Sexy at Fifty-Seven

Sexy at fifty-seven is skinny dipping under the light of a half-awakened moon. Bright enough to see my way safely down to the beach but dark enough my silhouette is not exposed. Not shy or unabashed, I simply walked to the shore, disrobed, and quickly tiptoed into the crisp waters of Lake Huron, hidden under the night sky.

I frolicked as the slight waves rocked around me. I swam out as far from the shore as I dared because, sometimes sexy is having a hint of fear. When I turned back, I expected to see people walking on the dark beach or watching me from their glowing cabin windows; I went unnoticed. Like a serpent, I slithered through the dark waters chasing the moon beams as they danced away, farther out to the now invisible horizon. The cool water was a relief to my sun-kissed skin, evaporating the sting cooked into my flesh seven hours earlier.

One thought kept swimming through my head, “Why did it take this long to do this?” Yes, I have skinny-dipped before; I was much younger and foolish back then. Being fifty-seven brings more maturity, wisdom, and dignity, right? How scandalous to skinny dip at such an age.

It was my mom, an hour or so earlier, who handed me flashlights to take to the beach. She told me to go out there and, “Just do it. I did!”  My mom, who is full of maturity, wisdom, and dignity, had gone skinny-dipping. Scandalous!

Emotions floated through me as I made my way back to shore. I was ecstatic for doing it and sad it was over. There is an awareness of sexy when accomplishing something some might consider vicarious and will never attempt themselves. Triumph filled me as my slick exposed body left the cover of dark waters. While I was in a hurry to get my naked body covered beneath the water, leisurely, I strolled out of the lake with grace and assurance. If someone chose to gawk at my exposed confidence, that was their choice. If they held any judgement, that was their insecurity, not mine.

Skinny dipping at this particular point in my life holds great significance. My personal world is anything but sexy. Divorce can do that. The struggles of rebuilding after a bad marriage are not pretty. Battlelines are drawn in the sand and I’m not the one holding the stick. Even harder is seeing who is looking back at you from the other side of the line. Ugly truths rise as uglier untruths are told. It ages a person having to constantly walk on eggshells never knowing when something bad is going to happen. Sitting in a chair for hours, and staring out into nothing as the tears stream down, forming a small pool in my lap is not very glamorous. The uneasy feeling in my gut wondering if I will have the courage to not only get through this, but will I survive it? I was completely naked for that hour frolicking in the cool water. Everything was washed off from me that kept me ugly. The fear, sadness, and doubt were swept out to the dark horizon. Those sixty minutes gave me hope. Sexy was being brave enough to skinny dip as the weight of the last year sunk like an anchor.

It would be really sexy to say that I still feel the same confidence I did two weeks ago. I could write all about my new found strength from that moonlit swim, how I am a changed woman. I’m not and I don’t have much confidence these days. But sexy at fifty-seven is being able to admit that. The vulnerability of being naked in public is similar to going through a rough divorce, too much over exposure.  

 Sexy at fifty-seven is not the act of skinny dipping alone, it is coming out of the water, exposed, with the courage to hold my head up high, to let go. I am surrendering myself to this divorce like I surrendered myself to the lake. Like swimming in dark waters, I am going through this divorce with nothing more than blind faith, trusting everything unseen that could harm me will swim past. I will rise from the waters of a divorce, facing the darkness that swims around me knowing I won’t drown. That is sexy at fifty-seven.