“Can you tell me that story now, Mom. Please?”
“There is a planet, hanging in space, hanging in the balance and waiting to be found wanting. Part land, but mostly water, it could be described as beautiful, complicated, both fragile and resilient. It is a bit of a mess these days.
A long time ago it worked. Life wasn’t necessarily easy or even very long, as it still isn’t for so many of this planet’s inhabitants, but there was an understanding between all the creatures and... life lived, died, disappeared and reemerged. Existence went on, even if individuals did not.
Then one group of beings decided they were better than all the rest. And agreed among themselves they had the rights to comfort, safety, obedience, long lives and dominance over all others. They no longer hunted for their food, they demanded it grew right where they were. They began to get soft and lazy with pudgy minds and, losing their connection with the rest of what lived on the planet, they broke away. As they took over, some of the other species hid in another part of this world, now forgotten.
These soft, lazy broken creatures created ways to make things simpler for themselves, while making it difficult for everything else. Their single-mindedness rivalled that of a weasel about to kill a rabbit. Utterly focused on one thing, themselves, they lost their place in Everything.
After a while they began to notice they didn’t always get things right and, as they were not bad just lost, they tried to fix things. But they were too far gone. Too split from what made them part of Everything and, on some level, they realized this didn’t make them happy. Whole industries were created to make them happy – entertainment, pharmaceutical (that means medicine), therapy. Still they were not happy. They argued whether they should save the plants, or the animals, or themselves. Puffed up with their own self-importance different groups made big claims as to what the solutions were. But not enough looked to the rest of the planet for advice and those who did often didn’t want to go back to that visceral way of living (What does vizzsherall mean? This means using your instincts rather than your mind) – they had lost their stomach for it. They were weak now, thinking only with their minds. Hardly any suggested just stopping what they were doing. Bigger new ways of fixing things, better ways of living all were suggested and argued against.
The broken ones invented new gods, made grand plans, they discovered new ways to fight with each other and nothing was fixed. Some decided that world peace was the solution and would fight to the death with anyone who didn’t agree, but peace was never part of how this world first worked. It was life and death, just on a less personal level than war and anger.”
“What happened to this world Mom?”
“It’s still out there, battling on.”
“I feel sorry for it.”
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
Finality
“When something is gone, and I mean completely, irretrievably gone, there comes a calm, if only for a short time before all the other emotions kick in.
“Stay in this moment as long as you can. It is a gift.
“Of course the most obvious example of this type of finality would be death, but in truth it could be the end of a relationship, a loss of a job, the collapse of a dream, the implosion of everything you believed to be true - whenever you realize you cannot change anythi...ng or fix anything.
“Because there’s nothing left to fix.
“But on the other hand you can’t break anything further either. What it is, is just what it is. It’s the simplest, quietest, clearest moment you will ever have. Nothing else matters and nothing is all you have.
“Nothing absolute.
“It just is.
“You’ve become a bystander. What you feel or need no longer really matters. Your part is over, you’ve done your bit. You’re on the outside now. You don’t even get to look in at the window, the curtains have been drawn.
“Life carries on regardless, but before you’re swept back into its current, savour the peacefulness that comes with finality. And know there’s strength in your helplessness. Think of the desolation after the worst storm you can imagine. Nothing will ever be the same, but something will take root and grow – you just don’t know it yet.
“It’s okay. You’ll be alright”
“Stay in this moment as long as you can. It is a gift.
“Of course the most obvious example of this type of finality would be death, but in truth it could be the end of a relationship, a loss of a job, the collapse of a dream, the implosion of everything you believed to be true - whenever you realize you cannot change anythi...ng or fix anything.
“Because there’s nothing left to fix.
“But on the other hand you can’t break anything further either. What it is, is just what it is. It’s the simplest, quietest, clearest moment you will ever have. Nothing else matters and nothing is all you have.
“Nothing absolute.
“It just is.
“You’ve become a bystander. What you feel or need no longer really matters. Your part is over, you’ve done your bit. You’re on the outside now. You don’t even get to look in at the window, the curtains have been drawn.
