About that new adventure.....

I am not often compelled, or at least I do not remember it being so, to follow up a post so quickly. I think I feel required to respond publicly to some of the feedback I have received privately. Names left for another time, and words paraphrased so as not to make anyone too uncomfortable. I appreciate any and all feedback, be it shares, likes, comments, or private messages. (I assume we are all on the same page with the jargon, as I only share on that one social media site.)

I think mostly what I wanted to say here is that the last article I posted (If you haven't read it yet, I'd suggest doing so now ) was written while I was riding a high. A natural high, one that came from realizing that I have persevered once before, and that I can certainly do it again. The flip side of that coin, is the downtime. I do not refer here to the communal understanding we have of downtime among whitewater folk. Instead, I reference the darkness, the emptiness, and the despair. I had some people tell me how they wanted or wished they could see things the way I do, and go live their lives the way I am. I can recognize what they are getting at, but I am really afraid I have given off an aire of eternal optimism.

I am not in anyway, an eternal optimist. I fret, I worry, I suffer from sometimes debilitating anxiety attacks. My most recent episode of anxiety left me trembling, chest tight, and forcing myself to breath deep and slow. I re-read this paragraph just now, and upon doing so realized a flaw in my logic. Optimism is not diagnosed.Anxiety is. I try very hard to keep an upbeat or positive outlook, and during my time in Chattanooga and shortly after leaving Chattanooga, I certainly was a positive energy, and people around me made note of it. My confidence soared, and with the help of my old friends and some new ones as well as my amazing parents I was soon back on my feet and employed and heading in the direction I wanted.

When I was fired, a tailspin ensued. I could hear the plane engine revving out of control and see the world spinning outside of my canopy and the green fields flying up towards me uncontrollably. What I had not realized at that dark moment, was that my plane was not completely disabled. I had taken a hit, it had knocked me off my flight path, but I was still in the plane and I could still control it. The drive during the rain when the clouds cleared, that is when I was able to stop the spin and level off. I found the horizon, pointed my props that way and flew.

Great story right? Everything is going to be just fine right? Well, I wish it was just that simple. It is not. I suffered, and I still do. I spent my day today, first at the gym (gyms bring to mind the same repetitive doldrums I felt trapped in once before), just to be sure I do not stagnate. Idleness is driving me insane. I need to work, or explore, or boat, or hike, or....write. The gym is good for me, I've been steadily losing weight and becoming healthier since I returned home but it still doesn't rid me of that feeling of despair that has been with me since my plane leveled off. I joined my mom for some errands around town, then returned home to do some much overdue maintenance on my truck. All the while my stomach is tight. My mind would wander back to my current situation, the angst and anxiety trying to override my temperament. What is so supremely bizarre to me is the similarity to how I physically feel now, and how I felt back in May when I uprooted and ran south. The bizarre part, is that it is happening for exactly the opposite reasons. I hated having a job then, despised it, felt anchored to the bottom of a sea with it. Now, though, I feel completely useless, idle, and for the most part on the verge of giving up.

What would giving up mean? Laying on the floor and never moving? Running off into the wilderness to live on squirrel and tree bark? This question scares me like no other. What does giving up look like? I am frightened because at times I really truly want quit it all. Not suicide, please do not think that. There is light in this mind, and there is darkness in this mind and sometimes I feel like just embracing the dark, letting it swallow me and wallowing in the comfort of not having to give a damn.

What gets me out of that cave, well I wish I knew. I was deep in darkness all day today. I struggled just to open doors and maintain while out shopping. I watched the cashier at Wal-Mart, frustrated by an elderly lady, act indignant. All the while thinking to myself, does he have any idea how I envy his job. Not the specific task mind you, but the idea. I had never been fired before in my life and perhaps that stands to the reason I am having to try so hard to make sense of what is happening inside me.

