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Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Crazy.

Over the past few weeks, I've been working really hard to get situated in this van experiment. I've rented a place, although it looks like as a result of the tumultuous economic times, I will be looking for a new one... the property owners are selling the house (and driveway). It's no big deal for me. There are always Walmarts and dark alleys and friends' houses. It's just funny how the trickle down effect seems to pour down or flash flood down when it's negative, but when it's positive, there seems to be a great levee in place to keep it all contained higher up.

Over a week ago, I visited my friend Todd, and we talked briefly about the crisis. Todd lives off the grid. He has a modest cabin with solar power, well water, a septic system, and a garden. He lives 15 miles from the closest town, a modest city of 6,000 people. In his words, this economic crisis is a big game that people are tying to convince us we're losing but that he (as well as I) do not play. He's not invested. I'm only marginally invested. He and I aren't taking the hits that others are. He and I didn't buy the house that we should have known we couldn't afford. We didn't make the mistakes that people all over the economic scale, rich and poor, have made and are now suffering for.

But yet people are still suffering. I could be insensitive and purely to-each-their-own and say that everyone who is now paying for this deserves to be. However, I think that a majority of the people losing houses are simply uneducated. That's not completely their fault. It's crappy that the people going through this trauma are the ones who haven't been taught how to balance a checkbook, haven't been raised to appreciate hard work.

More thoughts to come... (I'm on a break at work.)

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

REPLAY: Peace through hardship...

I wrote this on July 1st on the heels of a weird dream.

How does one truly know peace? What is peace? Is peace absolute or relative?

Before I think about addressing these questions, let me relate a dream I had last night. I dreamed it was winter. The days were short, and it was dark early. I was in Salida, visiting my parents at their house, and it was snowy outside. Growing up in that house, I expected it to be comfortable, cozy, and inviting, and instead I found it to be nearly vacant, save a few old chairs and some candles. I saw my Mom wrapped in a blanket. It was cold inside. "What happened to the furniture?" I asked? She looked sad and told me Dad had let people come and take it.

I woke up groggy, and it was hard for me to face the day. I suppose there are a couple of ways I could go with this, different lessons to learn from this dream. I guess one could be to vow not to let that happen to my family, to work hard, hard enough to do my best to ensure that, no matter how bad things get economically, politically, environmentally, that my parents will not be stuck in a cold and empty house. But I choose to learn a different lesson.

I feel that the only choice that will ensure happiness in this instance is to know that, no matter what, I will love my family, and that love, despite the hardships, the cold, the grief and sorrow... that being at peace with the difficulties that lie beyond our realm of control, that this is what will ultimately save us.

What a terribly wondrous lesson to learn. What a big and hard thing to even begin to understand. Throughout histories (both mythical and factual, and the fuzzy lines in between), we see figures and stories involving characters who learned this lesson, or at least began to at the end of their lives.

My question and challenge in this brief blog is to ask, then, why it is so hard for us, the majority of us, to accept our own fates, to be content with the things we have, and to pursue the things that will make us truly happier, in spite of money and stuff and status and popularity? You like being outside? Go outside! It's much easier than you would believe. There are many illusions that both we and the rest of the world create as roadblocks to keep us from achieving our goals, but it's really a matter of how badly you believe in your own happiness.

I don't know where this all came from, but I thought I would throw it out here before I forgot.

North Table Mountain

Yesterday, after work, Ryan and I jetted up to North Table Mountain, just northeast of Golden, to hit what we hoped to be a couple of quick routes. It was a very cold day. The high temp didn't break 50. That's alright. There wasn't any wind and the sun was shining bright all day. The temperature was just a hangover from the autumn weekend of drizzle and fog.

We drove up these very hilly Golden streets to the trailhead. Ryan told me that the Access Fund owns and maintains the trail, which is extraordinary to us climbers. A climbing community maintaining a trail for climbers! That's awesome!

I parked, and we started our quick scramble up the hill to the rock. About halfway up, I stopped to snag a quick picture of the Coors brewery. I love Colorado. Mountains and beer. What else do you need, really?

As we got to the rock itself, the sun was already starting to set, and time was limited, so we did one quick route, and then got back to the Wagon before dark. A quick scramble, to be sure, but it was a great time.

Monday, October 13, 2008

The Foggy Adventure

Monkey and I had planned to meet at 9:30, but I was running a little late. There was something so comforting about cozy cuddling and staying in bed that I could have laid there, awake, for hours and hours and not shown a hint of discontent. Sigh... the cold autumn fog was calling, and I had to pick up the phone.


I got to Monkey's around 9:45, and we left for our destination, Mt. Falcon Park, a Jefferson County Open Space. The weather the whole way up was foggy and wet, but no matter. It was still a stellar trip.

We got to the park around 10:30 and began our hike into a creep and surreal wilderness. I say wilderness loosely: I've been here once before and it was very crowded, but this time, the sissies stayed home, and the occasional mountain biker or jogger would appear out of the fog and politely pass us.

