Dear Erin,
I keep thinking that the next time I write you, I won’t be cutting it so close to the wire, but summer has got the upper hand in my life, and here I am again. Today has been a day of washing loads of laundry, ordering groceries, pretending to balance the budget, and insisting I be refunded for accidental charges by annoying companies. I also called the school district, and I hate phone calls, so five hundred gold stars to me for that.
Gold stars.
That’s a thing my mom was always giving to us. Always for things that were hard to do, but you did them anyway. Always for things that you rarely got anything real for in the end. Gold stars apply to lots of things I think: jobs in the house, jobs having to do with writing, jobs you’ve been putting off for months and finally decide to cross off your list. I have several piles of gold stars waiting for me in the imaginary world of gold stars. So many that someone could say: If I had a nickel for every gold star you’ve earned! Except not really, because gold stars, while imaginary, do require some sort of extra oomph to earn. I can’t really describe the oomph. But it’s there. And I’m betting you know by instinct the kind of activity needed to snag a gold star.
Case in point:
This last week I attended my husband’s family reunion. This is a week-long reunion that happens every summer on the beach and it’s been running 40 years now. For this reunion, we all get matching numbered shirts for when we entered the family and the number is up to about 163 at this point. I am not exaggerating. That is a real number. I used to get lots of gold stars for attending this family reunion, but over the past 18 years I’ve grown used to it and now I just sit on the beach and read contentedly. The truth is, my children aren’t much interested in drowning anymore and sitting on a beach while not cleaning my house should actually cost me gold stars instead of earning them.
So, those aren’t the gold stars I’m talking about this time. The gold stars I’m talking about belong to the lifeguards on this particular trip.
You see, this year we happened to be beaching it right near a riptide. This meant that every day we’d come down to the beach and red flags warning of strong currents would be up, the water looking a little squirrely just beyond them. And then, over and over, ocean-goers (not just in our family) would ignore the flags and be sucked out into the waves, everyone sure that they were strong enough for the water, everyone time after time put properly back into their place.
(Not me, of course. I don’t get in cold water as a general rule. I read books and eat Cheetos instead. It’s very safe.)
But back to the point. Back to these other people. Back to the over and over again of other mistakenly brave people finding themselves out in the ocean, paddling for shore, and getting absolutely nowhere. Back to the lifeguards, over and over again, picking up the bright red floatation devices and diving in the waves.
Over the course of a week I watched them do it time and time again, glancing up from the pages of my book to find them striding into the water, propelling themselves into a current beyond all us ordinary people. There they’d go, crashing into the cold water without flinching, diving beneath waves without worrying about their stinging eyes. And then, a few minutes later, I’d watch them tow two to three swimmers determinedly to shore. Even one swimmer with a pink inner tube he seemed oddly intent on saving.
But these still aren’t the gold stars I’m talking about, because let’s be real, those lifeguards were being paid to do this job. They’re called lifeguards, right? And doing this work is why they get to live in California and spend their hours at the beach.
So here's where the gold stars come in… (I’m really into italics this week. Do enjoy.) Because every time this happened, over and over again, I felt sure the lifeguard would drag the offending swimmer out, roll their eyes, point to the large red flags warning of a strong current and insist the swimmer pull themselves together and use their brains to avoid this kind of foolishness again. And every time they did it, instead of acting even one inch of annoyed, the lifeguards smiled, told the swimmer no problem, and ran gallantly back to their tower instead.
You would think they actually liked dragging people out of the waves.
You would think they chose to do this job because it brought them joy.
That they didn’t mind doing the same thing time and time again.
That perhaps this is what they lived for, what made their blood pump wild and free.
Okay, okay, that last line is a little cheesy, but there’s a reason people film lifeguards running down the beach with smiles on their faces and I wasn’t the first one to make it sound a little too grand to be believed.
Getting back to it, this is what I learned from the lifeguards, Erin, from the lifeguards and their 50 million gold stars:
When we pick a job because we like it, and it turns out we get to do it over and over again, no matter how many strong waves show up, we ought to enjoy it.
I told you before that August was the time to get back to writing. And this means that every day I’m going to have to sit down in my laundry office (hot in summer months) pull out my computer (the letter a is feeling a bit sticky right now), and tap out a bunch of words I could very well delete. I’m pretty sure there are some strong current signs, I’m pretty sure I’ve been warned that the seas can get a little rough, but I’m going in anyway. Because,
You would think I actually liked dragging words out of the abyss.
You would think I chose to do this job because it brought me joy,
You would think I don’t mind doing the same thing time and time again.
That it’s what I live for, what makes my blood pump wild and free.
That last bit is still a bit cheesy. And I’m pretty sure I live for my kids and my sanity, not writing, but I think you get the point. It’s just that watching those lifeguards struck home to me that sometimes doing what you want can be repetitive, a bit boring/dangerous, and maybe a tad bit overwhelming. But if we do it with joy, instead of rolling our eyes, it’ll earn us some really good gold stars.
And also some of the really, really good chocolate, chocolate cookies my daughter made last night.
And that, Erin, is worth more than all the nickels in the world, even if anyone was considering giving them to me.
Jamie
p.s. Happy, Happy Anniversary. I’m pretty sure you’ve earned some gold stars in that too.