Women Rowing North
“Transition is simply the path between possibilities. I’m swimming now in the middle of some minor transitions. This is good because while I’m midstream, I get a better view of the shore. There is clarity here in the middle because you can see both sides of the river. It gives you a chance to get clear about what matters to you, what you value and which way you are going to go.”
I read Mary Pipher’s book Women Rowing North: Navigating Life’s Currents and Flourishing as We Age just after I began writing my blog. If I had read her book a month earlier, I might have called my blog, Women Rowing North, because the metaphor of leaving the shores of midlife and paddling north in my kayak so richly represents this aging journey for me. The imagery of oceans, rivers, and navigating have been finding me with surprising frequency these last few months. And, as I put the final touches on my life story writing program I knew I wanted to call it, Women Rowing North: Writing Our Life Stories. I contacted Mary Pipher and she graciously gave me permission saying she would be honoured, adding, “I want everything I know to be shared with others”.
I have always had an affinity for water, which I suspect traces back to my childhood, living a 30-minute bus ride from the ocean in the Netherlands. I have fond memories of packing a picnic with my mother and then heading off as a family, through Leiden and Wassenaar, following the smell of the salty air. I watch myself walking through the dunes, sand filling my shoes, anticipating that first ocean glimpse. I see the sandcastles I built and feel the constant wind blowing through my hair. I can still taste the patat frites with mayonnaise from the snack bar on the beach, and remember wiping my greasy, sandy fingers on my legs. And I remember the fear I felt when I stumbled and felt the strong pull of the surf.
After we settled in Canada, our family purchased a tent trailer and canoe. One of my favourite campsites was Fish Creek Pond in the Adirondack Mountains in New York State, abundant with ponds and lakes. As a young teenager, there was nothing I enjoyed more than taking the canoe out by myself on the waterways that were closed to motorized boats. I would paddle close to the shore to check out the birdlife or just drift along, enjoying the silence, knowing I was safe from waves and noise.
I felt the pull of the ocean again when I moved to the west coast of Canada. We live close to the Fraser River, which flows into the Pacific, and most morning you will find me walking my dog along the boardwalk into the village. This urban environment is still abundant with eagles, herons, and kingfishers. If I am lucky, at low tide I will see coyotes scavenging along the shoreline. And, although rare, I still see an occasional beaver swimming by or foraging in the reeds.
And then there is our island getaway. I have never tired of the many ferry rides taken over the years. Our routine of unpacking upon arrival is quick and efficient, and then we get back in the car for the 5-minute drive to the ocean. Here too we have eagles, kingfishers, heron, and beavers – and we also have deer, orcas, arbutus trees, and rock formations worn smooth from the waves. Whether I am walking along the Fraser River or ocean trails, my heart finds peace in the rhythms of the currents.
In my early 50’s, I decided to learn how to kayak, as the kayak seems to be the west coast alternative to the canoe. I took lessons on still ocean waters and enjoyed the paddles we took along the river tributaries feeding into the ocean. I’m now thinking of trying paddle boarding, although maybe on a river instead of the ocean. I much prefer being on or near the water to being in the water, the terror of the surf pulling me under as a young child has never quite left me.
My copy of Women Rowing North: Navigating Life’s Currents and Flourishing as We Age is marked with post-its, and the margins are penciled with my comments – ideas for blog posts, subjects I want to research, and quotes I plan to incorporate into my writing. One of my favourite quotes, one I weave into the life story writing I facilitate, states, “You can’t navigate from there to here if you don’t know where you are.” In my workshops I add, you also need to know where you’ve been as you row north.
As I paddle north, I begin to feel the rhythm of the voyage, and I am hopeful that I will float along on calm waters. I have always been, and suspect always will be, a planner, careful to chart my course. I know that even the slightest wave can disturb my journey and I may need to check the winds, paddle closer to the shore, or stop and rest along the way. Sometimes I wish I could abandon myself to the journey in a boat I couldn’t steer - but I am still fearful of the waves that may pull me under.
IF I WANTED A BOAT
I would want a boat, if I wanted a
boat, that bounded hard on the waves,
that didn't know starboard from port
and wouldn't learn, that welcomed
dolphins and headed straight for the
whales, that, when rocks were close,
would slide in for a touch or two,
that wouldn't keep land in sight and
went fast, that leaped into the spray.
What kind of life is it always to plan
and do, to promise and finish, to wish
for the near and the safe? Yes, by the
heavens, if I wanted a boat I would want
a boat I couldn't steer.
- MARY OLIVER