“Life carries on regardless, but before you’re swept back into its current, savour the peacefulness that comes with finality. And know there’s strength in your helplessness. Think of the desolation after the worst storm you can imagine. Nothing will ever be the same, but something will take root and grow – you just don’t know it yet.
“It’s okay. You’ll be alright”
Be Careful About Hope and Why
“Be careful about hope.
“The thing about hope is this: It’s all well and good when what you’re hoping for is realized, but when you hope and hope and what you hope for never arrives, then it can catch you, drag you down like prey and eat you from the inside until you’re not much more than a husk.
“Hope is what keeps you running to the phone with your heart in your mouth every time it rings. Hope is what forces you look deep into someone’s eyes to see if love is still there.... Hope is what gives you that gut wrench of excitement when a glimmer arrives in your life, only for it to be torn away like a sail cloth in a storm.
“Hope is another way of saying desperate.”
“Sure hope is fine if it all works out the way you want, but most times it’s better just to let go. Letting go is more freeing that hope and does just as much good. It doesn’t mean you have to stop going through the motions, it just means you’re no longer tied to jumping through hope’s rings. You’re standing on your own two feet and taking control.
“And if what you hope for does happen, well then you can have unfettered joy. Joy that doesn’t ride in on the back of hope, but stands alone as one pure moment of unexpected happiness.
“Best just to throw a cold bucket of reality on hope’s fire. Carry an ember with you if you must, but move on.”
Halfway through the word antelope, in a deserted campsite in northern Colorado I stopped writing.
We'd been travelling for a few weeks and I had been keeping a diary of all that had happened since we left Tonasket and headed through Idaho, Montana, Wyoming then Colorado. And then I realized I wasn't really interested in writing about the daily sights, sounds, life-as-we-know-it kind of moments. I was more interested in writing about the spin-offs. The emotions, the tangents created when my mind goes off in several directions at once in response to some event.
And from then on, throughout the whole of our journey through the western states of the US I didn't pick up a pen, or type anything more than Facebook updates.
So much has happened, terrible things, in the past few months. One of our beloved dogs went missing and we found her body six weeks later, we were under serious pressure to find a place to live back in the Okanogan Highlands before school started and the winter arrived. We had a really odd car accident and then a spin-out on the ice, Steve's grandma died, and on and on. Things really piled up. But 2014 is now over. We have a place to live for the winter, right next to where we were living before, talk about coming full circle, life is settling into a pattern of school, skiing, Steve searching for a job and all is calm.
And out of all the sadness, in fact a way of filling my mind so as not to think about things too much, I started writing a book. The difficult times may be over, but I'm 20,000 words in and committed to it. In fact I love it.
Good things arising from the ashes of the bad.
The Hope Speech above is a part of the book and I'm going to add another piece of writing from the first draft called Finality. And then another one about choices. I think this is the way my blog will develop rather than talking about day to day living. It'll will be more about what I'm taking out of life.
And perhaps these kinds of lessons are things I can actually hope for without fear of Hope failing me.
“The thing about hope is this: It’s all well and good when what you’re hoping for is realized, but when you hope and hope and what you hope for never arrives, then it can catch you, drag you down like prey and eat you from the inside until you’re not much more than a husk.
“Hope is what keeps you running to the phone with your heart in your mouth every time it rings. Hope is what forces you look deep into someone’s eyes to see if love is still there.... Hope is what gives you that gut wrench of excitement when a glimmer arrives in your life, only for it to be torn away like a sail cloth in a storm.
“Hope is another way of saying desperate.”
“Sure hope is fine if it all works out the way you want, but most times it’s better just to let go. Letting go is more freeing that hope and does just as much good. It doesn’t mean you have to stop going through the motions, it just means you’re no longer tied to jumping through hope’s rings. You’re standing on your own two feet and taking control.
“And if what you hope for does happen, well then you can have unfettered joy. Joy that doesn’t ride in on the back of hope, but stands alone as one pure moment of unexpected happiness.
“Best just to throw a cold bucket of reality on hope’s fire. Carry an ember with you if you must, but move on.”
Halfway through the word antelope, in a deserted campsite in northern Colorado I stopped writing.
