Live Life

It’s been a very long time, since I’ve put any words down.  But, that doesn’t mean the mind isn’t constantly flooded with thoughts about life—the most random an unrelated things. I think about where I’m at in my life and where I’ve been.  And, the future hangs closely and vividly in my dreams and has for what seems like most of my life.

The overriding image is of mountains—with abundant trees, crisp morning air, cold pre-dusk, blue skies during a clear late afternoon, the occasional damp, musty smell of freshly fallen leaves, floating crystals of snow drifting through the air in the low-angled sunlight of a new day, the crunch of old snow, the increasing tension that flows into the foot as one walks across snow and it compacts.  The thoughts never cease and become more prominent and frequent as the years pass by

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A home surrounded by mountains with an east facing kitchen to catch the first bright rays of sunshine each morning.  A west facing porch to enjoy the fading light of each day as the last light of the day creates a silhouette of the mountain ridges.  Simply, a place to enjoy each day of life, to be enjoyed as slowly as a dripping faucet can fill an ocean.

These images have been etched into my mind over a lifetime as a chisel does to granite.

In my garage sit two large plastic tubs with climbing and backpacking gear.  Each time I open them up, the smells and the feel of each item take me to all the places traveled.  And, I’m going there again, soon, this time with my Son.  And, not a day goes by without the thoughts of being back in the wilderness fills my mind.

As I grew up, the prominent experiences were associated with vacations, whether it was with my Grandparents or my Mom.   I cannot recall one birthday gift after all of these years, but I can vividly recall every trip taken—experiences…

A few years ago, I made a commitment to myself to create a similar tradition with my Son.  We’ve backpacked together, ridden roller coasters, spent countless hours each day on the broad interstates and desolate state highways towards our next destination, and stood in the bottom of the Grand Canyon as I witnessed my Son’s desire to “touch the water” of the icy, cold waters of the Colorado River as the long-angled sun cast yellow and orange hues of light in every direction.  And, when asked about one particular trip where we traveled through New Mexico, Arizona, and Colorado, he declares his favorite night was under a canopy of stars at 10,000 feet eating his first smores by a campfire—not in a hotel room.

Often, I mention how connected I feel to my own mortality.  Yes, it’s a morbid thought and I pray almost daily for the opportunity to endure another lifetime.  I’ve read that until a person has surrendered themselves to that simplistic, final outcome, one cannot, truly, begin to live.  Some refer to it as an awakening.  I prefer to just describe it no longer being asleep as many unfortunate souls tend to be blissfully unaware.  I feel more alive than ever.

And, those memories, those experiences created with my Son?  They’re more for him than for me.  Something for him to, hopefully, recall and reminisce when he has his own children and I no longer with him in this physical world.  Memories that no one can ever take from a person, but ones that keep us close to those we love. 

First few seconds...