If April Showers Bring May Flowers

Then what do May Showers Bring after all the flowers have been drowned?  I know, do you? No?  It brings misery, that’s what May Showers bring . . . MISERY.   It has been raining for so many days now that I have simply lost count.  I feel a vague yearning to gather some animals and build an Ark.  Of course if Noah had started this late in the game all would have been lost.  What can I say . . . I’m lazy.  Though I don’t remember heavy rains being a particular problem last year, I do recall the change in daylight.  It doesn’t get dark till somewhere on the order of 10 p.m.  When paired with the incessant deadfall of rain, this fact does nothing but exacerbate the natural effects of my undiagnosed seasonal affective disorder.  The rainy retreat has given me even more time alone with my thoughts than usual.  Not always such a bad place to be.  Just today, however, the weather has turned back to the favorable and yet here I sit rattling away on the aging keyboard of my trusty Sony laptop.  In secret I am hoping it meets and untimely end so I can upgrade to an Apple machine, but I don’t think my wife will buy the excuse that it “accidently” fell off the table.  As I sit down and reflect over the past several weeks, it seems more appropriate that I should title this post “June Flowers”.  I feel as though just last night the puzzle pieces that are my life began to take shape and June promises to be a beginning, not just of the warmer summer months, but the start of the first few paragraphs in the next chapter in a story that is probably half written, but only a quarter told.  This is all beginning to have the trappings of a midlife crisis of sorts.  If I suddenly opt for hair plugs and an opulent sports car you will know the truth of the matter.  I would like to think that this is something more.  A turning point . . . an awakening.

If I were to place titles on each segment of my life, I would entitle the first 36 years (essentially from birth to just about a year ago) as “Lost”.  I have spent half a lifetime simply going through the motions.  No thought was truly given to its direction.  I was following a path because it seemed the only one within view, and yes, it was the social norm.  Attempting to grind out an unfulfilling career and settling down into a deep rut from which the only escape would be retirement and a less than dramatic death in some senior citizen club somewhere in Florida maybe.  Though I still think a warm climate would be ideal for the golden years, the map may have shifted a bit as has my perception of the silver haired man I will become (figure of speech obviously as at present I have no hair at all and absent joining the hairclub in coming weeks when all this enlightenment wears off, I am likely to stay that way for the remainder of my days).  The truth is, there is only one hope for the thoughtless . . . luck.  I have been lucky in ways I can’t possibly describe and most of that luck falls upon the auburn covered head of my lovely wife.  Lucky in love as they say . . . Indeed.  She has given me two wonderfully beautiful children, loads of hopeful encouragement and most of all . . . TIME.  It is that last that has perhaps saved my life.  I think she knew before I did that I needed time to sort some shit out.  So here we are, ass deep in an adventure we are hopeful to find our way out of in the near future having taken stock of all things exotic and finding the simple bliss the place we call home.  For me, however, the adventure has just begun.

You see, this past year and the year that lies ahead have opened a door.  And though this may be the shortest chapter my unwritten biography, it will likely prove to be the most important.  I would have to entitle this small but meaningful portion “The Manhunt” for I am looking for this man, a man I knew existed only in fragmented glimpses . . . the man I am meant to be.  It seems as though I have found him, and now he has a shit load of questions to answer like “Where have you been for the last 36 years?” “Lost” seems to be his only response.  So now we embark into an unwritten section that I will entitle “Found”, he and I.  We have a new career path, though we don’t know where that will lead.  Along side that career we seem to have been bitten by some kind of strange bug.  We have discovered a secondary calling if you will.  The first was simple enough to digest.  Writing as a career choice is simply a matter of taking stock in that which you love to do and for once having the courage to shake free from convention and chase it down like a tribesman running down wild game.  The second part is a bit more elusive and less certain.  I hope one day to have it etched on my grave stone . . . “Writer and ADVENTURER”.  To be honest, aside from possibly finding a deeper meaning to life which is reason enough, the upcoming trip to Santiago De Compostella is starting to make more sense than ever and I am now longing for its approach like a child yearns for Christmas.  Until now, I had almost been dreading it, and for good reason too.  Without knowing the reason for my compulsion I could only focus on the sacrifice.  I know without doubt that leaving my family (namely that final good bye when I hug the kids tightly and kiss the wife one final lingering time) for an entire month is going to rip my guts apart.  Yet now, there is an element of joyful anticipation attached to its rapid approach.  It is the anticipation that I think all those preparing for a long journey into unknown waters has faced over the course of history and it all makes way too much sense to me now.  I share a thirst with them now . . . a kindred spirit that I didn’t even realize I was missing.  Don’t misunderstand, I have a fair bit of responsibility that keeps me anchored in the harbor and I am unlikely to wildly set sale and wander the planet in search of formidable seas and a lifetime of adventure.  After all, I have a fair bit of adventure right here at home.

To be honest, “anchor” is an unfavorable term to what keeps me tied tightly to my wife and children.  They are more like those that tend the lines of a hot air balloon.  They keep me from drifting off before I am ready to fly.  They wish me well and know that the wind will forever blow me back in their direction.  Sure, some flights may take me a month while others may end in an afternoon.  They know that whenever I go, there will always be space for them in the basket and if they don’t choose the come along, they can rest easy knowing that the weather isn't often favorable for ballooning.  Even on those days when the wind is right and weather fair, I am likely to stay with them at ground level.  That being said, I am confident that they will tend the lines and even encourage me to journey when the time is right just as they are now in the face of a very busy Fall.  So now, with my maiden voyage yet to even leave port, I am eagerly planning the next.  In a recent email sent to an old friend I offered the following:

“. . . I am finishing up a book that put me in mind of  you and I and it got me thinking.  I think after I get back to the States for good it is high time we seek out an adventure together.  Not some random weekender but an epic, life changing siege.  Maybe on motorcycle or maybe on foot . . . maybe a coast to coast ride?  Maybe a ride through Central and South America?  What do you think old friend?  You up for something like that?  I have quite a list of shit that I am bound and determined to check off the list before I die.  Maybe a pilgrimage to Rome, Hike the Pacific Crest Trail, oh . . . maybe we buy a boat and go on a sailing expedition, no wait . . . ever wanted to see the north of south pole?  Shit . . . dog sledding! . . . “

I suppose this could be referred to as my “bucket list” so to speak, and while it was an earnest invitation to an old friend it was also a promise and invitation to myself.  I suppose it all sounds a bit mad when looking at it with fresh eyes, but that hasn’t really quelled my resolve.  I plan to do these things and bring you all along with me as I write.  I am dabbling with a bit of fiction for the novelty of it, but adventure writing is where my heart lies and I feel strangely that the adventure that I am writing about now is coming to an end.  I have made my discoveries and shared this part of the story.  If I am honest with myself, I have but a few of these entries left in me before September which is where I will call this quits for good.

I admit that my retirement from this project has been a bit Michael Jordanesque but it has to end sometime.  Rest easy knowing that I will be back soon enough with a new blog or perhaps a book if I am lucky enough to publish.  What really would suit me would be a series of magazine essays or a newspaper column, so if you know anyone in the editorial field, put in a good word for me.  Stay tuned . . . R.