We'd been travelling for a few weeks and I had been keeping a diary of all that had happened since we left Tonasket and headed through Idaho, Montana, Wyoming then Colorado. And then I realized I wasn't really interested in writing about the daily sights, sounds, life-as-we-know-it kind of moments. I was more interested in writing about the spin-offs. The emotions, the tangents created when my mind goes off in several directions at once in response to some event.
And from then on, throughout the whole of our journey through the western states of the US I didn't pick up a pen, or type anything more than Facebook updates.
So much has happened, terrible things, in the past few months. One of our beloved dogs went missing and we found her body six weeks later, we were under serious pressure to find a place to live back in the Okanogan Highlands before school started and the winter arrived. We had a really odd car accident and then a spin-out on the ice, Steve's grandma died, and on and on. Things really piled up. But 2014 is now over. We have a place to live for the winter, right next to where we were living before, talk about coming full circle, life is settling into a pattern of school, skiing, Steve searching for a job and all is calm.
And out of all the sadness, in fact a way of filling my mind so as not to think about things too much, I started writing a book. The difficult times may be over, but I'm 20,000 words in and committed to it. In fact I love it.
Good things arising from the ashes of the bad.
The Hope Speech above is a part of the book and I'm going to add another piece of writing from the first draft called Finality. And then another one about choices. I think this is the way my blog will develop rather than talking about day to day living. It'll will be more about what I'm taking out of life.
And perhaps these kinds of lessons are things I can actually hope for without fear of Hope failing me.
Sunday, June 8, 2014
Plan B
To say 2014 has not gone according to plan would be the understatement of the year so far.
In February my husband was laid off from his job. This happened at a time when we had just, I mean just, recovered from his previous layoff three years prior. We had recouped financially, put the short sale of our beautiful cabin behind us and started looking for a new home to buy. We had turned down other job offers to stay put in the Okanogan Highlands because we were happy and settled. In short things were going pretty damn well.
And then this. And on top of this, the owners of the property we have been living in for the last few years needed to put it on the market and we were now in no position to buy. First joblessness, then homelessness in the foreseeable future. I developed the remarkable talent of stuffing down my rising panic into some place deep inside my body and just learning to roll with the punches. I believe it's true that you get stronger from what life throws at you, and I think we're living proof of that. Although it didn't come easily. For a while I got really bitter and angry. Angry that for us things just kept going from difficult to even more difficult. Bitter that other people were out enjoying what they wanted to do in life and that just wasn't happening for us. At one point, as I was on day two of making the house look spotless so the real estate agent could take lovely photos to help sell the house out from under us, I reached the point that I no longer cared about trying to help people, do nice things or make the world a better place. And then the very next day someone did something so unbelievably kind and generous for us I snapped out of it. No matter what, I am a person who genuinely wants the best for other people and will work towards making life better. It's not their fault the owners of this property need to sell up, it's not other people's fault things are going well for them while our life is falling down around our ears, and I am not going to compromise my moral makeup of believing the best in people and life and risk turning into a resentful, twisted person. It's not who I am and no matter what I am going to continue to be as kind as I can, honest, respectful and helpful. I will trust that there is a reason for everything and be optimistic for the future.
For a long time we were aimless, job offers came and went, some jobs couldn't be taken as another more financially rewarding one was waiting in the wings, and then that amounted to nothing. We didn't know if it was worth continuing to throw money towards rent when our financial reserves were dwindling and the house could sell at any point. What we did know was we could not continue to live void of forward momentum and had to decide a path to take, whether it was the right one or the worst decision we could make. We just had to do something.
And so we have. We have bought a 20ft trailer and at the end of June we are moving out, putting our stuff into storage and embarking on a road trip with two children and five dogs - as I said, this could be the worst decision ever. We intend to visit Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, Arizona, California and Oregon before heading back up to Tonasket for the start of the school year. We will then be desperately looking for somewhere to live for the winter and Steve should have a few months employment with a fishery he has been working with temporarily for the past three months.
