It's high summer in the land of
Yosemite and I'm aware. The air is soft and woolly, with a fuzzy
feeling when you breathe it. The light of the morning sun is bright
and vivid, but there is a tinge of softness about the edges. The
mornings are cool, the days are heated, and the evenings are a
reprieve from the scorching light and the simmering heat.
The palette of the mountains is soft
yellows, faded greens and dark greens, and grey and grey-blues. It's
accentuated by baby blue skies, earthy brown tree trunks and
wildflowers blooming in purples, oranges and white.
Life is at ease.
There is less time for me to reflect
and build the necessary cache of thoughts, ideas and motivation to
write what it is that I feel.
Regardless, it's time to put what I may
into words and onto digital record.
I live in a beautiful place. I think
that is beyond contest. The beauty has struck me at certain times and
in certain places so suddenly that I ache and experience it on an
emotional level rather than an objective cognitive level.
I often long to photograph what I see,
but as so often is the case, I leave the camera behind.
It has become an impediment to me, and
I would just as soon experience the moment rather than stand on the
outside of it and put it into the rectangular box of my camera's
viewfinder.
However, the ache I feel is often
tinged with a shade of regret for my inability to hold onto what I
see with the power of my camera; the inability to save for savoring
that which is so special, so ephemeral.
Alas, but there is little to be done,
for to carry the camera is not to solve the problem, and to forgo the
camera is freedom but compromise.
I'm tired of complaining. I'm
complaining about complaining. I feel stuck in that rut. I'm
building, building, ever building the motivation, the resolve and the
plan to strike out on a new course. For the last year my life has
been lived in unique stages, each one a precursor to the next, and
each necessary for the progression and transformation that I seek.
August 28, 2011 I quit my job and
sought direction. During that time, I committed to climbing the
hardest boulder I had ever tried, and by September, I had succeeded
(Moonstone, V6). Then, I ventured out to the Utah desert to climb and
live for most of October. There I made new friends, bonded with my
best friends, and learned about a different way of life: the dirtbag
life.
Indeed, not all that I did did I do of
my own design. I was invited, encouraged, or found the opportunity.
What was more key was that from the moment I said “I quit”, I
began to respond to and act on a little flutter in my stomach, a
little beat of my heart—an instinct and a prescience—that I've
long been aware of but only recently been bold enough to trust.
Through the winter I solidified plans,
prepared for spring, and formed new friendships that I hope will have
a lasting power.
I jettisoned the detritus of a ruined
life and prepared afresh the foundation for a better life. That is, I
threw away, sold and donated anything that was not necessary. I
changed my mind toward the want and desire of physical things. Not
wholly or completely, nay, but dramatically and thoughtfully. I
became thoughtful and conscious of my spending, consuming and eating.
Aware I was and aware I am. I don't have any claim to a “best”
way of living, and I don't presume to proselytize what I'm doing.
Here's what I say: I'm happier now than
I was before. I'm more satisfied with my decisions and I'm making
attempts to improve myself as best as I may see fit based on my
circumstances and priorities. Improvement is encouraging and fosters
hope.
Enter Spring, the coming of fresh life
and new hope. I made last preparations and struck out into the the
Utah desert on March 14, 2012. A sea of pink, orange, red, and brown
rock and stone. The sea is a place of unlimited travel opportunities;
you can pilot yourself across the water in any direction you see fit.
And so I felt of this desert, and I feel of all deserts. They are a
sea; vast and of unlimited destinations. You need only be deft enough
a pilot to reach any destination you choose. I feel and felt that the
desert was fitting and a good place to start my journey. Until the
waning of Spring I stayed in the desert, by Canyonlands and Zion. I
traveled to Yosemite and became enveloped in this deep Grand Vale,
surrounded by those grey grey-blue walls and the trees, ever green.
One year (a little less than), and I
have come a long way from the Curtis I used to know.
So many retrospective focused blogs
I've written.
But what about the future?
I've been told about a line of work
generally referred to as Rope Access work. It's a catch all term for
work that requires one of two certifications that are designed to
ensure worker safety while working at height. You can find rope
access work on an oil rig, in a construction site, at a wind turbine
farm, or on the side of a high rise.
It pays well, or at least as well as
what I was being paid as a mid-level employee at my last real job.
The reason this line of work has caught
my fancy is that it doesn't require a permanent location, since the
jobs are typically contract based or remote locations, so you're
transported to the work site, you finish the job, and head home. I
don't plan to have a home. Also, because of this nature—of
contracts and remote locations—there is a lot more equality between
time worked and time off. Working at height and with my hands sounds
preferable to me, so this line of work is as good as any, as far as I
can see.
I'm saving my money earned here to pay
for the certification which is obtained from a company in Reno, NV. I
plan to take the course at the end of the summer/beginning of fall,
if all goes well.
So that's my plan, as good or as bad as
it is. I don't know if it will work out, but I have to work and live
in such a way that I don't feel like I'm wasting time away. Whether
the work is as I believe it to be, or whether I'll ever get that job,
I don't know.
I'll talk about climbing later. It's a
stressor to me right now and I don't have my thoughts ordered well
enough to delve into it.
Also, I know I've repeated myself a
fair number of times, and I'm sorry if I've become monotonous. I'm
aware of it at the least, if I'm not quite able to figure out how to
say something fresh at the most.
Also and additionally, “Girls—all I
really want is girls.” - The Beastie Boys.
