Summer has pretty much wrapped up at this point, I think that realization hit me right about the same time I took an ice-cold wave to the face kayaking this afternoon, but it also could have been the 35-degree gust that dried me off shortly after. The consequence of that realization set in on the drive home from the river, when I stopped thinking about the lines I wanted to run and the feel of the boat underneath me.
We made it through the summer of the COVID. I was fortunate; the only things I lost were my travel plans and some work. I know many dealt with much more challenging circumstances, but the end of this crazy summer is making me realize how much good came mixed into the overwhelming bad around the country and world over the last eight months.
I had to cancel an expedition I had been planning for over a year, but as a result, I spent the summer exploring the Pacific Northwest, one of the coolest places there is! I couldn't work in the Northwest Passage, which allowed me time to play with my niece. My plans to spend time in Costa Rica got axed, and I am sure I avoided some horrible sunburns.
My grand plans would have led to wild stories, and I am disappointed I have lost those opportunities. Alternatively, my lack of projects allowed me the flexibility to form special memories. Which I think are more important than cool stories in the long run. I think people feel a nagging sense that we have to be doing radical things all day, every day. Social media perpetuates that sensation, but I can tell you it is exhausting to be on the road exploring all of the time. After a long trip, I regularly crash for a whole week before feeling physically or mentally prepared to do much of anything. It is probably a better use of our energy to enjoy the simple moments.
One and a half-year-old humans are just about as coordinated as a dizzy sloth. Although, for my niece, a single dirt-covered rock out of a drainage ditch is more thrilling than almost anything. I'm jealous. It's easy to fall victim to the HD screen with speakers and an unlimited amount of content that sits in my pocket most days. Still, when I think about it, I would rather sit on the sidewalk with the cold, slightly damp concrete soaking into my pants, the sound of the wind in the trees, and some dirt under my fingernails from digging for the smoothest stone.
I thought this before. For some reason, I feel like I am not allowed to just play outside for the sake of playing outside. I need to be kayaking, hiking, shooting photos, or biking. These activities are socially acceptable reasons to be outdoors. I don't know what age it stopped being ok to go outside for no reason. Maybe it was more of a cultural shift, but I suspect I am not the only one who wants some old fashion play. This summer gave me a chance to try that a bit.
The other day, I woke up earlier than I wanted and started spiraling down an outrageous series of news stories about elections, protests, pandemics, and the consequences of our fossil fuel consumption. Though each is very important, not even Atlas could carry the weight of everything happening right now. I decided to give in to the urge to move I get when I am stressed out, excited, or just a bit antsy. At this point, it was about 5:45 in the morning, so tied on my favorite Altra running shoes and went out the door. After the first mile or so of pounding out my frustration, I started to feel lighter. There were still no cars on the roads or people on the trails, and I slowly transitioned from running to a combination of skipping, spins, and slides while singing all the words to "Smooth Criminal" I could remember. I only stopped to watch some deer bipedally stagger around a fenced apple tree to reach the goods. It was way more fun than just running for exercise, but I am sure the few people that saw me thought I was straight-up nuts.
Early in the summer, I was concerned I would not be able to get out kayaking as much as I wanted to while trying to maintain any semblance of social distancing. Kayaking is much more of a team sport than most people imagine. When things are going well, everyone paddles their boat. If not, it's all hands on deck. Consequently, paddling in a group is much safer, and I rarely paddle any noteworthy whitewater by myself.
Unwilling to go full lunatic and play outside without an activity to normalize it, I bought a mountain bike. Biking is not particularly new for me, and I feel safer riding alone than paddling alone. I like how biking challenges me physically and gives me a new set of biomechanics to nerd out about, but my favorite thing is the contrast going up and down. Climbing, I slowly progress with my lungs burning. I feel like time is standing still, and I can think clearly about anything. Mountain bike trails are often built off of logging roads in the northwest, so I regularly think about land management. I am conflicted when I think about lumber. I know it is a vital resource for sheltering people and maintaining our infrastructure. Still, If you have ever walked through the type of old-growth forests that once covered this part of the country, you can only feel sad comparing it to the mess of rotting stumps left behind after the trees reach their economic maturity. That feeling is probably part of what pushed me to live in a tiny home.
Downhill is the exact opposite. Everything is so accelerated; I don't feel the burning in my legs or have time to think. On the good days, it just feels like my body is moving all on its own. This flow state is the most relaxing thing in the world. I don't know the real reason, but I like to think I have shut down my cerebrum, and I am instinctively moving through the forest like a wolf. Sometimes I even howl.
This summer, I lost the chance to learn about myself and explore new parts of the world; however, I am starting to think I learned the same lessons I would have while exploring new trails in my home state.
In a world views class I took during my Master's degree, I learned, among other things, life changes can be the catalyst for new lines of thinking. I had hoped a 90-day expedition would be that catalyst, but as it turned out, COVID-19 came to be one of the most significant changes in my life over the past decade. It has certainly changed how I think and what I value.
On a more global scale, I hope this summer of hardship allows our country and world to reevaluate our culture, policies, and priorities moving forward. As an instructor, I find natural consequences are a far better teacher than me. I can tell a student to put on a rain jacket, but three days of wet clothes will make sure they stay dry in the next storm. Likewise, I think the coronavirus might be a kick in the butt we all needed to see just how flawed our healthcare system is and just how broken our politics are. To see just how much fresh air can benefit our physical and mental health and how human actions can negatively affect the global system. I hope we are all able to find some good that came out of this summer. We have undoubtedly all sacrificed this summer. However, we are left with an opportunity to pivot in a direction for a better future.
Let's start by getting that creepy pumpkin out of office. Then we can reach out to the thousands of people unemployed to develop new sustainable jobs that value social and environmental justice over power and greed. Then, maybe we can all go play outside.