That's our plan and we're sticking to it. Hopefully. Unless it all goes horribly pear-shaped. Beyond this we have nothing. There are a couple of irons in the fire, which may come to something. We'll see. We are being forced to live in the moment and take each day as it comes. We moved over from Scotland seven years ago with a very healthy bank account, a good job and high hopes. Now, as a result of personal choices, a plummeting economy and being on the wrong end of impersonal business decisions, we have nothing. Just a little savings, a truck and trailer, children and dogs, love and good humour, and a will to believe something good shall come out of this. I've already found a home for my sheep, my chickens are going to a friend. Packing and planning have begun.
Wish us luck, I think we're going to need it.
In February my husband was laid off from his job. This happened at a time when we had just, I mean just, recovered from his previous layoff three years prior. We had recouped financially, put the short sale of our beautiful cabin behind us and started looking for a new home to buy. We had turned down other job offers to stay put in the Okanogan Highlands because we were happy and settled. In short things were going pretty damn well.
And then this. And on top of this, the owners of the property we have been living in for the last few years needed to put it on the market and we were now in no position to buy. First joblessness, then homelessness in the foreseeable future. I developed the remarkable talent of stuffing down my rising panic into some place deep inside my body and just learning to roll with the punches. I believe it's true that you get stronger from what life throws at you, and I think we're living proof of that. Although it didn't come easily. For a while I got really bitter and angry. Angry that for us things just kept going from difficult to even more difficult. Bitter that other people were out enjoying what they wanted to do in life and that just wasn't happening for us. At one point, as I was on day two of making the house look spotless so the real estate agent could take lovely photos to help sell the house out from under us, I reached the point that I no longer cared about trying to help people, do nice things or make the world a better place. And then the very next day someone did something so unbelievably kind and generous for us I snapped out of it. No matter what, I am a person who genuinely wants the best for other people and will work towards making life better. It's not their fault the owners of this property need to sell up, it's not other people's fault things are going well for them while our life is falling down around our ears, and I am not going to compromise my moral makeup of believing the best in people and life and risk turning into a resentful, twisted person. It's not who I am and no matter what I am going to continue to be as kind as I can, honest, respectful and helpful. I will trust that there is a reason for everything and be optimistic for the future.
For a long time we were aimless, job offers came and went, some jobs couldn't be taken as another more financially rewarding one was waiting in the wings, and then that amounted to nothing. We didn't know if it was worth continuing to throw money towards rent when our financial reserves were dwindling and the house could sell at any point. What we did know was we could not continue to live void of forward momentum and had to decide a path to take, whether it was the right one or the worst decision we could make. We just had to do something.
And so we have. We have bought a 20ft trailer and at the end of June we are moving out, putting our stuff into storage and embarking on a road trip with two children and five dogs - as I said, this could be the worst decision ever. We intend to visit Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, Arizona, California and Oregon before heading back up to Tonasket for the start of the school year. We will then be desperately looking for somewhere to live for the winter and Steve should have a few months employment with a fishery he has been working with temporarily for the past three months.
That's our plan and we're sticking to it. Hopefully. Unless it all goes horribly pear-shaped. Beyond this we have nothing. There are a couple of irons in the fire, which may come to something. We'll see. We are being forced to live in the moment and take each day as it comes. We moved over from Scotland seven years ago with a very healthy bank account, a good job and high hopes. Now, as a result of personal choices, a plummeting economy and being on the wrong end of impersonal business decisions, we have nothing. Just a little savings, a truck and trailer, children and dogs, love and good humour, and a will to believe something good shall come out of this. I've already found a home for my sheep, my chickens are going to a friend. Packing and planning have begun.
Wish us luck, I think we're going to need it.
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Making Tracks
It's been a dry winter so far. Enough so, that even though this is only my third winter here, it's felt wrong and I have been more and more tense as each clear day arrives. A pressure, like that before a thunderstorm, has been building up in me. I've been keeping it under wraps, so as not to snap at my family, but each day I stand outside and ask: "Why, why don't you snow more?" It's felt as though the early snow on the ground has been left to taunt me. I've been taking it personally and, until today, I have been really quite cross with Winter.
As usual I've been checking and double-checking the NOAA weather forecast to see what could be in store for us, and this week seems to be our best bet in ages for the 'chance of snow' and 'snow likely' forecasts to actually come true.
