Snow!

Last night, as I slept, a strange sound woke me up. I was groggy, as it was two in the morning, but it sounded like sand being blown against the van. I thought nothing of it. "Just the wind." I fell back asleep and dreamed that I was in a musical that took place in a cabin, where people kept trying to bring stuff into my cabin, and I was singing to them to take the stuff back. My wife in the musical, I called "deer face". It's funny what we dream about sometimes... but I digress.

I woke up this morning, and looked out my window, and I realized as I slowly gained consiousness that I was looking at snow. I survived my first night of sleep in the snow in the BattleWagon! The accumulation wasn't much. Maybe half an inch on the places where it actually stuck. But still, it was a spectacular feeling. I got up, ate my bagel, got dressed for work, and took off, driving away from the sunrise with a feeling of inspiration.

My Personal Legend

I've been reading books and having some experiences that are leading me to believe in Omens and trust in good friends. I'm starting to believe in a Language of the World.

It's weird to sort of flow through life. I've had instances lately where I consider calling an old friend, and then I recieve an email from him. I've had moments where time seems to just slow down, as if it were giving me the opportunity to really take everything in.

Last night, I left Jenny's and went to my favorite Walmart for parking. I had to get a few groceries anyway, and when I was checking out, I spoke to the cashier. He was talking about Proposition 8 in California and how it passed. He was disappointed. I am, too. It was a crushing blow towards equal rights for everyone. Everyone. I comforted this guy, told him that we were taking baby steps. I told him about my beautiful girlfriend, and how we were all taking baby steps together to fight this bigotry and closed-mindedness that will not allow people who are in love to make a statement officially commemorating that love.

As I walked back to the van with my groceries, I helped an old Asian couple load their groceries into their Mercedes and talked to the gentleman about a guy who asked me for change. Apparently, this man has done this for days on end, and I'm just throwing money away by giving him a dollar. I think in the future, I'm going to start handing out the Denver Voice to the homeless, a newspaper for and by the homeless, that will direct them where to go toget food, shelter, and medical attention.

As I fell asleep last night, I considered my evening. I don't know if they're exactly omens or just a series of interesting events, but I'm starting to fall in line with a belief that God is watching us, not with orders, but with baited breath, as a father watches his son grow and take his first steps. I'm starting to believe in a Language of the World.

Realization

I've always wondered how people manage their lives in the wake of monumental changes. It never ceases to amaze me how some people will be stoic and strong after losing a loved one or becomming unable to do the things they are most passionate about. It also stuns me to see how some people will become absolutely destroyed over minor things.

Before taking on the BattleWagon project, I thought that rock climbing was the thing that put this into perspective for me. I had considered that, being on a rock way up off the deck put things into a certain perspective that I couldn't gain anywhere else. When you're thinking of life and death and the things most important to you, you realize that things that aren't important fall by the wayside, that those things become inconsequential.

I challenged myself to live by this mantra. I pushed myself to believe in the sort of un-stated religion of the rock climber, the faith of the hard core, the severe, the extreme, and the gentle acceptance that, someday, death will find me, and that day will come for me sooner than for others in my life.

Recently, though, I moved into my van, and while I feel that rock climbing is a big part of who I am, I realize though the coldest nights so far, that many, many people are living a life more extreme than I. I live in a van with blankets and heat, and I wake up in the morning with a very cold nose. There are people that live with a blanket and no heat, crowded together under a bridge or in an alley, trying to stay warm.

Perhaps the most important difference is that I choose to rock climb. I chose to move into my van. For these other people with lower life expectancies than my own, they do not choose this. They haven't been educated to find their path in life. They haven't been taught the value of hard work. Or they have, and they can't do it. They lack the mental stability or the physical prowess to do the work that needs to be done.

I guess the point I'm trying to make living in this van, at least for me, is that while I don't need much to survive, there are comforts that I still take for granted. I have friends that will let me take showers at their places. I have a job. I have health insurance at my disposal. I can afford to take my van places that I haven't seen before, to take it and visit my family 150 miles away.

We'll see how this thing turns out. It's not yet an exercise in futility, but it is an exercise in patience and understanding.

Catching Up

This last couple of weeks have been a landslide of work and tooling around and everything else under the sun.

Last weekend, I worked on Saturday and Sunday to catch Bob and me up with our painting job. I got started early in the morning, and I captured some beautiful "city clouds" marking the sunrise of the day to come. I love the sunrise. For some reason, it's like spring to me. It's like a re-birth to face the day, a fresh start. While working, I got to drive this huge International bucket truck. That was fun! I thought maybe I was in over my head, but this thing rode smooth like fine, German sports car.

I also made some stickers and business cards to advertise my website. They're prototypes, and I'm sure some better designs will come in the future, but for now, it'll have to do.

Dan and I found an escape and tore up to Mount Sanitas park just west of Boulder for some, well, bouldering. It was actually a pretty lax day as far as climbing goes. We sent a few problems that we've sent before, tried a couple new ones, and made friends with a couple, the guy from Westminster, the girl from San Francisco, both trying the ultra mega dyno problem that we've had so much fun with in the past. The dude nailed it, but I think the girl was frazzled. No worries, though. Just afterwards, though, Dan and I sent our Sharma-wannabe problem and just hung out on the top of the ridgeline, watching the shadows from the flatirons get longer and longer over boulder as the fall sun set. It was pretty neat. We cracked jokes. I'm sure Ryan would have been annoyed, but we just hung out like a couple of guys. It was a chill day.

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.)

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.