A spark hit me late in the day. I had struggled with working on my truck, the previous oil change saw the oil filter itself pretty well over tightened. I had to struggle first for good access, then for good leverage. ( A family trait this is, I can remember many many dates with my ex-wife delayed or cancelled because of Murphy's Law) I lost my temper and threw a ratchet, then immediately felt foolish. Took a few pacing steps, took a breath, and got back to work. I also had to change my negative or ground battery cable, so as I struggled with reaching the bolt on the bottom of the engine block I begin to slip back into the darkness. I lost the bolt, all went black. I can not recall exactly what I was thinking or how it came into my head, but there I was standing on the edge of an abyss leaning closer and further into it. I snapped back and found myself holding two replacement bolts and upon sliding back under the truck I found better vantage point and the work was done shortly. I did have a bit lighter work to do, and I got the sub-woofer installed pretty easily with some quick thinking help from my father.  Maybe that was it. Perhaps the light that drew me like a moth to flame out of that dark tunnel, was the fact that I had finished something. I had a task and I did it. I had a job, and I did that job.

I decided before washing up for dinner that I was going to go out for a bit. Maybe meet some friends or maybe just find a quiet corner in a slightly hipster pizza parlor that I am very familiar with. So, anonymous reader, here I sit, in the back corner of Rivermont Pizza typing away and deflecting the looks I receive for being "that guy". What I find profoundly comforting, is that none of these people know exactly what "that guy" has been through and persevered, and therefore have no idea just how much I am capable of accomplishing.

I will accomplish it, but it won't be roses and rainbows the whole time. I will suffer, I will hurt, I will tremble and shake with anxiety, and I will writhe in despair. I will hate life, I will regret my decisions.


I will see you on the river.

The end of one adventure the beginning of another.

It has been some time since last I dawdled in the digital. I have not written to you, the anonymous reader, in some time now. Things have happened since I wrote a tearful letter to my dear friend. I was able, through amazing luck and generosity, to attend Carter's memorial. It was tremendous, a GDI road trip minus the boating. My band of merry travelers took excellent care of me and the journey was definitely the defining moment of the weekend, and of my recent life. Camping at Turkey Creek campground and finding myself taking a later night/early morning shower (a la copious amounts of beer and minimal food) and then having a random and certainly scattered conversation with a fellow camper as I stumbled my way from the bath house.

It was an odd time for me. I thought I had gotten past the hurt of losing Carter, and yet as we drew closer and closer to Apex, I knew I was wrong. The van was full of hilarious boating stories on the way out, recounting the early days of long boats and C1's of yesteryear. Some hi-jinx and tomfoolery as well, lets not forget we were four men left to our druthers in a van for several hours, so for my readers of a delicate sensibility I'll leave the details for campfire story telling. Simmering underneath all of that joy, each of us felt it creeping in and settling on us like a blanket of snow. Building its weight in that beautiful way. Memories of Carter slipping in to our conversations here and there. The memorial was beautiful, it truly was something that he would have been proud of, and I even got a cold beer before the keg tapped out.

I had my self together, I felt calm and cool and in control of my emotions. Then Emma spoke, and nothing I had constructed could hold back my pain. How this teenage girl could stand before a crowd as she did, and not only deliver the most touching eulogy I have ever had the privilege of hearing but also somehow comfort everyone there by doing so. Every single person in that crowd loved Carter, because he loved every single person on that crowd. In all of these people, and all of the strength gained from growing old and experiencing life, somehow this young angel of a young lady simply picked us all up and carried us on her shoulder and said to us, simply, "It's ok, he would want us to go on and be happy."

I cried as her words wove the most touching tapestry of a man's life for which any of us should hope to be lucky enough to qualify. His words of wisdom to her, to not just survive life, but to LIVE it. Experience all that you can and want to, because you only get one chance.

Emma Worthington, you moved something in me for which I need and want to thank you from the bottom of my heart.

The ride home from Apex meant a stop over in Ashe-vegas, where, thanks to a boater's awesome suggestion, we got some great pizza and wings, and beer. We camped, I mean, visited outside a boater friendly place, I in my tent alongside another traveler in the backyard, and others in the van on the street side. A morning confrontation with a, we will say misunderstood, elderly gentlemen led to a surprise visit by the local Police, who were more than polite and actually quite nice to deal with. They wanted to make sure we weren't squatting and in fact when they arrived we were nearly ready to depart. No camping in front of Old Man Calahan's place!!  The remainder of the ride was filled with laughter and memories of a different type. Stories of fathers since passed and still with us. All with a common value in the center, time spent with parents is invaluable.

