Trailing
I spend a lot of time on hiking trails all over Arizona and am quite proud as a Gen-Xer to still consider myself competent at several of the double black diamond variety. That said, nothing humbles me faster than wheezing up the side of a mountain, only to be asked politely if I might step aside so an octogenarian can pass me by. I am routinely humiliated in this way, and the last time I was lapped by a club of senior hikers, I realized that behind has always been a familiar and uncomfortable position for me.
Over the years, due to any number of bad decisions and/or circumstances, I’ve often found myself trailing behind where I thought I should have been. Always something of a late bloomer, in some cases I never bloomed at all. I’ve never been married, for example. I was thirty before I had my only child and thirty-five by the time I finished college. I was forty-eight when I wrote my first book and fifty when I decided to change careers. I still don’t really know what I want to be when I grow up.
As I look back on what I used to believe were missed milestones, I now understand that the nice thing about being behind is that, but for a few delightful kindred spirits, the trail is virtually empty. The pace is mine to set and the rules are mine to make. There’s no pressure from the crowd and since I’ve finally learned to take my own pressure off, I am finding true joy in doing whatever, whenever it’s best for me.
It was a hard-won realization that I still have to remind myself of on occasion; but I’ve grown and changed and learned a LOT in fifty-two years and I plan to do the same over the next fifty. Not trailing behind, just trailing along with plans and goals but no hard destination in sight. It’s freeing, and it’s fun. I’m lucky to even be on this trail and I know that as long as I don’t give up, I’ll get there—wherever that may be.