So I took advantage to run a loop on the state land across from our house before the storm came this morning. Within a quarter mile dozens of ravens and a bald eagle rose from the ground and wheeled around me. These birds are often the first indicator of a predator's kill and their presence must always be respected. Sure enough deer parts were spread out over the ground, although my senses told me they were the remains from a hunter rather than a cougar or other big animal. I felt unfazed and carried on, feeling guilty that I had disturbed the birds.
As I climbed the hill, what little snow we have got deeper and the quad track I was following disappeared. But the hill was crissed-crossed with many, many coyote tracks and I made my choice to follow these to see where they led me. The coyotes headed out of the state land and onto private property so I turned and followed the whitetail deer tracks which led back down the hill. So engrossed was I with following these tracks I didn't notice the camouflage tent until I was almost upon it (well, it was camouflage).
It unnerved me. And I veered away quickly, afraid almost to look at it, so nervous that any noise my dog made caused me to flinch and my stomach lurch. It seemed so odd the tent was there. We're well out of the main hunting seasons and it's below freezing most of the time, so not exactly camping weather. Once I was far enough away, I took stock of the situation and reminded myself there was no fire, no signs of life and no human footprints. And I took comfort in my bear spray and the skinning knife attached to my running belt.
Then I got angry. Here I was contently following animal tracks, but I was relieved that I had not seen any human tracks. Even if I had come across bear, moose or cougar tracks, while I would have been on alert, they would not have instilled the same fear that I sometimes get from human tracks. It is so frustrating that, especially as a woman, the biggest threat to my safety out here is from that of my own species. It's wrong. And there is nothing I can do about it except be aware, prepared and keep my 'spidey' senses on high alert when out alone.
I looped round and met the old road that cuts through the land and headed back down towards my house. Some ravens had returned to the deer carcass but the eagle had not returned. In its place a flock of small birds, no doubt too afraid to eat when it was there, had joined the feast, and I felt less guilty about disturbing them earlier.
And I'm glad they all had a chance to eat when they did. Shortly after I returned home, the winter storm came, and I'm sure the carcass, the tracks and perhaps even the camouflage tent are beneath the snow now.
As usual I've been checking and double-checking the NOAA weather forecast to see what could be in store for us, and this week seems to be our best bet in ages for the 'chance of snow' and 'snow likely' forecasts to actually come true.
So I took advantage to run a loop on the state land across from our house before the storm came this morning. Within a quarter mile dozens of ravens and a bald eagle rose from the ground and wheeled around me. These birds are often the first indicator of a predator's kill and their presence must always be respected. Sure enough deer parts were spread out over the ground, although my senses told me they were the remains from a hunter rather than a cougar or other big animal. I felt unfazed and carried on, feeling guilty that I had disturbed the birds.
As I climbed the hill, what little snow we have got deeper and the quad track I was following disappeared. But the hill was crissed-crossed with many, many coyote tracks and I made my choice to follow these to see where they led me. The coyotes headed out of the state land and onto private property so I turned and followed the whitetail deer tracks which led back down the hill. So engrossed was I with following these tracks I didn't notice the camouflage tent until I was almost upon it (well, it was camouflage).
It unnerved me. And I veered away quickly, afraid almost to look at it, so nervous that any noise my dog made caused me to flinch and my stomach lurch. It seemed so odd the tent was there. We're well out of the main hunting seasons and it's below freezing most of the time, so not exactly camping weather. Once I was far enough away, I took stock of the situation and reminded myself there was no fire, no signs of life and no human footprints. And I took comfort in my bear spray and the skinning knife attached to my running belt.
Then I got angry. Here I was contently following animal tracks, but I was relieved that I had not seen any human tracks. Even if I had come across bear, moose or cougar tracks, while I would have been on alert, they would not have instilled the same fear that I sometimes get from human tracks. It is so frustrating that, especially as a woman, the biggest threat to my safety out here is from that of my own species. It's wrong. And there is nothing I can do about it except be aware, prepared and keep my 'spidey' senses on high alert when out alone.
I looped round and met the old road that cuts through the land and headed back down towards my house. Some ravens had returned to the deer carcass but the eagle had not returned. In its place a flock of small birds, no doubt too afraid to eat when it was there, had joined the feast, and I felt less guilty about disturbing them earlier.
