Muscle Beach

Gone are the mountains. Here am I now confronted by seas; of people, of oceans, of cars and buildings. I'm in Los Angeles.

This is a new experience, yet not wholly unfamiliar.

The ocean is the western border. From its vast emptiness in the offing to the shore and beyond toward the east, there is an exponential build up. As one were to run in from the sea to the city, you would be challenged first by the throngs of people on the beach, then the homes and hotels that stand shoulder to shoulder, all held back by an invisible border. Then there are the roads and highways. The Pacific Coast Highway, #1, and more after. Beyond and further comes the urban sprawl and then the commercial buildings and in some places instead of all the aforementioned, you'll find the industrial sites of shipping and oil.

Oh, L.A., you are dirty, and you are mixed up, but you're not altogether a lost cause. For let us not forget the the reason your soil has become burdened with millions of people and their assorted handiwork.

L.A. Sits between low lying mountains and the coast. It is an oasis, a place of temperate weather and easily navigable terrain between the daunting yet open ocean, and a craggy desert lying beyond and back east. L.A. is a port, a hub and because of the confluence of these factors, it has life.

There are people who are truly alive in this city. It is not a city full of walking dead or anthropomorphic robots, no! Instead, I have found a vibrant group of people on the Santa Monica beach, soaking up sunshine and displaying tremendous dedication to bettering their bodies and talents. It seems that there is here a capital that one would not and does not find in every other place in the world. Here, there is a currency of beauty, and it is bought with time and perspiration, but also with joy and fervency. This is not the toil of the industrialized gym and weight room I have seen before.

And there is more than that, people here that carry beauty in talent—those that have taken their passion and brought it to public forums. Street performers dance, sing, and play. Crowds gather and disperse. There is a regular rhythm to the days. There is a pulse. The city is alive.

I drove down to L.A. after spending a week in Yosemite sans job. During that time I did little, thought much, and waited patiently. I spent my nights in a cave just outside one of the villages, my days sleeping inside to hide from oppressive heat. I did get to spend some time with my friends, and I particularly enjoyed baking pizza and hanging out with Cheyne and Jess. I'll miss you guys.

The next leg of my journey was a drive down the eastern side of the Sierra range. I do enjoy that area very much. It holds immense beauty. The type of beauty that is aesthetic but slightly threatening (I hope you know what I mean).

My coworker, Kathy, had injured her shoulder and needed someone to help her drive, so I had a [driver's] seat in her car. She's from New York, but her parents live in Huntington Beach, a city in Orange County, at the southern edge of L.A. County. Her parent's home was filled up with visiting family, a product of unfortunate timing in my case.

I had sold my bike in Yosemite, and I decided I needed another bike in order to get around the city.

Then I had the idea of getting out and seeing the city from the saddle of my bike. So, the day after I arrived, I bought a bike and set off to ride the coast of L.A.

I didn't know how far the distance nor how long it would take, but I intended to spend 2 to 3 days on the journey. I set out on Thursday, August 17^th.

The coast (from Sunset Beach, north to Will Rogers Beach) is a mere 60 mile stretch of land, however I took 2 days to complete the journey, riding at a leisurely pace and making frequent stops for photo ops and dining and sight seeing, as well, on the second day I doubled back over some of the ground I had covered in order to make it back to Santa Monica Beach. Ah, Santa Monica Beach, the original home of “Muscle Beach”, that place of energy and vigor that rests peacefully between the chaos of Santa Monica Pier and corrupt Venice Beach.

I checked out Rockreation, an indoor climbing gym (nothing as great as any of the gyms in Phoenix, alas), and I saw a couple movies. I spent three nights in Santa Monica. I slept “on the streets”; beside derelict buildings, in a cemetery, and in bushes. The trick is to go to bed late enough that no one witnesses you bedding down, and all normal business hours are over. Then I wake up at 5:30, about 15 minutes before sunrise and vacate wherever I have been sleeping. Again, the trick is to pick a place with traditional business hours, sleep in-between them, and lastly, to make sure you're as far removed from sight as possible, keeping in mind that darkness is your best friend (which is part of the reason for leaving before dawn). Basic fieldcraft also dictates you vary your location and ingress/egress as well as maintaining noise and light discipline.
Because I have a little bit of money left, this was all a game and quite fun for me, but true homelessness is no joke and the lack of security and the social stigma can weigh quite heavily and I don't envy anyone who winds up in the same circumstances unwillingly.

Life can be harsh and it's easy for me to see where I'll end up if the bottom drops out and I can't find a job. Partly this is why I practice these techniques; so that I will have survival skills.

