that people here are not wearing masks as they move about the resort. I want to believe that's because we're all vaccinated and boosted, but I know it is likely not the case.
My family is taking precautions, but we've never been a meet strangers and party kind of intergenerational family. My brother-in-law has a Ph.D that gives him a deeper understanding of disease than most of us have, and my parents are older, and I've been doing lots of research about this pandemic (and historic plagues), so we're all fine with the precautions we need to take. We get to our pool chairs early and pull them away from others. If we go out to eat, we'll go at an odd hour, like 2 or 3 in the afternoon, when we'll be the only ones there. So far, we've been eating in.
It is also strange to be here at the far side of midlife, surrounded by people who are just starting out. They look so young, so unwrinkled. Once, they might have inspired me to try one more weight loss plan; in fact, I found that kind of thought flickering through my brain: "Maybe, by this time next year, if I lost x amount of pounds." Then I banished that thought. I could lose x amount of pounds, no doubt. But I need the focus required to lose x amount of pounds for other projects, like seminary classes and surviving a pandemic with minimal guidance from my government.
It's the time of year when people make lists of what they plan to do in the new year, and perhaps some of us are making lists of what we accomplished or didn't accomplish in 2021. The last 2 years have shown me the futility of those kinds of lists. If I look at my poetry submission log, I should be much more widely published, based on effort alone. And my poetry is every bit as skilled as much of what is published.
I am done with so many sorts of self-improvement plans, those plans that seem to suggest that we can do anything if we feel peppy enough, if we put in enough time, if we go, go, go and rarely look back. One of the joys of midlife is that some of that yearning has dropped away. I am not going to lose 50 pounds and keep it off. I am not going to look like a 16 year old again, and I never looked like the kind of 16 year old that would be attractive to a certain type of wealthy, older man--thank goodness for that. It is also strange to be here in this resort as the jury has deliberated the fate of the woman who recruited girls for Jeffrey Epstein, and by extension, for other wealthy, powerful, white men, all of them old enough to know better.
It is strange to be here at this resort, surrounded by so many able-bodied bodies. I remind myself that they may not all be as able as I assume. And at some point, we all face deterioration, although it won't be the same elements we all experience. A resort can be a powerful reminder of that. There's an older man who brings his portable oxygen to the pool, and I wonder what he makes of all of this.
Similarly, there's one non-white vacationing couple here, just one. Even on the beach, the lack of diversity fascinates me, since it's so different just 2 hours away on the east coast of Florida. On the east coast of Florida, my pale hair and skin are in the minority, as I watch the people making their way down the Hollywood Broadwalk or to the Atlantic ocean. Not here. My dermatologist would be horrified.
Or maybe he would just shrug and say, "More money for me if people want to continue in behaviors that they know won't end well."
Sadly, many folks might be saying that this year.
No comments:
Post a Comment