And I'm glad they all had a chance to eat when they did. Shortly after I returned home, the winter storm came, and I'm sure the carcass, the tracks and perhaps even the camouflage tent are beneath the snow now.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Running So As Not To Sweat
It took less than five minutes before pain took over my fingers. Despite two pairs of gloves the cold had worked its way in and I could feel my hands starting to harden like blocks, getting almost unbearably painful before becoming numb. The skin below my eyes tingled as the sweat lightly frosted on the rims of my sunglasses and stuck to my face.
"Turn around at the cattle grid". I told myself. My husband and I had agreed to run/hike or ski at least a mile every day for the month of December, to keep ourselves motivated and avoid the steady piling on of pounds which accompanies the quieter months away from running and biking events.
The cattle grid turnaround marked our 1.3 mile minimum and I could easily have justified heading home from there, despite four miles being my goal for the day. The 15 degree temperature was augmented by a north wind and although it was subtle, it brought a biting wind chill. I have run in temps as low as -1 F but never had I felt as cold as this.
At the cattle grid I pressed on, knowing I would be unhappy with myself if I quit. I've been told numerous times that I have a determined streak, and while I take it as a compliment, I am cautious about this quality being altogether good - many times through life I have gone determinedly in the wrong direction, ignoring my gut instinct and blinkered from good advice. And many times I have ended up not where I wanted to be. However I listen more to my instinct these days and I was questioning whether it was the right decision to carry on. I was beginning to sweat and I was concerned it would make me colder. My running slowed as I tried to prevent more moisture building up on my skin.
"What's the point?" I asked myself. "I'm going to be walking if I go any slower, why be out here?"
A raven flew low in front of me, followed by two more. Glancing to where they came from I saw what looked to be a discarded roll of carpet which the ravens had been picking at. I felt angry, not just at the people who had thrown it out there, but at the birds for wasting their energy and time on something which could not keep them alive. "What's the point?" I also asked them.
I reached the two mile mark and turned around, happy to be achieving the mileage goal but unhappy with the workout, this was supposed to be a tempo run, where I kept my speed up and worked hard - and here I was running so as not to sweat.
Occasionally people also say: "What is the point?" to those of us who opt for the harder route in life rather than the easy path - whether through tough sports, living in harsh environments or stepping back from the culture of comfort the western world enjoys. What is it about - for want of a better phrase - 'living on the edge' that is so worthwhile when people have to struggle to achieve it. Sometimes, like on this run, I ask myself the same question. But in this case I was also asking myself why I was allowing myself to give in to the fear of what would happen if I got too cold, for not allowing myself to take the risk and find out - I was only two miles from home for God's sake, live a little. I already know why I choose the harder routes and I'm not sure it's something you can explain to someone who doesn't already understand.
I reached the point where the ravens were massing and stopped abruptly. I realized what I'd thought was a roll of carpet was actually the carcass of a deer, its skin rolled back and its flesh and bones exposed. The ravens were not wasting their time and energy, they could clearly see what I had not been able to at first and were filling their bellies with meat, keeping themselves alive.
I started to run again, only this time I didn't worry about sweating. I flew. My hands dampened and instead of freezing like I anticipated, warmed up. My fogged-up sunglasses slid down my sweaty nose and my whole body tingled with warmth. I felt alive as I reached my driveway.
Do I feel better than those who choose not to put themselves in hard places, or even harms way, to achieve meaning in life? No, we all have different strengths, needs and limits. Just like we all have our demons and dark sides. Some people find life's beauty in art or music, or their raison d'etre in good food and great company. None of us are the same.
Do I personally feel a better mother, wife and person after making myself physically work hard, to triumph over my inner doubts, to not give up? Do I feel alive and fulfilled after being the deep, dark woods fighting fear, fatigue and the little voice in my head that says 'just quit'?
Yep, works for me.
"Turn around at the cattle grid". I told myself. My husband and I had agreed to run/hike or ski at least a mile every day for the month of December, to keep ourselves motivated and avoid the steady piling on of pounds which accompanies the quieter months away from running and biking events.