I wax romantic on Santa Monica Beach because I have strong feelings for that place.

There you can find an outdoor gym the likes of which I've seen nowhere else. And indeed, I've heard it said that you can find some of the apparatus nowhere else in the world, save New York, but that only being a shadow of the Platonic Form that is “Muscle Beach”.

Let me take you there.

The sun is lighting up the flaxen sand like a nuclear bomb. It's warm in the sun and cool in the shade and there's always a sea breeze to damp the heat. The warm sand insulates your feet and there before you are looming grey steel scaffolds, about 30 feet tall that dangle chains with swings or steel rings on their ends.

There a structure 35 feet tall bears flying gymnastic rings. And people are using them!

Indeed, this is a place of activity, not the impotent dream of an urban planner.

Men and women, boys and girls are playing and toiling on the apparatus. Some are performing feats of strength or skill that evidence their commitment to this place and demonstrate that this is a discipline, not a mere exercise routine. Others are obviously neophytes getting their first taste.

There are parallel bars, uneven bars, ropes (for rope climbing), still rings and pull-up bars. In the evenings, the people come and there are slacklines set up between the steel pillars. One night I was there and 3 slacklines were set up to intersect at a floating point, that is to say, a typical slackline is anchored to an immovable point on either end, but this setup only had 3 fixed anchors, in a roughly splayed array and they met and were anchored to a ring in the center. When tensioned, this formed a floating point and allowed 3 people (or more!) to walk the lines simultaneously and meet in the middle, floating above the sand. It was really fun, and kind of mind blowing.

Then there are “the rings”—the crown jewel of Muscle Beach. These are found only here and an older substandard version can be found somewhere in New York.

Five large 'n' shaped hoops are 30 feet tall and a beam runs down the middle from which hang 10 chains with steel rings on their ends. The chains are spaced about 6 feet apart and are suspended from the sand 8 to 10 feet from the ground (the ground slopes away toward the water). The simple means of movement is to swing from ring to ring similar to monkey bars, but the beauty lies in how one can create arcs and spin on the free swiveling rings to create a balletic movement that is graceful and strong and something a little short of fully controlled by gravity.

There is also a square sward that is primarily used by yogis performing acro-yoga, juggling, and fire spinning (more accurately, the LED powered substitute to fire spinning). That is the practice of spinning a baton with both ends on fire, or two meter-long lengths of chain that hold a sort of torch at the ends and are spun in rhythmic, somewhat mystifying arcs.  Real fire is rarely used in state parks or heavily policed areas such as this beach, so the substitute is an LED powered globe of light that typically changes colors, instead of a torch.

Sometimes there is live music, and during the summer there is a DJ on Sundays.

This place is really vibrant. Muscle Beach is between a pedestrian path and a bicycle path, and right next to Santa Monica Pier (which is like a small county fair with a roller coaster, Ferris wheel, and other games). It can be pretty busy, and the constant passage of people from the paths to the beach beyond means there's a steady stream of gawkers and photographers and just plain curious folk that are trying things out, asking questions, and applauding the occasional performance of a tour de force.

It is this place that is calling me.

I want to move to Santa Monica. I want to be part of this scene for a little while, until the curtain is called and it's time for me to move on. But will I move on? Could I stay here?

I've told everyone I've talked to about this place, and about the woman I met there that has captivated my thoughts. I'm confused but for now I want to win her heart. I've only had a short conversation with her but unlike my experience with many women, it has left me wanting more. You'll think me a pessimist if you're a pessimist, and a realist—at best—if you're an optimist, but I have to at least find out if she's as good as she seems or if (as I am wont to suspect) she is not all that.

I'm looking for work here. I need money, I don't have enough for the rope access certification, and I need money to live. I recently heard about Search Engine Optimization (SEO) and I want to learn more about it, and indeed, it sounds like it could meet my needs better than rope access work (you can work remotely and by contract and it's something you can run as an owner-operated business)

I hope you enjoy reading about my life and I hope you've felt like part of my experience along the way.

The Manifesto Revisited

I feel like I'm not reaching my potential. I feel like my absolute potential is beginning to dwindle. This should be a manifesto but instead it reads as a eulogy of my unseen abilitiy.

I want to be strong, I want to be respected. I think that people should know the mettle that's inside me—realize that I'm not the average loser that they thought I was. I'm not average. I feel different, maybe I feel I'm the exception to average; to mundane. I want to change my beliefs about untested talents into records of achievements. I want people to say of me “he has it.” I want to be on the cutting edge. That's the only place it's still happening. There's more to be done in this world and I'm not doing any of it.

