Archive for April, 2016

the luckiest

April 27, 2016

My lower back is aching again.  This might be due to the apartment’s sagging mattress, old enough by now to have earned a college diploma, or maybe drinking an extra cup of coffee each morning and a few beers to smooth out the edges around sunset are taking their toll on my besieged kidneys.  Whatever the cause, I’m hoping I’ll get to the end of both conditions before my sacrum takes it upon itself to relocate as it did last November since every one of my sorely tested capacities will be summoned for what’s ahead of me in the next 3 weeks:  relocating to Yellowstone National Park.

When I moved to this tiny bedsit, I boasted it would take only a day or so to leave.  Inadvertently I set myself up for another lesson in how ego can trip you up since that boast didn’t account for the possibility that when I did depart 30 months later, I would only be able to take with me what could fit in my small sedan.  Still, despite the tasks of trying to cull the little I have, drive 4 days across country with my cat, and then cram into my deteriorating grey matter as much information about Yellowstone and compose interpretative tours in my first 2 weeks, I don’t expect to receive anyone’s sympathy.  One day, this stage of my life will be behind me, and I will have stepped onto another, one I managed to fashion in the face my deepest doubts and strongest fears.

When I thought about putting this news on my blog, I couldn’t think of anyway to announce it that would have much relevance to anyone other than a far-flung friend checking to see what I might be up to.  And maybe that’s how it will remain.  The other night, however, I dined with a friend who is facing yet another incident reminding her of how unsuitable her boyfriend is as a life-partner and how she needs to start building a life separate from his.  I listened to her self-recriminations and remembered how hopeless I felt all winter long as I sent applications off into the void, not sure whether a single one of them would be read by a pair of human eyes.  I had recently read the journal entry I’d made after applying for the Yellowstone position, and I shared with her how anxious and fearful I had been.  “You’re going to be scared every step of the way,” I assured her.  “And you can’t let that stop you.”

Every creative act is a risk, and every risk is terrifying and exhilarating, energizing and debilitating, elevating and humbling.  That such extremes exist within ourselves and in the natural world doesn’t seem surprising to me at this moment.  Yellowstone, here I come.