The cattle grid turnaround marked our 1.3 mile minimum and I could easily have justified heading home from there, despite four miles being my goal for the day. The 15 degree temperature was augmented by a north wind and although it was subtle, it brought a biting wind chill. I have run in temps as low as -1 F but never had I felt as cold as this.
At the cattle grid I pressed on, knowing I would be unhappy with myself if I quit. I've been told numerous times that I have a determined streak, and while I take it as a compliment, I am cautious about this quality being altogether good - many times through life I have gone determinedly in the wrong direction, ignoring my gut instinct and blinkered from good advice. And many times I have ended up not where I wanted to be. However I listen more to my instinct these days and I was questioning whether it was the right decision to carry on. I was beginning to sweat and I was concerned it would make me colder. My running slowed as I tried to prevent more moisture building up on my skin.
"What's the point?" I asked myself. "I'm going to be walking if I go any slower, why be out here?"
A raven flew low in front of me, followed by two more. Glancing to where they came from I saw what looked to be a discarded roll of carpet which the ravens had been picking at. I felt angry, not just at the people who had thrown it out there, but at the birds for wasting their energy and time on something which could not keep them alive. "What's the point?" I also asked them.
I reached the two mile mark and turned around, happy to be achieving the mileage goal but unhappy with the workout, this was supposed to be a tempo run, where I kept my speed up and worked hard - and here I was running so as not to sweat.
Occasionally people also say: "What is the point?" to those of us who opt for the harder route in life rather than the easy path - whether through tough sports, living in harsh environments or stepping back from the culture of comfort the western world enjoys. What is it about - for want of a better phrase - 'living on the edge' that is so worthwhile when people have to struggle to achieve it. Sometimes, like on this run, I ask myself the same question. But in this case I was also asking myself why I was allowing myself to give in to the fear of what would happen if I got too cold, for not allowing myself to take the risk and find out - I was only two miles from home for God's sake, live a little. I already know why I choose the harder routes and I'm not sure it's something you can explain to someone who doesn't already understand.
I reached the point where the ravens were massing and stopped abruptly. I realized what I'd thought was a roll of carpet was actually the carcass of a deer, its skin rolled back and its flesh and bones exposed. The ravens were not wasting their time and energy, they could clearly see what I had not been able to at first and were filling their bellies with meat, keeping themselves alive.
I started to run again, only this time I didn't worry about sweating. I flew. My hands dampened and instead of freezing like I anticipated, warmed up. My fogged-up sunglasses slid down my sweaty nose and my whole body tingled with warmth. I felt alive as I reached my driveway.
Do I feel better than those who choose not to put themselves in hard places, or even harms way, to achieve meaning in life? No, we all have different strengths, needs and limits. Just like we all have our demons and dark sides. Some people find life's beauty in art or music, or their raison d'etre in good food and great company. None of us are the same.
Do I personally feel a better mother, wife and person after making myself physically work hard, to triumph over my inner doubts, to not give up? Do I feel alive and fulfilled after being the deep, dark woods fighting fear, fatigue and the little voice in my head that says 'just quit'?
Yep, works for me.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Be Careful What You Wish For
I always expected I would arrive in Alaska and she would welcome me with open arms and I would know, immediately, I had landed exactly where I was supposed to be. I think in my mind there would probably be a small angelic choir heralding my arrival, possibly rainbows and unicorns - you get the picture.
It wasn't quite like that.
In fact as we prepared to leave Anchorage airport for the second time in a month I felt, well, a bit disappointed that it had not lived up to my ideals.
Now before I go any further, this is not a blog hating on Alaska, it's a blog about misplaced expectations. If you are from Alaska or know it, please feel free to facepalm, roll your eyes and say "duh" - my friend from Barrow has already laughed and said: "Shona, you have only just begun to scratch the surface of Alaska." I know I sound ridiculous, so no snidey comments okay?
In my head I have always seen the 49th state as a wilderness full of rufty, toughty characters living off-grid, miles from their neighbors and eating mooseburgers for breakfast. (Alaskans, this is where you should start with the facepalms.) And I know there are many places there where that is the life. But not the two places we had the opportunity to move to.