I don't know how to go about it, but I know I'm not doing it now. It's time to step up, to take the yoke, to take the burden and hold the mantel of accomplishment and travel into the undone, the not-yet reality of new feats.

I blend in because I don't do anything to stand out. I'm scared to try, scared to fail. I think I'm strong but I time and again prove myself wrong. I try things I think I should be able to do, and I fail. Perhaps I'm kidding myself, perhaps we all are. By definition, the majority of us are average in our persuits and accomplishments. Why should I be different?
I think that by thinking I should be better, different, that that is the start and a key, but have I started that line of thought too late? Have I decided to become something unacheiveable? Akin to saying I want to be a teenage prodigy at the too old age of 26? Clearly impossible. So what is possible? What is possibility? Surely not just the statement of potential, without regard to likelihood or attainability. What's my possibility? What can I become from where I stand now?

Here's what I want: climb V10 and harder, climb 5.14 trad, sport, whatever. Run ultramarathons. Date/marry/live with/whatever the most beautiful woman with the best personality I've ever met.

I want to set standards, raise bars, and be unlimited.

Feeling the Pulse of Reality 8/21/2012

I wrote that on May 16^th. It’s freeform, stream of thought and probably only took 10 minutes or less to write. I regularly write similar manifestos as they relate to issues I’m dealing with in my life. They serve as a means of cathartic release and to organize sometimes scrambled thoughts.

Instead of posting this, I decided to write The Manifesto—a more palatable, less authentic and more humble version of my secret thoughts.

However, as I continue to grow, I continue to seek the sincerity that attracts me to others. Through that process, I realize I must also become more sincere and remove more of my barriers between my honest thoughts and their outward expression through my words and actions.

The woman I met at “Muscle Beach” (mentioned in the post above) is as far as I can perceive, the embodiment of one of the goals of my life—read that with all the import that I mean.

My pessimistic side expects failure in the endeavor, but as I have said, there is a part of me that is ever hopeful (could I be a closet optimist, or is this something different?), and I want to stay here to see this part of my story played out and concluded with finality. I know I’m still young when I’m conducting my life and actions according to the song of my heart, but if I am young then let me act as such, and amen.

Let’s face it, I’m preaching to the choir: anyone who reads my blog is already interested in me and what I’m doing, and that’s really regardless of what content I put into the blog itself. That notwithstanding, I feel like I owe you, the reader, something more than the perfunctory updates that a blog like this might be expected to carry.
In that way I hope you will grow with me and share in the story of my life as I see it.

I am first and foremost aware that every story can be told by many different characters—each with their own perspectives. In my story, I am the protagonist. In your story, my story might be a subplot, a plot twist, or completely tangential.

I strive to find the balance between playing over dramatic, and under reporting the drama I do find in my life. I also trust you to apply your own critical thinking and reading skills to discern the truth from the dramatic flair or the understated treatment. 

Taking a Stand, Making a Change

This summer in Yosemite is coming to a an end more quickly than I had expected.

Indeed, I have quit my job and am looking toward tomorrow to see what the horizon of my future will bring.

At the moment, it looks like cities and beaches are to be my new home, but I shall see.

I quit my job because a moment arose in time where I could quit and also take a stand at the same time. I had feelings of disquiet and restlessness, but I had determined to stay until the end of my obligation, which was sometime in mid-September.

However, I felt that my obligation changed when my co-worker was fired unjustly and without dignity.

He was fired after returning late from climbing The Nose route of El Capitan, an accomplishment worthy of a lifetime goal.

To quickly summarize the situation, he was let go, said my ex-manager, because he had [twice] broken the rules and not notified the management of his absence. Each of his absences, however, was insignificant to the function of everyday activities and one time the phone lines were down, and the other time he had another person call in for him, because he didn't have cell phone reception.

Regardless of the merits of the decision, when my co-worker was fired, the manager was not present. To me, that was egregious and very disrespectful and an indicator of that manager's sense of duty toward any one of the employees. And so that was the final straw that kindled my ire to the point of resignation.

It is all a minor thing. This was just a summer job, and it won't affect my co-worker that he was fired, but all the same, I couldn't stand by and be witness to such an undignified injustice without doing anything. To voice my protest would have been impotent and inconsequential and his firing would have been overlooked and my protest ignored. However, I believe I made the strongest protest by quitting immediately after he was fired. It was obviously not in my own best interest (superficially), but that's part of the power of the gesture. Indeed, my ex-manager noted that everything would have been fine if I had not quit right after he was fired, but now they are in a bind because they are short on people. Additionally, in consequence one other co-worker has decided to quit as well, and several others are seriously considering quitting within the week.

