2019 will be dubbed, "The Year Julie Went Outside." I don't think I've had tan lines in at least five years. Like a good redhead, I'm allergic to most of everything beyond my front door, I have asthma, and the sun is a cruel jailer because even with quality sunscreen, I'm good for about 30 minutes before I start to burn.
But it wasn't always this way... Growing up in northern California, I spent all my time outside. I swam, climbed trees, ran around the yard, and had grand adventures of my own imagination. I remember summer days in high school loading up the car and driving to Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk with friends. I even spent a few summers working as a lifeguard. My hair bleached out and my skin darkened up so I was all one color. A summer never passed as a teen and into college that I didn't own at least six swimsuits.
My family vacationed at the beach. We were outside until sunset and after dinner we went back out to make s'mores on the beach. Sand was everywhere and in everything and we loved it. When my parents downsized and sold their home, I helped sort and clean. I had a teary moment when I discovered that my mother had been saving all our sea shell treasures for decades in a large bin. Every beach walk, every decorated sandcastle, even the ones my children found when we took them back to the beach too.
Then my father started having skin pre-cancer cells and moles removed. Often. As a Californian, he grew up in the pool and at the beach too, before the days of good sunscreen or campaigns to apply it liberally and often. He was really good about wearing a hat. It was his thing to protect his pale skinned, blonde scalp from burning, but it was too little too late. The damage he had done as a teen was done.
Having had plenty of sunburns of my own and finally being old enough to see the sun damage on older women, I recognized it for what it was and how it aged them. I decided to become like Nicole Kidman and be known for my glowing, creamy skin. Only mine didn't look glowy or creamy. It looked translucent and sickly. Still, I patted my pale hand on my paler back and congratulated myself for avoiding skin cancer. It helped that we lived in the Poconos Mountains. Where our summer wasn't even two months long.
Then we moved to North Carolina, the opposite coast, but with that wonderfully warm weather and mild winters. I was giddy about not having to shovel snow. That the city shuts down (for lack of equipment) and no one expects me to drive in snow--one of my worst, irrational fears, is a blessing I can't put into words.
This year I needed to exercise without the pressure of a standard gym workout. The pool was a gimmie for movement without stress and we had just moved to a neighborhood with a pool. It just meant I had to leave the comfort of my air conditioning (which was kind of the point--leaving my comfort zone) and letting the sun shine down. Sunscreen, cover ups, sunglasses, hats, I went out protected and suddenly remembered that I used to like being outside.
Then I started to walk, get to know my neighborhood, and say hello to other walkers. It was a little like walking to my friend's house used to be as a kid. With my inhaler and meds on board, my protections in place, I was mobile. In the weeks since venturing out of doors, my hair has bleached some (or maybe it's just more gray,) my skin has tanned some, and while I know I'm moving forward, not back--I'm not trying to be my teenage self--I have to say that it is nice seeing a little of the me I knew best brought forward into my present when I look in the mirror.
Upon reflection, it's a good thing I went outside because my hubby decided we needed a tropical vacation. I'm sorry, but you just don't take a redhead to the equator. Now here I sit on the resort island of Ambergris Caye, ninety minutes by water taxi off the shore of Belize City, Belize. Thanks to having already been outside this summer, I haven't spontaneously burst into flames yet and I'm loving it.