Monkey and I checked out the ruins of the old house built up there, and then we walked up to the Eagle Eye viewing station, and the view of a sea of white was very humbling. One could only imagine what it would look like on a clear day. My guess is that you could see all the way to Denver.

We found our way through the fog back to the car, and left around noon for the Bucksnort Saloon. Monkey had spoken about this place before, and now it was time to check it out. We drove through Conifer and down to Shaffer's Crossing, turned left, and went down a very small road towards pine. Six and a half miles later, we happened accross this century year old wood building called the Bucksnort.

This Saloon was a sweet gem of old times. The floor boards were wood and had holes in them. The tables were covered with etched graffiti. The walls had dollar bills and foreign notes stapled to them, all personalized with someone's name or something offensive. The bar was tilted a good ten degrees. The service was charming. A sign hung on the wall that said "If you're in a hurry, go to McDonald's." Then the food came.

I had a burger that tasted as home-made as my dad's burgers. Monkey and I had potato skins with guac, bacon, ground beef, red chili... so good. Chips and beans and a cold beer on a cold day. We ate in a dining room with a fire place in the middle, providing the only heat in this relic of a place.

All in all, a great day, we got back in Denver mid-afternoon. I had a story to tell. Monkey had a full belly. It was a foggy adventure.

Thursday, October 9, 2008

Fall

Yesterday, after work, I took a quick jaunt down to Morrison Park to explore this place I'd never been. The foliage was incredible. So close to the city, the park was empty, and when night came, the stars had shown so clearly. I read four or five chapters of Three Cups of Tea, and listened to Bear Creek trickle by, the same creek my mom and uncles would play in, just a few miles upstream in the little town of Idledale. With a heavy sigh and a mild smile, I think to myself, "I love the fall."

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

Economic Woes

It's somewhat disturbing what I'm finding at Walmart parking lots accross the city. You would expect to see RVs there with out-of-state license plates, people taking a break from their cross country treks. However, I've noticed five or six vehicles parked in certain lots that have been there continually. They're random cars with people in them, a Ford Explorer, a Chevy Blazer, a Kia... my guess is that these people aren't travellers, and they're not like me. My guess is that these people have been forced to move into their vehicles as a last ditched effort to not fall into homelessness. I suppose they have jobs but had bad loans and lost everything with the mortgage crisis.

I see this, and I see friends getting laid off. I even hear rumors of it where I work. Scary times. Very scary. I'm thankful I don't feel my stomach rumbling, but we can only hope things will improve.

Monday, October 6, 2008

REPLAY: The Big Step Up

This was from March 30 of this year, one day after I watched "Into the Wild" and found my motivation to do what I'm doing now.

One can debate on how to live his or her life for so long before something happens. Sometimes they acknowledge that the path they have been walking is the right path, they embrace it, move forward, learn, and keep going. Sometimes things happen where one is forced to take a different path, to journey around unforseen obstacles to reach a destination unknown. Sometimes, we choose a third option, to change direction in the middle of the journey, unhappy with the course of our original choices and yearning for a route that will lead us towards a new life or lifestyle.

I sit here, this snowy morning on the last Sunday in March, sit here on the floor in my bathroom with the shower running beside me, and I listen to my music, and I ponder my future. I have a trendy studio apartment in the heart of a trendy city. I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want to pay rent. I don’t want to be stuck in a life where I am tied down to things that aren’t going to inspire me in the future. I think it’s time for the big step up.

Ryan and I are talking about doing Longs Peak and the Grand Teton this summer. I’m going to be pushing myself harder than I ever thought possible. It’s time for the big step up.

The van is running well, and it has plenty of room for a bed and counter space. It’s time. It’s time to shed these chains of lonliness and laziness and ineptitude and take the big step, the one that pushes me to explore and push my body, my mind, and my spirit to new heights of reality. I need to learn. I need to seek. I need to explore. I need to stop trying to understand and just let go of what is tying me down here.

The lease runs out at the end of May. I have an idea of who will take care of miss Harry and give her the best life possible. I have places to shower, places to sleep, places to do laundry, but most importantly, I have places to go. I have places to explore, things to see that I have never seen before. I have a pre-destination of sorts to find what it is that being here in Denver has left me lacking.

I’m sure my best friends, the people that understand me most, understand this desire. I know people like my friend that moved here after moving around the country from places like Saint Louis and Oakland and travels to places like Jamaica, Florida, Hawaii, Mexico will understand. I know people like my friend who moved to a tiny town from Chicago and now is a certified guide in almost every discipline as well as a photographer, artist, and explorer will understand. I’m sure my friend that left the California city life for a life of climbing and exploring this human condition will understand.

The journey begins. The line is drawn here. The steps can only go forward do the destination unknown. It’s time to take the big step up.