Life is Hard

Wouldn't it be nice if everything were easy?  If every life choice just presented itself plainly, with an equally plain answer?  Every ice cream flavor, every "soup or salad?", every time you had to think, somebody just told you the right answer?

I am taking this big bike trip in two and a half weeks and I am getting a little nervous about it.  I am doing a lot of planning; many who have been there tell me I'm even over thinking it.  I have to fit 6 months worth of my life into four tiny little bags that I will cart with me everywhere I go.  What do I bring?  What do I leave behind? What will I send home?  What will I realize I forgot about?

I told Ross my sentiments and he said its normal: he felt the same way when leaving Burlington a few months ago.  I told my girlfriend and she said not to worry too much, that I'll be OK.  My dad said "If you aren't nervous, you aren't paying enough attention."

Life isn't easy.  If it was, there would be a bunch of single celled organisms blobbing around; no evolution, no hardship, no choice.  If life were easy, there wouldn't be any fun; we would all be doing the same thing, the easy thing.

Instead, life is really hard.  You have to think, like, all the time.  About what to eat, where to go, when to talk, when to not talk.  You have to decide how you are going to present yourself to the world.  You have to decide who you are.  You have to be that thing you have decided you are.  It takes thought, execution, re-evaluation.  Its an on-going process and it never stops.  Until you die.

This is life, and you could say its really difficult, but you could also say its really interesting.  You could say its a bitch, or you could say its challenging.  It might be dangerous, but it also might be really rewarding.  The only difference between and an ordeal and an adventure is the mindset.

I've got a hell of a couple months coming up for me.  They are going to be new, different, and eye-opening.  I will face obstacles of both the physical and mental variety that I have not ever faced before.  Hopefully, I will grow as a person.  But it might also suck.

Even though I am nervous, I am not worried (and I think I've got a good handle on the difference at this point).  I will probably make it out of this alive.  I will probably see some cool things.  I will probably be bummed at some point.  And I'll have to do it all again at some point.

Untitled Post

T-minus 30 days.  My summer is speeding to the edge of this cliff.  Before I know it, I'll have flown right off, headlong into the unknown.

I am making some final preparations.  New gear clusters, new chain, new tires.  I feel that I need to try these things out before I use them in a way I never have.  The problem is that I can in no way simulate their impending use, short of leaving early.  There are only so many places I can go and get back before work on Monday and do anything close to my intended mileage.  But I can dream.  And pretend.  Its probably the same if I just go back and forth to Dunkin' Donuts a bunch, right?

The other half of this story is that I'm now looking at what remains of my employment this year and thinking about how to wrap it up.  I work at a Community Sailing Center in Belmar, NJ, called the Friends of Belmar Harbor.  I teach sailing to our adult, boy scout, and inner city clientele, as well as being the instructor of an environmental discovery camp for kids not really interested in sailing full time.  I really love it and I think its a really good fit for me.  

It is, however, an interesting experience, watching myself do these things while preparing for a trip like the one I'll be on in a month.  Kids these days… heard that one before, right?  For those of you that don't have first hand experience in the matter, it's worse than you might imagine.  Kids so allergic to the outside world that they would be better off in an hermetically sealed plastic bubble, let alone attempting to play on a dirty New Jersey beach.  Kids so frightened of fast motion but so into seizure inducing video games; I can't understand how they even make it out of the womb.

On the other hand, it is kind of refreshing dealing with these virgin minds.  Their heads nearly explode when they see the population of starfish they have been sharing the block with their entire lives.  They name every single jellyfish they catch in their nets.  A quarter-mile kayak trip is a religious experience.  When they hear that I am going on a multi-thousand mile bike ride, it doesn't even register.  Its so incomprehensible that they don't even give it second thought; I might as well have said I am riding my bike across the highway: equally daring in their books.

Few understand this next bit:  these kids are the ones I identify with most.  A starfish is an amazing thing.  Every jellyfish deserves a name.  I could sit there with them and scoop them up for hours.  I do, actually.  I even figured out a way to get paid for it.

There was a time when people had to go a distance and they just went.  They didn't have to buy plane tickets or outfit new age vehicles or even blog about it.  They just went.  Then they got there and realized they forgot Momma and turned around to go back and get her. 

I am very excited about what I am doing, but I try to keep it in perspective.  Its really not that special. People do it all the time.  Whats more impressive to me is that most of us have relinquished this spirit for the same old same old.  We know that it is a thing to appreciate, but sit all the while in our offices, at our desks, on our phones, wishing we were someplace else.

Truthfully, I am most excited about (making an attempt at) hugging one of those big redwoods.  I have been sharing this continent with them my whole life, but I won't fully comprehend their existence until I see them in person.

I wont believe it till I see it.

In other news, sailing hasn't been my only hobby this summer.  In a grand meeting of cheap-skatery, willingness to tinker and one-legged-ness, I have taken up prosthetic leg fabrication.  It a wild story, but I'll do my best to summarize:  a local paper did a story on a 74 year old man who, after an accident 50 years ago where he lost his own leg above the knee, began fashioning his own legs in his garage.  My family saw the article in the paper and reached out to him.  He was looking for an apprentice of sorts, so we began working together earlier this summer.  

Of his many astute observations, the one we connected on was this: he noticed long ago that not only were the combined forces of the medical industry, insurance corporations and leg-makers full of shit, but they didn't really make good legs either.  On top of that, they kick you out the door once you've signed the check and won't help you out until the Doc writes another prescription, the insurance company covers it, and they know they can get some money from you.  This man, George, began making his own legs, sockets and all, 25 years ago and has amassed quite a collection of parts and techniques over the years.  While still covered by insurance, he has the limb-makers fabricate a leg with an impressive list of parts that often don't fit between him and the floor.  He hobbles out of their office on the over-done hardware and under-done socket only to scrap their hard work for parts and replace the socket with one of his own.

A rag tag duo; a septuagenarian, stock market playing, Tea Party conservative and a 20-something, hippie-dippie, anarchist dumpster-diver, we agree on far too many things for either of our own comforts.  Despite our differences, we get along quite well and it's nice to hang out with someone who, to say the least, has led a colorful life.  To those who have called me Grandpa Chuckie, you may have the final laugh now.

We are very nearly finished my first leg at this point and have done what the mainstream limb-makers do for many thousands of dollars on a sailor's budget of $125.

Though I leave for my trip before our work together is really done, we will have many more collaborative projects ahead of us.  We are presently working on the long awaited AmputeeLegShop.com, an online resource for lower limb amputees about how to adjust your legs for comfort (the Company will usually charge a hefty fee for any visit to the office), a shoe swap (we tend to wear out one shoe faster than the other) and how to take your legs and your health back into your own hands.  All you one-leggeds out there, get ready. Its coming soon.

To run a thread thought it all, I find that a healthy perspective shift does wonders for everybody, especially when you think you need it least.  Stay young at heart when you work too hard.  Remember those who have worked harder and been through more than you when you think you have had it rough.  And, for Lob's sake, hug a tree once in a while.