Again, it was all a rather minor incident, but it's also empowering and it has given me a new sense of possibility. I'm “on the precipice” as you [I] might say.

I do not regret the decision at all.

I'm very happy to cross off “Quit a job based on principle” from my bucket list.

Currently, I've moved out of White Wolf, and I am now down in the valley, awaiting a ride.

I've been invited to Los Angeles to check it out, and I'm thinking I will take the offer up. I still need to make a little more money for the certification I wish to earn, so I would work and live for as long as I care to, if I like it there. If I don't like it, I will streamline my possessions a little more, and then hit the road.

All in all, I like the turn my life is taking.

For the Record

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.

White Wolf Lodge, Yosemite

Life has taken a new turn.

I now work(!) at White Wolf Lodge. It's a High Sierra camp in Yosemite. Outside The Valley, but inside the park. I'm at about 7,800 FT. ASL and I work as a “camp helper”. My duties include dishwashing, housekeeping, serving and other odd jobs as may be required by the camp.

It's a pretty fun job, mostly because I enjoy the company of my coworkers, and because I'm still situated in the park.

I'm meeting people, making friends, and I'm not worried about my finances as much as I have been.

All in all, I'm happy with the change, although I don't actually like devoting such a large portion of time to a job, or to work, which does not directly benefit me. After nearly 11 months of job-free freedom, it's taken some grit on my part to adapt to the demands of waking up early and doing things when I don't feel like it. I don't request your sympathy—I'm only observing the facts.

A little more freedom will be nice, and I still have a plan to achieve that.

I'm not sure how long I will work in the park, but the job I have now will definitely end September 10, so I know I will be making another change at that time.

I'm still climbing, but the climbing by White Wolf is sparse and mediocre. I hitch-hike into the valley on my weekends to boulder, and I'm enjoying the climbing much more for what it is, with less expectations.

Now that I'm working, I'm just appreciative of being able to climb some good rocks, instead of feeling like I need to be pushing grades. Now it's more about just trying to tick a lot of problems and see some different spots.

Although I'm not climbing as much, I'm running more, and I like that I'm running at a higher altitude than I have before.

I'm hoping to make some major progress in my running fitness while I'm at White Wolf.

Other than that, there isn't a lot to update.

I don't have internet, and there is no cell phone reception (not that I have a phone) at White Wolf, so the only time I can connect is when I head down the mountains (east or west).

We do have electricity, but it's generator generated and that's only from 6AM-11PM, and only in common areas.

I'm living in a tent cabin with a roommate. We have a wood burning stove for heat, and it was necessary a couple weeks ago, but now the temperatures are very mild and pleasant.

I know this is all very matter-of-fact but I just wanted to get an update out since it has been a while.

I'm planning on writing something a little more imaginative for a later post.  

One Month

Well, I'm a sentimental person and being in Yosemite for a month seems like a milestone worthy of some kind of update.

I'm climbing, these days, but I'm always comparing myself to people that are climbing harder and better than myself, and I can never accept what I'm doing as an adequate effort. I never feel like I belong with those that are self-professed climbers.

There is a feeling I have that I don't really try as hard as I know I could, and I wonder how much better I'd be if I could find a way to invest myself into climbing 100%.

I have not been on a wide variety of routes, although I've started free-soloing which has opened up the possibility of ticking a lot of routes off in short order.

I have also started to boulder a little bit more, although it's not how I've done it before.

More or less, I am able to incorporate climbing outside into my schedule like you might run an errand. A quick bike ride and I'm at some classic wall or boulder, I climb for a little while, and then go about my day.

I haven't made mention of it until now, but I've reapplied for a job here in the park, and I'm waiting to see how that pans out. I have plans for the future and I will discuss them later.

Right now, I've passed the HR interview and I would have one more manager level interview before being hired. The last time I applied I had made it to the same stage but was not hired.

I'm spending more money than I should or can afford, but I tell myself it's a coping mechanism for when I get discouraged. That it is, but it's a cop-out to let myself keep doing it, so I'm going to try to rein myself back in before it's too late.

I feel lonely sometimes, and I find myself more and more eyeing the ladies around the park, making pretend romances up in my head, but I have to remind myself of what I'm working toward and that a warm body is nice, but not just any will give me the companionship I seek.

So, while I suppose some people would say I'm living the dream, in my own words I would say I'm going to “soldier on”. Not exactly what you would expect someone truly living the dream to say.

I wonder sometimes how I can make people laugh but it comes harder for me to make light of my own situation in a way that makes me laugh. I suppose a sense of humor is just a matter of developing a certain intelligence that is actually apart from its effect.

