You would think that at the age of 50 I would avoid the beach, leaving it to those hot days of summer when my bikini was complemented by a young, tight body and was not responsible for catching anything droopy.
However, as I accelerate past 50, I value the beach even more. Often when I’m at home, facing the pressures of work and a house that is fighting the same age issues that I am, I can kind of be a bit**. I get in a competitive mode, and find myself doing things like shoving my husband out of a moving car at O’Charleys so he can beat the old couple using walkers to the door.
But the minute we drive over the causeway and I see my first glimpse of the ocean, I begin to exhale and smile. I feel better here. At the wise age of 50, I’ve learned to value the beach because:
- The ocean understands that menopause is a lot like low tide; while there might not be as much moisture, the treasures revealed are more plentiful.
- When a hotflash hits, your face is never as red as the chest of the guy from New Jersey.
- A baseball cap and sunglasses are the only make-up requirements at the beach. Here, everyone is naturally beautiful.
- If you get in the waves and one knocks askew any part of your bathing suit, people aren’t looking anyway, so you can pull things back together quickly.
- When you’re walking down the beach the roar of the ocean covers a multitude of sins.
- Some days Mother Nature can be nice, but I know that sometimes she can be a bi*** too. We’re BFF’s.
Today, I’m at the beach. I’m listening to the ocean and watching pelicans and soaking in the warmth and acceptance of the sun. And I’ve never been happier to be here, or to be 50. Now excuse me while Mother Nature and I hang out, accept everything about each other, and bask in the strength and wisdom of women.