Ramblin' On River Odyssey (Final)

"When you think about it, life is really just a river."

~ Matt Leatherwood ~

"Excuse me, sir," I gently inquired from the back of my loaded canoe.  "Is this Nebraska City?"

"It is," he said as he glared down at me from the boat dock as if some hippie had just shown up to invade his quaint little town.

"Is this the only place I can get off the river?" I pressed just a bit further.

"It's as good a place as any," was all the gruff little man trying to launch his flat bottom boat could muster.

"Yes, sir, this is a fine place," I smiled.  "But is it the ONLY place in Nebraska City to exit the river?"

He scratched his chin, now both clearly puzzled and annoyed.  He went on to say something about a bridge a little further down and some giant embankment next to the grain elevator, but I stopped listening.  It was evident.  The river odyssey was over.

I had just rounded the last bend before the site of civilization began to appear.  As the grain elevators, houses, and finally the park and boat ramp came in to focus, I was filled with a sense of accomplishment and sadness.  After many, many years of discussion, dreaming and planning, my trip was coming to a close a full half day sooner than I expected.  I pulled the cell phone from the waterproof case where it had been stored most of the trip and called my friend to see about being picked up.  He said he'd be there in a little over an hour.  He arrived on time, we loaded the gear on the jeep and headed to town for lunch.  After 4 days of fruit and MRE's, I was hungry.

We stood at the counter of a local fast food joint and ordered our food.  As they called out the total, I reached in to my pocket for the first time in 4 days to produce a debit card which I used to pay for lunch.  As I handed the young teen behind the counter my card, the full weight of the trip being over began to sink in.  Like a movie scene where I was being sucked down a worm hole, I became firmly, if not roughly planted directly back in to civilization.

Lest I begin to sound overly dramatic, let me be clear about this.  I get the fact that I'd only been on my own for 4 days.  I hadn't been stranded in the Tundra, foraging for food and melting snow for water.  I wasn't stranded on some deserted island ala Robinson Crusoe for years on end eating only coconuts and fish.  I had merely been basically alone on a canoe, truly not all that far from civilization, for a meager 4 days.  Anyone could do that standing on their head.  There was no inherent danger and I was on charted waters.  Yet, for 4 days, I completely removed myself, as much as possible, from people, traffic and noise.  I'd spoken less than a dozen words to another human being during that time (I DID talk to myself a bit and even asked Eliot a couple questions) and was entirely alone with the voice in my head.  Very few people take the time to listen to that voice, yet we all have one.

I've already told you all about the lessons the river refreshed for me.  Being back in a small town and then finally back in a city like Dallas, Texas was, at first, overwhelming.  Everything was bigger.  Noises were louder.  Traffic was heavier.  My patience was shorter.  Now, I know what you're thinking.  "Where's the gratitude, Matt?  You should be refreshed and alive after a trip like that."  I get that.  I really do.  And I'm grateful beyond measure for the opportunity to experience a childhood dream.  But what really hit home for me upon my return to Dallas (and I'm just being honest here) was the complete insignificance of all that surrounds me in the big city.  On top of that, I felt deep sadness for those that heard only their loud radio, breathed in dirty exhaust and drudged on day after day in a job they hate.

The virtues of labor and responsibility and all that aren't lost on me.  That's probably a discussion for another time.  What I know with absolute certainty after being alone on the river, is there is more than this.  There's more to see, more to appreciate and more to experience.  There are wondrous things out there.  Dear god, how I wish people would stop long enough to see those things.  There are miracles under foot everywhere you turn, but many you'll only find if you're quiet and still.  They don't come blaring a trumpet.

I had this very thought today.  Each and every one of us start at the same place.  And regardless of the paths we choose, jobs we take, mistakes we make or miracles we perform, we ALL end up in the same place too.  It kinda makes all the things in between much less worth worrying about.  "No one gets out alive," is the quip that belongs there I believe.

Life isn't like a river.  Life IS a river.  Every little stream, creek, and river are all flowing to the same place.  Somewhere along the way, they are ALL connected.  Just like people and the way they interact with each other.  Life is flowing and we're all flowing with it whether we're fighting or resting.  As we go, things and people come and go and there simply is...no....going....back.  If you're in a place of calm now, big waves are coming.  If you're in the middle of a giant wake now, calmer water is just ahead.  That's just how it works.  That's the river.  That's life.

Will you do this?  Will you make time soon to sit still and be quiet?  Will you take a trip you've always wanted, or see something you've always wanted to see?  Will you take up that hobby?  Or for the love of god, will you just give someone a hug?  Life is flowing, it's passing and there are going to be periods of calm and storm.  Just go with it.  Live it.  Enjoy it.  You and I started at the same place and we're finishing at the same place too.

