Spring in the Rockies is a time of magic. The harsh Rockies winter is being cornered by the warming sun, but lashing back with violent avalanches. It is as if it is a final display of power by a proud beast before it recoils into the void, vowing to return again. The creeks are beginning to swell, and on the other end of the scale the rock is beginning to dry. Keeners wade into spring projects, eager to get after it. My psyche has been shot into space, perpetually rising eternally.
The grand is grand.
This inspiration and happiness made the return to the willing participation in the rat race stark. My energy was being drained by work rather than utilized on climbing, and for what? Every answer I could think of felt awkward and difficult to accept, as they all lead to dead ends: Work a crappy job, climb tired in the evenings, pay rent so I can comfortably work a crappy job. My light was being drained, and shone into a room that hid no treasure.
The bland is bland.
Fuck that!
The next week was a flurry of action fuelled by passion. Once freedom is tasted, the soul rejects mediocrity. Once frugality is tasted, the bank account rejects rent. The teal paint of my minivan absorbed the sun like never before, for it knew it was its time to shine. Hutch the minivan realized his potential in the barehands-built shop belonging to my grandfather. Thanks to the generational collaboration of great minds, my ticket to freedom was punched. The process of watching your childhood heroes and biggest fans turn your minivan into your home is a total spectacle. Climbing rocks is really cool, but unconditional love and support is cooler.
 |
| Dream team! |
I pulled my anchor that was the job holding me in emotional backwater, and the current soon swept me downstream with joyful refreshment. On a whim birthed out of the promise of a job interview half drunkenly applied for, my life was packed into eight totes. My internal compass sent me west and I soon embarked on a classic Canadian climbing pilgrimage to the promised land: Squamish. Rod Stewart would have said that "paradise was closed, so I headed to the coast" (in a blissful manner indeed). I disagree. Paradise is wide open, and it is found in the wide open. The Rockies bid me adieu with a sunset for the ages. I looked at the sea of peaks that I so dearly cherish, and thought of the friends that filled the Bow Valley with love. A part of my heart will always be reserved for the people and the peaks of the Rockies. I consulted mentors about the move, and had beers with best friends weighing the privileged options. They pushed me forward, as good friends do, as I hope I do in reciprocation. I smiled as I left the range, knowing that I would be back for many adventures. Soon, everything I knew was in the rearview. The darkness added to the mystique of my standing. I laughed and inhaled joy as the brisk air flew through my short hair. My somehow now wider eyes (how many times can I say "wide eyes" until my eyes are too wide, and my face loses all symmetry?) looked introspectively and plainly at the oxymoronic beauty of my situation. The best way to explain my feelings is through an oddly formatted series of plain statements. Some of them are societally perceived as negative, and my pursuits can be interpreted as contrived. (Climbing rocks is contrived? Since when?) Luckily, I constantly have my fist stereotypically raised against the man and don't give a shit about what you think, unless you completely agree with all my choices and have nothing new to contribute, in which case please reach out and stroke my ego.
The introspection left me with my head out the window and screaming a battlecry against the mundane:
1. You might not even have enough money to get to Squamish.
2. You don't have a job yet.
3. You don't have an address.
4. You've never climbed the style of rock that is in Squamish.
5. You are probably going to suck at it at first.
6. You are making a major life decision based off of a bunch of large pieces of inanimate rock.
6.66. You chose this.
6.9. You chose this! Rad!
7. I think a bug just flew into my mouth.
8. A bug definitely flew into my mouth.
9. I wonder what the protein specs were on that bad boy.
10. Does this mean I'm not a vegetarian anymore?
420. Awesome.
Happiness is a goofy thing.
No comments:
Post a Comment