As we age, do we, in fact, become less daring? Is daring linked only to one’s youth? I’m not one to flat line in my remaining years. In my twenties, I joined the Peace Corps and was sent first to Kenya, then to India. In India, I became familiar with Hinduism’s way of marking out distinct roles for different life stages; in essence, addressing how to live one’s life in each. There’s the brahmachari (student), the grihastha (householder), vanaprastha (forest-dweller or hermit) and sannyasi, a final stage of renunciation and spiritual contemplation. The final stage ideally comes when one reaches 72 years old. I’m getting close.
Clearly, my Indo-bound friend is soon to enter grishastha while I’m a near sannyasi. I should, according to the ancient Hindu scheme, reject all beliefs and practices acquired earlier in life, attempting to seek fulfillment (especially spiritual) in whatever way I can. The philosophical mandate is clear: one is compelled to schedule one’s remaining time in the most meaningful way possible–exploring the most rewarding options.
Philosophers from Plato, Epicurus, Seneca, Montaigne, Sartre, Huizinga and Erikson certainly laid out hosts of paths, and, in one way or another, all have touched on the centrality of play. Those of us who frequent these pages know well how surfing fits the definition of play: an activity done for its own sake. In true, deep play, no goal needs to be achieved, there’s nowhere else we need to be or anything else we need to do and nobody else we need to become. So play is not just a childish thing, but an activity that is not only good for our bodies, but as well as our social life. It feeds the soul. It needn’t be testosterone-induced (alpine mountaineering, bungee-jumping or sky-diving come to mind), but surfing, for me at least, fits the definition of play just fine. It’s simply unbelievably hard to be good at.
In that fitting room mirror, of course, the two of us saw different sides of ourselves, different variations of the same self. The young man in the mirror could drop everything to go where the big waves can be found. Most of us, however, don’t have that kind of flexibility and remain tethered to the vagaries of our humble home breaks, waiting for the joy that we all hope for. In that same mirror, I saw with shimmering clarity the roles cut out for me: grandfather, retiree, novice surfer. Surfer? Well, the mirror tells me I may never be good, but, hell, it’s my encore act. It helps me redefine what it means to be an elder. I like the way New England senior surfer Glen Gordiner, in his Surfing Cold Water, reminds us that regardless of our location or our age, “we all can recapture the exhilaration that swells through our body as the energy of the world’s great sea blossoms from the wave face, through our board, up through our legs and into our core.”
