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At 54, I Finally Learned to Hula Hoop — Here’s What I Learned About Trying Again in Midlife
Maybe hula hooping is no big deal; or maybe being willing to be playful is what life is all about.
I recently went to a music festival in Santa Cruz with my husband. We arrived to find dancing barefoot people and free drink tickets and glow-in-the-dark green wristbands and long patchwork skirts and grey curly hair and flower wreaths and babies and tattoos of vines and stars and tie-dyed t-shirts everywhere. It was a night of laughter and pink skies and throngs of bouncing, happy people.
When we got back to the hotel, we sat down at the hotel bar to order French fries and watch the Olympics. My body hurt from a few hours of dancing — and there I sat, eating fries, and watching shot put. I was utterly amazed by the strength, the athleticism, the drive of the Olympians, throwing this heavy spherical ball as far as possible — beyond what, to me, even seemed possible.
The next day, we returned to the music festival. I wore my stars and stripes bellbottoms, the ones my daughter pulled out of her festival clothes duffel bag and gave me a few years back. I watched the folks on the field grooving and hula hooping — a talent that always eluded me.