Life as I live it is still the best that I've experienced. I mean, how can I complain about not working, being outside whenever and as often as I want, eating well and being physically fit? It really is something I'm glad I have brought to myself, and it's nice to know that it's always there for the taking, if I am only willing to reach for it.  

Possibility

Dusk.

I lie on the ground in the open, among the tall grasses and short saplings. I don't stand; only crouch or lie down to avoid presenting my profile. I'm apart from those who pass by mere feet, those tourists and workers and who knows who else, but “them” nonetheless.

A light, a sound; I freeze.

I am not in dire circumstances, mind you, but these are precautions I take nonetheless. I just don't need a concerned tourist reporting a “strange man in the grass” to the law enforcement rangers.

The sound becomes sounds, and the light sweeps spastically. I hear voices, and now footsteps. They're getting closer.

I have willfully placed myself in this particular situation. There are alternative locations, but I am here, several paces from a path, in scrubby foliage. My camouflage is dubious.

Foolish, you say? I suppose. Lazy? Most definitely, but those are my hallmarks, and it simply would not do to contradict myself at a time in my life when I am looking to define what I stand for.

There's also a certain exhilarating feeling that accompanies me during these times of heightened insecurity.

It's that familiar feeling of possibility. Its the sixth sense of knowing your life could take a momentous turn, possibly or probably for the worse. It is the precipice.

The precipice is the most exciting place to be. As a moment of time, the precipice ranks as one of my favorites. It is that special place that allows for the most imagination. It is the the point in time that strikes the most superior balance of allowing you foresight to your possible future, but without resolution, which is the key to unleashing your imagination (and sometimes trepidation).

You cannot fathom what you are unaware of, therefore you must know where your circumstances are leading to enjoy a certain level of prescience. However, once set on a course, by nature and virtue of being on a course, you know where it may lead—how it may resolve. Inevitability carries its own significance, but I don't enjoy that feeling, not nearly as much.

Of course, the precipice is also where you begin a climb. And when you stand at the base of a great precipice, your mind can run wild with possible outcomes. Certainly, you may wish for a certain conclusion, and the fact that the precipice sets up the possibility of mutually exclusive outcomes is part of its allure.

I live now, more than I have before, in a continual state of being on the precipice.

The light is fickle and momentary, then gone. The children, the tourists have crunch-crunched the gravel all the way past me. Their high-pitched chattering fades. I am alone again.

I feel like I'm going feral. This would be a good thing. It feeds into my pre-existing self-concept. I have playfully over the years thought of myself as a “manimal” (credit to me, though I think I've seen the term used before), with man used in the general sense. I would describe the feeling like this: you operate comfortably and naturally in primitive conditions. I'm trying to relate the idea that sometimes you can surprise yourself with your innate ability to adapt to a wild environment. It's an almost animal quality. I think that may be why travel shines so bright in the eyes of so many. For travel is the opportunity to adapt and thrive in a new, “wild” place. It is an opportunity to be resourceful. 

And that is what I find myself yearning for, is a chance to thrive. An opportunity to see how I will deal with an environment heretofore unexperienced. Once my course is set, however, I lose interest, as the outcome becomes more inflexible. I'm learning this about myself as I type, stream of consciousness. But it's true. Sometimes, seeking opportunity is more enticing than seeking success.

If you know me, you know I'm at least a fatalist, if not a pessimist. But you may not know that I am eternally hopeful. And it is that combination of hope and desire for opportunity that drives my travels and my endeavors. Certainly, I have dreams but I'm not a terribly ambitious person. If I have or will accomplish anything extraordinary, it will be through serendipity, and not sheer force of will.

And so, here I am now; Yosemite. I love the feeling of arriving in a new place and wondering how I will thrive there. That feeling comes and goes in Yosemite, as nothing is certain here. I have settled into several routines since arriving here, and each one I had need to change for different reasons. Until recently, I was sleeping in a pile of boulders that provided good protection from the elements. I was there until a bear or a human (I don't know which) tossed my belongings. Nothing was broken or missing, but everything was displaced and a toiletry case was unzipped in situ but mysteriously unmolested.

This incident necessitated a change of quarters, which led me to my current situation. A storm or bad weather or some other unforeseen event will necessitate the next change.

While it would be easy to become angry or aggravated by these constant changes, it should be evident by now that I in fact, find them to be exciting twists in what could otherwise be a monotonous routine.

Surely, there is inconvenience in each minor upset experienced, and there is uncertainty, but that all leads me back to being on the precipice—a more exciting place to be.