Tuesday, October 30, 2012

an un-story

I had the whole day off this past Friday. No work for me. Kids in school.

There were toilets to scrub, sheets to change, money to find, boogers to pick, headlines to ignore, OMG to watch, closets to organize, a fat butt to work off, etc.

Instead, I bagged it all and went for a hike.

Partly to enjoy some quality time with Mr. Sunshine before Sandy/Northern Front started taking away my tan and forcing me to shop for a Canadian Parka (we are not expected to see sun again for at least a week).

Partly because I wanted to avoid all aforementioned tasks.

But. Mostly because I wanted to see all of those crazy salmon again. They just befuddled me (see prior post if confused) and I was in love with their striving.

My instinct was to call a friend to come away with me (cue Norah Jones).

But I don't have any yet.

And instead of feeling sorry for myself, I just went anyway. Okay, yes, I did feel a little sorry for myself. I was all alone. Like a big girl.

Alone. With myself.

And that can be kinda scary sometimes.

Especially when I didn't even know where I was going. And I found myself in this:

And it was lovely and lonely and beautiful and silent. Which combined have a wicked way of forcing their own reflection.

And I made it all the way to the creek (off path, shhhh, don't tell the Mounties) after almost slipping several times (and who will save me, I thought, I am alone.)

If I had taken a friend with me, I would’ve been thinking: Can she MacGyver these hidden and treacherous and slippery ridges like I am? Does she think salmon are silly? Or gross? Or that I am? What was her motive in joining me? How do I make her like me? Should I try to impress her or pretend that I'm humble? When should I tell her about the time I... nevermind.

Likelihood: I would’ve been more concerned with my potential victim/friend’s thoughts than my own. 
No, I’m not trying to claim any Sainthood here. Rather the opposite. I am all too pre-occupied with what everyone else thinks/feels/wants/needs that I rarely take serious time to check in with myself and be kind to myself.

On my hike, I did not actually mind-fuck my imaginary friend-I-wish-I-had like I’m doing here in writing; instead, I concocted an audible voice that told me what I wanted to hear: Keep going. Don’t even look at your watch iphone and go as far up this stream as you want to.

And that vulnerability that I’ve been longing for in another human face, sorta tripped me on my own hike.

Tripped me in a good way.

And what happened then is sacred. 

I tried to describe it to a friend and I couldn't. And she said: (in a way that only a true friend can) "Don't tell. Keep it for yourself."

And that seems selfish to me too. But I'm going to try. Try to fold it between the flaps of my aging brain.

You should have seen it.

But you didn’t.

And that’s okay. I saw it for you too.

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