![]() And one day, I’d have to stop traveling altogether. I wasn’t afraid of getting older, not exactly, and I wasn’t afraid of dying.īut one day, I really was going to have to slow down - for health reasons, if nothing else. ![]() I loved it.Īnd this, I realized, was why I’d been feeling anxious about turning sixty. It had seriously never been better than it was right then - not just on that walk, but traveling with Brent as nomads. Like all the special things I’ve seen over the past seven years we’ve been nomadic. The water appeared again, and I registered at least five different shades of blue on the surface and maybe another five shades of green too. I started noticing the smells: the flowers, the wild herbs, the tang of the ocean in the air. And it was cool, a gentle wash on my sweaty face. I realized how quiet it was - just the sound of the breeze in the grass. The trees and purple flowers brought welcome relief from the harsh afternoon sun. Later, back on the trail again, I noticed that was lovely too. Maybe I could even make up for lost time.īut as it happened, the view of Sydney Harbour was so beautiful I couldn’t ignore it. The sand was surprisingly easy to walk on. Sighing, I hurried off, only to find more closed sections, more detours - and more delays in my carefully planned day.įortunately, the tide was low, which meant I could walk along the beach, and I wouldn’t have to go quite so far out of the way. I knew if I didn’t finish it, I’d feel like I hadn’t really done it at all. I’d been here before, but this time I wanted to take more of it in.īut looking at the clock, I realized if I did that, I’d never finish this second coastal walk. ![]() In the end, I chose the ferry and headed off to Manly Beach, one of Sydney’s loveliest spots. But if I did it, I’d miss the ferry to Manly Beach and totally be behind schedule. The best part was supposed to be the last bit up to the lighthouse. I finally reached Watsons Bay, near the end of my first walk. The legs that were open were, quite frankly, boring. I left Bondi behind and headed north, but a number of sections were closed, which meant long detours. But I moved so fast, snapping pictures all the while, that I barely noticed the murals or the coast. ![]() I started in Bondi Beach where I had also planned to take pictures of the murals along the boardwalk. If I did them back-to-back, I could kill two birds with one stone!Įarly Saturday morning, I shot out of the house. I decided to do one of the coastal walks I had planned.Īs I researched my day, I discovered two of the walks weren’t far from to each other. One Saturday, Brent was scheduled to be busy all day online with some friends. I might not have known what it was or what was causing it, but I knew I didn’t like it. Brent might tell you that when it comes to sightseeing, I am often a bit driven.īut this frantic urgency boiling inside me felt different. Make no mistake: As Brent and I travel the world, I always want to make the most of my time wherever we live. Because I really wanted to do all of the things on my list. Making matters worse, Sydney’s spring weather wasn’t cooperating. Looking back, I can see I may have been being a little, uh, manic. And oh yeah, continue my full-time job producing a newsletter with Brent.Walk the Esplanade and catch the sunrise every morning and the sunset every night.Spend the afternoons body-surfing in the water and swimming in the rock pools.Walk the coastline to the north and south.Hike the other nearby park, Kamay National Park.It’s a very special place to me because when I lived here as a high school exchange student, the experience transformed me.Īs soon as we arrived Cronulla, I started planning all of the things I wanted to do: My husband, Brent, and I are currently in Sydney, Australia in a beach suburb called Cronulla. ![]() I pondered my feelings, trying to figure it out. It’s partly because my life has mostly only gotten better with each passing decade.īut as I approached my sixtieth, something did feel different.īut what? Did I see myself in some new way now? Less capable? Less relevant? Was I worried about dying? Turning thirty, forty, and fifty didn’t faze me at all. Previously, getting older has never bothered me. No matter how Merriam-Webster defines my age, there’s now considerably less time in front of me than there is behind me. I thought about throwing this in my friend’s face, but you know the old political expression: If you’re explaining, you’re losing. ![]()
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