Let me take a second and recap my travels so far, if you will indulge me. Carter's memorial, was August 8th. I had left my home, and the town my parents live in, on May 18th and for the first time in my entire life, had lived an existence without seeing them in person at least 3 times a month. Judge me as you will, but I had always found it important to visit at least once a week when I could. Just to eat dinner and catch up on the latest in their lives. I had moved about 6 and a half hours away to Chattanooga, found a job and a place to live. One night, as I lay bed (which really meant my air mattress and sleeping bag) I thought to myself:

You've done it! You wanted to leave and come to a place with more of what you wanted and you did it! You packed up your essentials and journeyed into the unknown and survived! 
I had done exactly that, and in the meantime had paddled some awesome rivers with some great folks, and even solo (Come feel the cool waters of the Tellico ) I had also been able to be completely alone and survive it. I lived on ramen and canned ravioli, I scraped together money for rent, I purchased fuel 5 dollars at a time, I drove around with my windows down to save gas (in Chattanooga, in July....), and I did all of that, and never once did I regret my decision to leave Virginia.

Until I watched Emma, I watched her say goodbye to her father. I listened to my traveling companions share stories and reminisce about fathers and mothers. As we passed through Greensboro on our way home I glanced out the passenger window at Highway 29 north, and a mere two hours up that highway were my parents. Still alive and missing me in such depth and pain. I had avoided calling them, texting occasionally, because I didn't want to be reminded of how much they hurt that I had left. My parents missed me so badly that for weeks they barely left the house and nary said a word at dinner.

I suppose, until that ride home, after Emma had broken through the ice cold barriers to my heart, I had never fully faced the idea that I would be so desperate to see my own parents again. Nobody ever gets younger, and I had suddenly realized what I had thrown away. I am very close to my mother, and my father and I were just starting to develop a relationship really. He worked multiple jobs during my formative years, and after I graduated high school, I just couldn't be bothered to be around. Once my divorce happened and in some time just before, I began to reach to my father to go paddling. He enjoys his kayak and I enjoy time spent on the water, talking about the river and the mountains and just getting away from the work week with him.

I had walked away from this, which is not something you get a second chance at, ever. Upon returning to Chattanooga, and in turn to the meager room I rented, I lay upon my bed (a hand me down from another tennant which I only had for a week) and wept. I couldn't stay, I knew I had to go home. I could not remove from my head the idea that my parents would leave me before I go to see them again. I began packing my belongings back into my truck. The folks living in the house began gathering, asking me what was going on and all I could say was I needed to go home. Then I did.

Full circle. I left Lynchburg and headed north to Fayetteville, Wva in May, and when I returned it was from the south. I have no regrets, and upon returning to town and beginning a job search, found myself getting a lot of paddling in. James River, New River, Nantahala River, and finally a year after declaring it my ultimate goal, I had my first descent of the Lower Gauley, at Gauley Fest (more to come on that weekend as I get time). A job came my way, a dream of a job. I was rehired at my last place of employ in a different, much more comfortable and lower stress department. Life was looking great. I had collected some new people into my life, one in particular has made a huge impact and She knows that.

She met me broke, tired, lost, but happy. Accepted that my situation was but temporary, and we moved on. I had a job for about a month, and was unceremoniously let go. It wasn't a performance issue, or a personal issue. It was strictly political, and I don't politic well (at all). I was fired November 17th, and I sit here typing  on November 19th. The past day and half a dark tunnel of timelessness and self loathing. How could I have come so far from May until now? Just when things start to fall into place and I start to climb the hill of debt I have, I just slide right back down?

I drove today through a messy rain storm with cloudy skies of dark grey and purple hues. As if the weather took on my mood and followed me around like a cartoon character having an unlucky day. I rounded a corner and the clouds cleared and this crystal blue sky emerged. Azure and clear and clean and sharp. The sun beaming down through the window instantly warmed the truck and I rolled my window down, turning off the heat which had been blowing warm air. My elbow hanging outside the window and fresh warm air, carrying the scent of the rain whispered in to me.

"You did it once before, you will do it again"

And I will. I know I will.

Life is short, life is finite, but do you know what?

My life, right now, is pretty damned good, and I'm not done having fun yet.

See you all on the river.