The myth of Narcissus: fatuous overly-self-absorbed fool looking into a body of water and being pulled under by a water-nymph--as I'm recalling from memory, for it's been a while since I've read my Ovid . . . . (How long can I really go without checking whether I've remembered correctly or not? I may have to time this one.) Wait. Am I confused by the tale of Hylas and that sexy Pre-Raphaelite painting with all those water-nymphs I've got posted in the garage next to the posters of the famous Pre-Raphaelite mermaid, of Xena, and of Scully lifting weights? What about N's metamorphosis into a flower? (Tick, tick, tick.)
Or, to take the myth more seriously: looking deeply for self in any reflective pool, body of water, mirror, lens of the camera . . . . Note the consequences, the dangers, of paying the wrong kind of attention, of distracting yourself, of inattention . . . . I'm not trying to revise away the cautionary value of the original tale, but what can you see if you never look?
Unmythologically, these last few years I've been watching the signs of age--the lines, the gray and white hair amidst the brown--with something like fascination. (I compare the gray in my hair to that in my father's hair, at different ages, in different photographs.) Sometimes I fight the feeling of aging, working out harder, pushing myself physically and mentally, taking greater risks, and so forth.
With my recent and 51st birthday--those three seventeens--I've been working to get back into shape, working to do the things that make me feel alive, no matter the years or the lines or the aching muscles. Today, I put in two useful, playful hours in the kayak, paddling fairly steadily, reacquainting myself with North Coast kayaking, attuning myself to the light swell amidst rock gardens, practicing my surf landings on a mellow day, tasting the salt. (I'm more anxious about sharky conditions, though I'm not sure if that's a measure of foolishness or wisdom finally kicking in.)
I'm a bit of a fool, whichever way you replay the tale, the myth, but that's all part of life, isn't it? I'd far rather be a bit foolish than so many other things a person could be without any tincture of Puck in their veins.
Dive like a duck, and keep on paddling. My current foolish motto.
Kayaking off the Sonoma Coast.
(The marks on my face are from a recent visit to the dermatologist, who burned off the developing skin cancer spots on my temples and my cheeks again. A life in the sun has joys and consequences too; don't forget to use that sunscreen! I slathered three or four times today and wore a hat . . . most of the time.)
