Two days left of 50

The theory is we all move through life at the same speed. A second is a second after all, no? I’d like to put forth it’s the quality of that movement through those uniform seconds that changes how fast we live our lives. My life has two whole days until I’m done this 51st trip around the sun. For now, I’m 50.

The Tale of Midlife Refit

This midlife refit has been on my mind for five years at least. I was still working for Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution (WHOI), then living easily two thirds of my calendar year as a marine technician at sea on the R/V Neil Armstrong.

Research Vessel Neil Armstrong in San Juan, Puerto Rico, photo by Amy Simoneau, WHOI

At the time, running late in 2018, WHOI’s other ship, the R/V Atlantis was making plans to enter it’s major year-plus long shipyard, known as a midlife refit. This occurs when the ship is at the halfway point in its service life. In the yard, the ship is repowered, older equipment is modernized, and the vessel undergoes a general all-around major spiffing up, retooling for the second half of its operational life. At the yearly meeting of all the technical folk like myself, one of the bigwigs remarked they’d heard I was doing Atlantis midlife.

“Did you? That’s news to me.” I said.

Later, talking to my boss on the topic, I remarked that I needed to do my own midlife refit. It was then that the seed of this idea was planted. Technically it was already underway. I was 46, in perimenopause, and midway through a major house renovation. If you ask me, that qualifies. I politely demurred on the Atlantis yard. Wayy too much work. For someone else. I wanted to work for me.

Little Life Goals

Though the sea hitch / shore leave lifestyle was normal for me after two decades, the duality started taking its toll. When home I set a goal: to get a good chaturanga and crow by 50. These are yoga poses. Ones that I thought would build my core and arm strength, two things that had caused me major can’t-climb-back-in-the-boat embarrassment over the years. I couldn’t even do a push-up. I felt I had never been taught, never learned to use my body as designed. My legs just carried me around, period. My eyes were feeble, requiring glasses before two years of age. I injected my effort into my brain and smarts, leaving my body to bring up the rear. I wanted to change this, I wanted to live deliberately and inhabit my body. Move it or lose it, right? Time to get ready and keep in good health for the crone years.

Jump Ship

Fast forward past a personally grueling Armstrong shipyard, one week later enter global pandemic, then a year point five of sequestering on the ship while in port. I’d had enough. It was time for a change. In all my years of seagoing, this was the first time I had to drag myself kicking and screaming back to the boat. I wanted to be home. Home, which had been little more than a pit stop, with projects languishing for years. I planned my route out, gave the WHOI folks a generous notice, and jumped ship in San Juan, Puerto Rico with a month there to ponder what I’d done.

Slow Living

I’m not going to lie, in those months after leaving, I reeled. I knew it instinctively, still the reality of who am I if I’m not a sailor threw me for a loop. I had until November til the pumpkin of 50. So many things were on my list to-do, yet I felt like my accomplishments were few. As I look back I see that isn’t really true. It’s accepting my speed, that my life is way slower than the fast of crazy I see all around me. I was pecking away at my tasks. It all needs to get done. The things that don’t, fall away, self-sort. I was barely working towards my yoga intention. I’d found relatability (she swears!) and inspiration in Nathania Stambouli, a teacher who runs Yogi Flight School (YFS). I attended a free demo zoom seminar and there the progress stalled, I balked at spending the cash, at investing in myself. 50 came and went and I moved my own goalposts. New goal: crow and chaturanga while fifty.

Enter Dog

I’d told all my sailor friends I was going to get a dog and write. On this too, I hemmed and hawed. Dog is commitment (I had no idea), it would be the first pet of my entire life. All summer I talked about it and scoured petfinder, queried my dog friends, but it wasn’t until days after the Big Birthday that a beast entered my abode. Reel central. Everything was new. I did walk and walk and walk some more, the pup got me out of bed in the morning, my plan was working! One of my fellow walking neighbors carries treats for dogs. He loved my Dellwood Barker, said people wait their whole lives for a dog this good. Indeed I had. It was a lot of work, still I felt lucky with my mr cutie pie. Ain’t it funny the way once something happens you feel like the lead-up wasn’t long at all.

My dog Dellwood.

Coming to Crow

I’m a sucker for deadlines. Sourcing motivation gets tricky when you’re making your own. I had been writing daily, check ✔. I had entered a story contest here, attended a writer’s conference there, submitted: nowhere. I reconnected with a sailor friend and now writing buddy, developing accountability, check ✔. This summer I acted on a YFS promotion and got not only the crow module but the chaturanga masterclass! I started out fast out of the subscription gate, then dawdled. Over the past few weeks I’ve been working a few minutes most days on crow. Last week I watched and worked the master class, that’s worth something, yes? A couple days ago for the first time I flew crow! I hovered for enough seconds that I felt it, the fly. Since then I’ve been madly practicing. Three weeks ago at our writer’s meetup we made a goal of “publish” blog, ie shout it from the digital rooftops by today. I’m still typing. Like I said, sucker for deadlines. Chaturanga is still to-do. I’m satisfied, there is enough progress in this paragraph, at least I’ve begun. I will publish today. I have crow. Working and working and still much left to know. But hey, two days, under the wire here I go.