Stop sweating the small stuff.  Life is a river.  Go with it. 

   

  

Ramblin' On River Odyssey (Part III)

“As we sail thru life, don't avoid rough waters, sail on because calm waters won't make a skillful sailor”

~ Unknown ~

"It is a mistake to try to look too far ahead.  The chain of destiny can only be grasped one link at a time." 

 ~  Winston Churchill ~

In a recent training operation put on by my local Urban Search and Rescue Team, I learned the significant difference between "information" and "intelligence."  Information, of course, can come from a variety of sources and may or not be useable or even accurate.  Intelligence, on the other hand, is that bit of useful and accurate information found hidden in the mountains of information.  In this particular case, a well-meaning friend who informed me barges were no longer pushed up the Missouri River could be classified as information.  The fact that I actually MET a barge being pushed up the Missouri River would be classified as intelligence.  Unfortunately, that bit of intel was a bit late.

I was still on the final leg of my odyssey and had just waved so-long to my coyote friend.  Overcome with the joy of my trip and meloncholy of the impending end, I settled back in the Ramblin' On for an easy coast to my final destination; time, mileage and speed unknown.  I found a smooth, easy current along the west bank of the river and just let my mind wander.  The view was a little fuzzy at first.  In fact, I wasn't so sure I wasn't imagining things, much like one would after days in the desert.  But as the object grew closer, there was no doubt.  I was about to meet a barge.  Information decoded.  This was solid Intel.

I moved yet closer to the west bank, hoping to pass the tug pushing four large tankers on his port side.  As the vessel approached, it seemed the pilot had other ideas as he loomed closer and closer to the same bank while trying to negotiate a wide, sweeping turn of the river.  It became evident I would have to cross to the east bank or be swamped.  I stowed my camera in the water-proof case and, for one of the few times on my trip, paddled as if it meant something.  I dug in deep and came about for the opposite shore.  I made it in ample time to grab a picture of the vessel as it passed.  And then came the obvious realization:  I was about to come face-to-face with an enormous wake.  There was no avoiding it.

I understand enough about boating to know the best way to handle an onslaught of waves is head on.  In some instances, meeting them at a 45 degree angle is best, but I set the bow for a direct hit by the large waves and braced my feet inside the canoe.  And then they came.  Large, rolling clouds of water pitched the bow of the canoe up and then down, up and then down.  It was actually a nice change to the peaceful floating I had been doing and the initial attack of waves faded quickly.  But the wake on a large body of water like a lake or ocean is one thing.  The waves trapped inside the banks of a river are quite another and I momentarily overlooked that fact. 

As each round of waves passed, they ricocheted off the opposing bank and came back for another round, this time hitting me from behind.  At the same time, waves initially moving away from me, hit THAT bank and came back at a much different angle, eventually mingling with all the other waves and making a sort of hodgepodge of wavery.  It didn't matter which way you pointed the craft, the waves were coming from every direction.  It was only mildly frightening and soon things began to settle.  To my surprise, however, I was MILES downstream and past the barge before the waters returned to their usual calm.  It was in that vortex of waves and the ensuing choppiness of the water that I realized my third lesson.

Life comes with rough waters and they take time to settle.  I feel certain that each and every one of us have been floating along in calm seas only to be met face-to-face with a surprise occurence that left huge turbulence in it's wake.  And I'm betting that in most of those instances, we've chosen to meet the waves head on or be swamped.  That's generally what we do.  It's what we HAVE to do.  But the most important realization about my own recovery from a huge barge in the river of life was the behavior of the waves AFTER.

Anytime we're met with rough waters, the initial crash of waves is the most brutal.  Or at least we think so.  They pass momentarily and we think we've made it beyond the worst of it.  And then the second wave comes, followed by a third.  Soon the waves are all crashing around us and we realize that as difficult as the first hit was, there's plenty of confusing, rough, and perhaps more difficult water ahead.  We do our very best to keep our "canoe" pointed in the right direction and hold on for dear life.  After some time, the worst of it IS truly over, but it is miles and miles before our waters return to calm.  That's how we grieve.  That is the process of healing.

If there is one constant in this life, it's change.  If you're drifting in calm waters now, make no mistake.  Rough waters will come, perhaps even when you least expect it.  If you're fighting rough waters now, you can be sure the waters will calm once again.  Just don't be surprised if it's a bit further downstream than you expected.  That's just how life flows, remember?

Don't fear the unexpected or oversteer the boat.  Rough waters will come and when they do, simply do your best and know things will be calm soon.  Use this tidbit of information and convert it to useable intelligence when you need it most.  Because you will.  At one time or another we all will.  And no matter how rough the waters get, try to remember you're still on a boat coasting down river and you're still afloat.  Even at it's worst, that ain't so bad. 

Happy boating.