Reflections
Killing time between my two work shifts today, I
drove into my old hometown, the sleepy beach town
of Del Mar. As I write this, I sit in my car
outside Roberto's, Del Mar's classic Mexican
take-out restaurant. Across the street, wisps of
fog float over Penasquitos Lagoon. In the distance,
vehicles cruise across the causeway between the
lagoon and the ocean. A few blocks above me, the
road slopes up to the edge of Torrey Pines State
Reserve.
Finding myself in this spot with the luxury of
an unhurried break between jobs, I can't help but
meditate upon self-reflective thoughts. I spent
countless days in long-forgotten summers crawling
across the sandstone bluffs of Torrey Pines,
canoeing through the now-verboten waters of
Penasquitos Lagoon, bodysurfing the waves off
Torrey Pines State Beach. How can one sit and
reflect upon carefree youth as a careworn
37-year-old and not feel regret for times long
past? As an adult, my days are filled with worry
about debt, stress from work and bitterness over
the state of our society and the world at large. I
look back on my youth and find it nearly impossible
to put myself in the mindset of that idyllic time
in my life. I can no more imagine living without a
care in the world than I can empathize with the
mind of a serial killer.
Such regret and nostalgia is, of course, normal.
We all have to grow up—and in the "real
world," growing up means assuming adult
responsibilities, with which come adult duties and
concerns. But in times of depression, it's easy to
look back and long for such days. It's seductive to
yearn for a life without worldly concerns, to wish
for the ability to shrug off one's responsibilities
and run barefoot through the surf again. In my life
experience, at least, it seems such longing only
increases with age. Perhaps it's just part of
getting older. Or perhaps it's just me.
I'm off to Baja again, this
time to the hot springs of Guadalupe
Canyon. The
Daily Strick will return on Sunday, October
26.
©2003 Michael
Strickland ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED
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