The Second Journey by Joan Anderson

Author:Joan Anderson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hachette Books

Chapter 8

Bridging the Gap

January

The best way out is through.

—Robert Frost

With a newfound sense of an inner heroine, I dare to walk, once more, toward my own salvation. With my trusty walking stick in hand, I hug the ocean’s edge and keep my eyes on the sleek white strip of hardened sand ahead of me, fascinated by what nature has created, excited to be crossing over to what used to be unreachable on foot. Waves are encroaching onto the shore, their foam creeping up over the ridge of the bridge. Although the sky has turned dark and the day appears ominous, I’ve no choice but to proceed across the narrow spit of white sand that divides one body of water from the other.

As I approach the bridge, I encounter an odd sight—two sets of freshly made footprints on the hardened sand. Who could possibly be out here on such a foul day? On closer inspection, one set is clearly larger and belongs to someone with a lengthy gait, while the other was made by a small foot, taking two steps for every one of the other. It is easy to imagine that they belong to a man and a woman out for a walk together. I follow in their footsteps for a time, enjoying the feeling that I have some company, but then abruptly, the smaller footprints veer off toward the dunes, while the larger ones continue on over the bridge.

With little else to occupy my mind I become momentarily fascinated by this fictional couple who, for some reason, didn’t choose to stay together in these deserted circumstances. Did they have an argument? Or are they simply a middle-aged couple, no longer in need of walking lockstep or being bound at the hip—not unlike Robin and me—in different places with different objectives? Most interesting, why am I upset that their footprints have separated?

It’s a question I’ve been wrestling with a lot during these first years of Robin’s retirement. With the kids raised and our careers in completely different phases, our directions vary, as does the speed with which we travel. Robin reads the paper, plays a round of golf, fusses over our finances, and works around the property. By six o’clock, he’s ready for a drink. I, by contrast, wake up before the sun rises to log some quiet hours of writing, hurry out for a quick walk, and then run errands, check on my mother, and spend the latter part of the day returning phone calls. By six o’clock, I am ready for a shower, a sandwich, and bed. There are many evenings that we do make it to the beach, and many afternoons that Robin comes with me as I race around town. But the moments when we feel as if we are working together, toward a shared goal, are rare. In and of itself, the fact that we are moving to different rhythms doesn’t create a lot of tension. But the difference between the way we are living and the way we thought we’d live in retirement is vast.

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