When people talk about middle age, exactly what age are they talking about?
Last Sunday morning, Max and I went for a rainy morning walk along the beach at Whangamata. We walked along the same beach, heading for the same place.
I’d been cooped up inside, had eaten a lot of rubbish food and my body desperately needs some new form.
Max needed to burn up some energy.
I needed to repair, he needed to prepare.
My walk on the beach was an apology to my body and to make things better with myself – to try to walk things back to the way and shape they were when I was a young man of the world.
Max’s walk was an adventure of discovery. There were things to see, there was stuff to find and practice to be done for his life ahead as a young man of the world.
While I strolled along taking straight, steady steps I was thinking about all the things I needed to tidy up, and I tried to drain my over full mind of clutter.
Max was running from left to right, taking the longest possible route, from sand dune to dead bird and he was enthusiastically filling his young fertile and hungry mind with new concepts, experiences and ideas.
While i enjoyed the rhythm of my steps and the ‘ffffsssshhhh’ of the waves, Max dragged a 7 foot forked driftwood log all the way along the length of the beach.
I got a wee bit smaller
Max got a wee bit bigger
We went to the same place to get to the same place but we travelled in different directions to get there. The place in the middle that Max doesn’t realise he’s trying to get to, and the place I couldn’t remember passing by.
And then we both stopped to laugh at a dog running by, completely enjoying the fact he was chasing a seagull he had no hope of catching and I thought – there’s the middle!