In 1983, I met someone on the beach, along with a lot of other swimmers who were part of the same Lifesaving club - Reece Redcliffe. We became good friends, spent a lot of time together and people assumed we had a romantic relationship. There was a time when we, ourselves, weren't quite sure what the nature of our relationship was. The truth is, we ruled out the romantic possibility very early on, but nobody believed us. :-)
He made me laugh, he corrected my crawl swimming stroke (at Bellville swimming baths), he was one of the people I looked forward to seeing in my evening classes at UWC (1984) and he was just one of the nicest people I'd ever met. He honestly lit up my life. I spent time at his house and met his parents, who were very warm towards me. He always had a huge, beaming smile. I remember going to watch him play water polo. Everytime an opponent pushed him underwater, he bobbed up again, still grinning. :-)
The universe gave me the gift of that friendship for only ten months, because Reece died tragically on 3 September 1984. I was sitting in a lecture hall at UWC, watching the door, to signal to him, because we always sat together. As usual, I was excited at the prospect of seeing him, but he didn't pitch. I smiled to myself as I figured he'd probably gone surfing. With Reece, when the North wind blew, he'd choose surfing over practically anything else. There were no cellphones then, or I would've texted him to say, "Bunking again, bliksem?!"
Later that night, a mutual friend called to tell me the awful news that Reece had died. At first I thought it had been a surfing accident, but learnt that it had been under very violent circumstances. That was 37 years ago, but I still remember how gutted I felt. A couple from the lifesaving club drove to my place, to sit with me. They were part of his world and, for the short time that he'd been my friend, part of mine too.
I'll never forget a particular conversation we had, when he explained what surfing felt like. He'd been urging me to try it, but I was too scared. I asked him to describe it to me, and he said that I should imagine standing on a very slippery sheet of glass which was constantly moving under my feet at an immense speed. He tried to explain to me the thrill of being able to keep going, of trying to stay in control in such an unpredictable, rapidly-changing environment.
Reece would've been 62, had he lived. He impacted on so many people's lives. At least one of his friends named his child after him. He loved people, he loved life, he lived with so much joy and intensity. September is my birthday month, so I always feel quite reflective this time of year. But it's also the month Reece died, just a week before my birthday. I often wonder what he'd have looked like, as he grew older. He would probably have kept surfing, studying and teaching. And being a goofy word nerd.
I left my most recent job at the end of August. I journal every day, so I record what I do (it's just a habit, and one I love), but I often get the feeling that life is running away from me, pretty much the way Reece described the water moving, when you surf.
I've been feeling scattered, recently, and when I do, I feel like I'm not achieving anything. I think the scatteredness comes from a lack of routine. I need a fair amount of routine, to function optimally. Without routine, even when I am achieving things, I feel like I'm not. Yet, when I read through my journal, I can see just how much I have in fact achieved in the last 21 days.
Another thing I need to bear in mind is this: the nature of what I'm doing now is very different to working in a full-time job, where you have your predictable set of tasks. What I'm doing now is what I set out to do this month - tie up loose ends, in various parts of my life. I need to find a new job (or jobs), but my time is my own right now (a feeling I love!), so I need to use it optimally, to do all those things I've either been putting off or that feel appropriate right now.
And on the topic of achieving: I need to understand that THIS time of my life - i.e. between jobs - is about embracing a different pace, one that's completely different from that of working as a manager, in a company. Sleeping late means I'm resting more and taking care of myself - recharging my batteries. Taking recycling away means I'm clearing space at home and helping the planet. Getting my guitar repaired and serviced means I can enjoy playing again and steadily get myself performance-ready.
Somewhere along the line, we internalise the belief that, in order to have value, we have to be achieving certain types of things.
I'd like to think of this time of my life as a thin slice of retirement, before I re-enter the world of work, although I have a suspicion even that will look different to before.
There's something exciting about not knowing what lies ahead.
