Transition

August 24, 2017

 

I'm sure you've all been waiting with bated breath to hear how my two weeks went at the cottage. I love to live vicariously. So if you're like me, you're probably dying to get the scoop about my most exciting life.

 

I feel like I'm letting you down in the decorating advice department although Paco gave me permission to purge the Homesense hangover of his former marriage. We went to the dump with a trailer full of ceramic pumpkins, scented candles and silk fall leaves. Best date of my life. See? I told you my  life is thrilling. 

 

Something strange happened to me mid way through my cottage time. I actually relaxed. I don't mean relaxed as in I sat on the dock and read for hours. I can do that any time. I mean my busy brain gave me a vacation and it didn't even require popping an Ativan. Maybe it's the lake effect but I'm thinking it's more the Paco effect. 

 

After a weekend of rain and tornado warnings and a cottage full of opinionated millennials and mountains of food, the sun came out. The cottage was silent. The fridge was emptied of Cosco leftovers. It was just me and Paco. Up until this point, I had climbed onto the hamster wheel every night at bedtime doing my usual loop. I'm too old to begin a new relationship, we live too far apart, maybe his kids don't like me? Am I too old to wear a two piece bathing suit? Maybe I should just go home right now before everything goes to shit. Bla bla bla. Man I can wear myself out. 

 

And then this happened. The sun came out and Paco wanted to teach me how to drive the boat. I of course wanted to be a brilliant fearless driver, a quick natural student. He would love me even more. But I wasn't. The speed terrified me. I stopped in the middle of the lake after crashing over a wave I was sure would capsize the boat. I felt like a total loser. I waited for the critique I was certain was coming. That, I'm used to. But it didn't. Instead Paco sat behind me and steered us home. And I decided it was ok to be a passenger. I didn't have to be perfect. What a revelation at freaking sixty. Pathetic but true. And besides, he looks super hot when he's driving the boat. 

 

I should probably change the name of my website to Sixty and Neurotic. I'm hopeless, but in my old age I finally know what being loved is supposed to feel like. Paco often jokes that there's only room for one insecure neurotic person in a relationship and that's his role not mine. 

 

Later that day we made a pitcher of gin and tonic and took the canoe out into the lake which was by then as still as glass. Paddling I can do. I was a Girl Guide after all. We toasted our age. We came home and made grilled cheese over the fire. And we went to bed that night and I slept like a baby. And again the next night and every night after that. 

 

Normally for me I can't wait to be alone. I can't wait to come home and pace by myself. But something has shifted in me. It feels like my brain has put on a bit of weight. I'm afraid to say it, but I feel grounded. And happy. What a concept.. 

 

 

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