Maybe I’m Just Done With That

I was sitting at Cape Disappointment the other day looking out at the water.

No waves to speak of. Nothing dramatic happening. Just one of those beautiful mornings where sitting there feels like a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

And for some reason, I started thinking about surfing.

I grew up in Southern California. There was a time in my life when I could look at a decent set of waves and my first thought would have been:

I need to get in there.

Not what a beautiful ocean.

Not what a peaceful morning.

Get the board. Let’s go.

That was me.

And I loved that guy.

But sitting there at Cape D, I realized something.

I don’t particularly want to be that guy anymore.

Maybe I’m just done with that.

And strangely enough, that doesn’t make me sad.

We talk a lot about what we shouldn’t give up

Especially as we get older.

Keep moving.

Keep your strength.

Work on your balance.

Stay curious.

Get out of the chair.

Keep doing the things you love.

Hell, I say some version of that almost every day.

And I believe every word of it.

I don’t want you deciding at 60 or 70 that your life is basically over because somebody told you you’re old now.

If you want to hike, let’s keep you hiking.

If you want to travel, let’s keep you traveling.

If you want to garden, dance, ride a horse, get down on the floor with your grandkids or wander around Cape Disappointment with your wife, let’s keep your body capable of doing those things.

That’s why I care about health in the first place.

But sitting there looking at the ocean, another thought occurred to me.

What if you don’t want to do something anymore?

That’s different.

I don’t owe my younger self an encore

There’s a funny message buried inside a lot of the healthy-aging world.

You’re supposed to keep proving you’ve still got it.

The 80-year-old runs the marathon.

The 70-year-old is still doing whatever the 30-year-olds are doing.

And those stories can be wonderful.

If an 80-year-old loves running marathons, fantastic.

I’ll be over here clapping.

Probably from a chair. 😂

But I don’t think living well means spending the rest of your life trying to prove you can still do everything you used to do.

Some things end because our bodies won’t let us do them anymore.

That’s frustrating.

That’s one reason I teach what I teach.

But sometimes a chapter ends because...

we’re finished with it.

No tragedy.

No surrender.

No decline.

We’re just done.

I don’t need to paddle into cold water today to prove that the kid from Southern California is still hiding somewhere inside me.

I know what catching a wave feels like.

I remember paddling out.

I remember the anticipation.

I remember standing up and feeling that board take off underneath me.

I got to have that chapter.

It was great.

Maybe what counts as participating changes

This may be the part I’ve come to appreciate more as I’ve gotten older.

There are a lot of ways to participate in life.

At one age, you jump in.

At another, maybe you watch.

Sometimes you teach.

Sometimes you cheer for somebody else.

Sometimes you sit beside the person you love and enjoy the view.

None of those has to be the lesser experience.

Actually, I think I’ve spent enough of my life charging toward the next thing that I’m getting pretty damn good at appreciating where I already am.

Maybe I’m a peaceful and more relaxed dude now.

Peggy may want to review that statement before publication. 😂

But I think there’s some truth in it.

Saying yes doesn’t always mean doing more

We’ve been talking around here a lot lately about staying capable enough to keep saying yes to life.

I love that idea.

But maybe I’ve been thinking about the word yes too narrowly.

Yes doesn’t always mean climbing the mountain.

Sometimes it’s sitting at the bottom looking at the mountain and thinking:

That’s gorgeous.

Yes can mean trying something new.

It can also mean realizing you don’t need to recreate something old.

Yes can be hanging on.

And yes can be letting go.

The important thing, at least to me, is that you’re choosing.

You’re not giving up surfing because somebody told you 72-year-olds shouldn’t surf.

You’re not running into the Pacific Ocean in February because somebody on Instagram told you 72-year-olds should surf.

You’re paying attention to the person you are now.

What do you still love?

What do you want to try?

What makes you curious?

What makes you feel alive?

And what can you finally look at with a smile and say:

“Nah. I already did that. It was great.”

There should be room for all of it.

Because maybe aging well isn’t about holding onto every version of yourself you’ve ever been.

Maybe it’s about remaining capable enough, curious enough, and healthy enough to keep discovering who you want to be next.

And apparently this version of me is perfectly happy sitting at Cape Disappointment watching the water.

At least until a really good wave shows up.

Then we’ll see. 😂