I hear Caleb return from the peak, and we begin to chat. Through my tent of course, with me being incapacitated and all. He’s from Maine, locked in the midst of a trip very similar to mine. He’s been on the road for for nearly two months already, traveling down the east coast all the way to Key West taking his time along the way. He quickly realized that Key West is expensive in almost every respect and didn’t stay long. Turning west when he reached the Florida panhandle, he mentioned that Alabama and Mississippi were a lot prettier than he anticipated. He got stranded in Austin, TX for a week or so because of a blown clutch, but it’s a college town and he knew some people there so it wasn't a terrible place to be stuck.
I replay my trip thus far for him and we eventually come to the question of why this is what we’ve chosen to do with our time. Not particularly surprising, our reasons are more similar than they are different. It was basically try this, or be stuck in the same place forever, and neither of us wanted that. Both of us are weary about putting down roots anywhere for fear of never getting out. Caleb has quite a bit more of experience than I do at this point so I listen to him intently. “Really makes you realize the people and things that matter to you,” he says, referencing his trip and being away. “And it really makes it special when you get to see those things and people again.” I can understand that, and he agrees with my “it gives you time to miss them” comment.
The two months that have passed, coupled with the $1000 he had to drop on a new clutch has him nearing the bottom of his pockets. He’s been sending applications and making calls to different seasonal positions. Tour guide, or hiking instructor, things like that in hopes of avoiding returning to Maine with his tail between his legs. I tell him that even if he does end up back in Maine, at least you did it. You took the plunge, followed your gut, did what YOU wanted to do and that’s what matters. If anyone gives you shit upon your return, it’s because they're jealous that they didn't have the balls to do what you did… so fuck em. You might end up in the same place geographically, and everything might seem the same but YOU’RE not. You’re richer in experience and self-awareness. You’ve learned, and grown, and evolved and isn’t that the whole fucking point, not only of this trip but of life in general? Maybe it’s not and I’ve got it all backwards, but for me, the point is most definitely NOT to preform the same repetitive tasks day after day just to collect a check at the end of the week. Most of which disappears shortly after you receive it, just to fund the same cycle for the next week. That’s not a life that I want any part of.
Sometimes I wish it were easier for me to take my own advice, that I was as passionate and cocksure about the decisions that I, myself make; but that is to the case. I could spend all day telling Caleb what a badass he is for giving the naysayers the finger and just taking off. I could remind him that the world is changing and the trajectory of life is not the same as it used to be. People no longer work for the same company for 30 years, receive their retirement plan, and then move to Florida to live out their days in warmth and comfort. I could label Caleb a modern day pioneer, a trailblazer for a new generation whose dreams and priorities are of a different caliber than those of the past. Not better or worse, just different. I could tell him these things with passion and conviction and stand behind every word with every ounce of everything that I am; but similar notions about myself never seem to ring true. To myself I come across as either a coward, staying on the move to avoid ever committing to anything; or as a silly idealist, too naive to understand the ways of the world. I hope I’m neither of these things, but the possibility that I’m both of them is strong. I’m just too close to the situation to see it clearly.
After my little tirade Caleb wants to know what my plans are for after my trip. I tell him that since my trip is still in its infancy, I’m not even thinking about that yet which is as close to the exact opposite of the truth as one can get. The truth is, I really have no idea what I’m going to do afterwards and not only do I think about it, I obsess over it…constantly. I like to think that the only time that really matters is right now, the past is already over and the future is yet to be determined so just enjoy yourself now. Easier said than done.
The future is a scary thought for everyone I think. You can try to control it, but nothing’s for certain. It’s even more nerve-racking for someone who, at the age of 26 had to be split open like a frog in a high school science class and then speckled back together like some daytime TV DIY project. Suffering from heart issues at such a young age, one can’t help but feel that one is not long for this world. So when asked what I’m going to do after my trip, a little twinge of fear invariably rises up from that pit in your stomach. The one you try to keep a lid on as often you can, but every once in a while that fear slips around your defenses when your guard is down and spreads through your chest. Your senses dull and your vision tunnels and you can’t avoid it. You’ve got nowhere to go except face to face with your own mortality. What am I going to do after my trip? Realistically, there might not be an after, this could be a last hurrah for me; and the threat of no future is much scarier than any that even the best storytellers could come up with. I choose not to mention this part to Caleb and I believe we both feel better because of it.
No comments:
Post a Comment