Revolve/Evolve

Some birthdays are painful, others are not. This year’s was okay, though I truncated my morning swim after counting 10 egg-yolk jellyfish in the water with me. Enough.

I no longer celebrate the way my mother did—no parties, no restaurants, no strippers. Instead, I took a break from working on the latest book, and read fairy tales and surf stories (same/same). I laid low.

When I turned 29, I held a party at Frills Vintage Tea Parlour, a store I adored in Monrovia CA. I was late, and wheedled the owners into letting us stay. I had donned my movie star persona, but was overwhelmed before the festivities began. It has taken me decades to realize that I am not a social person. My mother loved entertaining; I do not. For years I thought I had to.

I am embarrassed to say that I was a bitch that day. I was fake. I was shallow. I thought presents were more important than presence. I did not enjoy myself and doubt that anybody else did, despite photographic evidence to the contrary.

My original plan was to pay for the whole thing, but Robin decided that everyone should pitch in. I am still ashamed that I accepted her proposal. But by that time, I was way over the edge. I stood by the door as ten lovely women handed me cash. I am no longer in touch with any of them (with the exception of Maureen, Jill, and Tehani; the dead forgive me). Can I claim a Prozac side-effect?

The best thing about aging is saying ‘NO.’ Yesterday before dawn, on the way to the toilet (across the boatyard and under a catamaran), I was accosted by a chirpy young woman with a flashlight. “Can I ask you a question?” she asked several times until I realized she was talking to me. I stopped, though I really had to go. “Can I walk with you?” she said.

“No,” I replied, and locked the door. I’m not walking, I didn’t say, I am skating and swimming. Couldn’t she see the skateboard and snorkel gear?

For that matter, who was she? I’d never seen her before. But so indoctrinated am I with so-called civility that I processed the interaction for hours. Was I rude? It was only during swimming that it occurred to me that she was rude for interrupting me. I am not here to entertain you! I practiced with the fish and stingrays. Who are you to request my time and energy? I say to the wind.

But that old fear of causing offense is a sticky one. I do not wish to harm others. Yet they harm me, willy nilly. At the very least they are disrespectful, like the guy who intruded on my conversation with Canela, one of my dog-friends. He was a good reminder that I don’t have to answer inane questions. Ever. No matter who is asking.

Books:

—Sea Change: stories & splashes

—Dance First …ask questions later: poems and paintings

 —Shoulds are for Saints: the true life adventures of Suzy Le Speed