How Lucky Are We?

"How Lucky Are We?"

I continued to watch and agreeingly smiled back at the woman who had just passed by. She looked about mid-60s, dressed in a printed swimsuit and carrying a damp beach towel. Just out of the ocean, she, like us, was admiring the breathtaking sunset over the crashing waves. The evening was calm, and the beach was full of families snacking on homemade picnics and dog-owners strolling down the sand with their panting pets.

Myself and a few other girls had driven down to the beach to watch the sunset, a ritual that seems to have solidified over these last few weeks. The night was unusually calm and quiet for a dusk-time visit. We sat and watched each wave fold and blend into the sand, each in her own thoughts and quiet, only interrupted by the Cat Stevens and ABBA playing low on my portable pink speaker.

I gazed at the shoreline and reflected with each lyric that was sung. As ‘Father and Son’ came on, I began to think about wisdom and aging. These lyrics caught my attention:

“I was once like you are now, and I know that it's not easy

To be calm when you've found something going on

But take your time, think a lot

Why, think of everything you've got

For you will still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not.”

Questions swirled in my mind, contrasting the outwardly peaceful world surrounding me. Was I really going to be that much smarter and wiser as an older person? Did each experience that I was currently living secretly prepare me for what was to come? I wondered about the human experience, and I looked around at the older people surrounding me. Each dilemma I had in life, each turmoil or fork in the road that I reached, had they once, years ago, been in my exact same position? Was my human experience not as unique as I had once imagined?

As these words played, the older woman from the water came into my line of sight. As I made eye contact with her, I wondered if she stared because of the song playing. It is not quite common to see a group of twenty-year-old girls listening to 70s soft rock, so at first, I assumed that she was surprised, or rather, impressed that our group would know such a melody.

But as her gaze lingered, a soft fondness was directed toward our sandy station. I realized why she watched us. As she rounded the corner, she simply stated, “How lucky are we?”

I studied the crinkles around her tanned skin, and the way she walked briskly but tranquilly, as if savouring the feeling of each soft step into the ground. Her demeanor was slightly eclectic, but also very casual and comforting. It appeared this swim was part of a daily routine. I wondered what she thought of us, the obvious newcomers who marveled at the sky each time a glimmer of pink shone through the clouds. To her, we were five young women sitting on a nice Australian beach, living out our days of swimming and traveling, still so young and naïve. At some point in her past, I thought to myself, she most likely had been doing the exact same thing. Swimming and lying out on this beautiful beach, chatting with friends, watching the sun disappear beyond the horizon to welcome the summer moon. The warmth in her look felt comforting, as if she was silently communicating her excitement for the rest of our lives up to her own age.

I then thought to myself about that song. I reflected on how enthusiastic, young people, especially myself, get hyper focused on a new plan or idea. It sometimes feels as though if you do not capture the idea the second it arises in your mind, it will begin to fade just as quickly as it appeared. Though I am young and have (hopefully) many years ahead, I must confess a lingering sense of time slipping away. The world is so busy with so many incredible things to see and to do in such limited time.

The woman’s words again struck me long after she had left the seaside. Here I was, thinking about the future and the past simultaneously. I pondered on how in the world time had gone so quickly, yet does not pass fast enough, all the while the present moment was at hand. To be alive, and to be here, fulfilling my long-sought dreams of travel.

Once I grasped that sitting on that dim-lit Australian beach was one of my greatest wishes fulfilled, the worries of time ceased a bit. I looked at the sky again, this time noticing, truly noticing, the array of pinks into yellows into blues that shadowed behind dim-lit stars. I saw the way that a curious dog strayed just far enough from its owner to inquire what a group of young children were playing with. I noticed a middle-aged man walking next to his mother down the beach, holding her arm as she gripped her wide-brimmed hat to ensure the wind did not carry it away. And all of these things were happening, not in the past or in the future, but in the now.

How lucky are we? How lucky am I? After all, this all will become a fond memory of mine one day. I’ll be able to tell my own children about the variety of people I met, places I visited, and memories I treasure. To know that I one day might look fondly at a group of young women in my own old age, overhearing whispers of chatter and loud, genuine laughter while recalling the events that had shaped me up to that moment. It’s all quite a whirlwind of an idea but presents a certain peace regarding the fact that, no matter how much we try to prevent it, time will come and go just the same. It is best to appreciate the past, hope for the future, but to live for each second that passes by.