Alaska is vast ("duh") and is therefore very varied (roll eyes). And it really is wild. Both places we visited for my husband's job interviews, Kodiak and Valdez, seemed like little communities holding onto the coast, banding together, closely together, because everything else out there really is OUT THERE and is ready to chew you up and spit you out if you are not up to standard or show the proper respect.
As someone who spends a lot of time out in the hills, often alone, I was afraid of being out there on my own, I wasn't confident that I was ready for what Alaska could throw at me ("duh"). And I was also aware that moving to either of these places meant moving to town because there didn't seem to be anywhere except town and wilderness - it was a dramatic divide, no 20 acres 14 miles outside town like we have here - and I like living outside of town and out of pissing distance of my neighbors, even if my neighbors were going to be the people we met up there who were wonderful, real and kind, just the type of people I like being around.
It was at this point I realized the Okanogan Highlands were fulfilling most of my Alaskan dreams already.
Wild country - that box was ticked.
Cold, snowy winters - tick.
Bears, wolves, moose - tick (okay we may only have one or two grizzlies and Kodiak Island has something like 3,500 of the biggest brown bears in the world, but who's counting?)
Ice fishermen, dog sledding, grumpy old PTSD vets living in the woods, families living in the hills hauling their own water, trails, hunters, lakes, mountains, forests, good down-to-earth people - tick, tick, tick..
It became a lesson in be careful what you wish for and be grateful for what you have.
We came very, very close moving to Kodiak. But in the end what held us here was the realization we already have what we want. Right here, outside Tonasket, and it's home.
For now. My children keep asking when we are going back to Alaska and I've been told Fairbanks would be a good match for us. And Kenny Lake and Delta Junction....(Facepalm, "duh" and roll eyes)
It wasn't quite like that.
In fact as we prepared to leave Anchorage airport for the second time in a month I felt, well, a bit disappointed that it had not lived up to my ideals.
Now before I go any further, this is not a blog hating on Alaska, it's a blog about misplaced expectations. If you are from Alaska or know it, please feel free to facepalm, roll your eyes and say "duh" - my friend from Barrow has already laughed and said: "Shona, you have only just begun to scratch the surface of Alaska." I know I sound ridiculous, so no snidey comments okay?
In my head I have always seen the 49th state as a wilderness full of rufty, toughty characters living off-grid, miles from their neighbors and eating mooseburgers for breakfast. (Alaskans, this is where you should start with the facepalms.) And I know there are many places there where that is the life. But not the two places we had the opportunity to move to.
Alaska is vast ("duh") and is therefore very varied (roll eyes). And it really is wild. Both places we visited for my husband's job interviews, Kodiak and Valdez, seemed like little communities holding onto the coast, banding together, closely together, because everything else out there really is OUT THERE and is ready to chew you up and spit you out if you are not up to standard or show the proper respect.
As someone who spends a lot of time out in the hills, often alone, I was afraid of being out there on my own, I wasn't confident that I was ready for what Alaska could throw at me ("duh"). And I was also aware that moving to either of these places meant moving to town because there didn't seem to be anywhere except town and wilderness - it was a dramatic divide, no 20 acres 14 miles outside town like we have here - and I like living outside of town and out of pissing distance of my neighbors, even if my neighbors were going to be the people we met up there who were wonderful, real and kind, just the type of people I like being around.
It was at this point I realized the Okanogan Highlands were fulfilling most of my Alaskan dreams already.
Wild country - that box was ticked.
Cold, snowy winters - tick.
Bears, wolves, moose - tick (okay we may only have one or two grizzlies and Kodiak Island has something like 3,500 of the biggest brown bears in the world, but who's counting?)
Ice fishermen, dog sledding, grumpy old PTSD vets living in the woods, families living in the hills hauling their own water, trails, hunters, lakes, mountains, forests, good down-to-earth people - tick, tick, tick..
It became a lesson in be careful what you wish for and be grateful for what you have.
We came very, very close moving to Kodiak. But in the end what held us here was the realization we already have what we want. Right here, outside Tonasket, and it's home.
For now. My children keep asking when we are going back to Alaska and I've been told Fairbanks would be a good match for us. And Kenny Lake and Delta Junction....(Facepalm, "duh" and roll eyes)
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