13. Soul Food

 Mile: 1,592

Leaving Brooklyn Lake Campground was for some reason difficult. I had it in my head that I would pull out as soon as I taped up my window. Places to go, things to see, fish to catch, the open road calling me. “I should be leaving” I thought as I walked over to Doug’s camp site to see his Honda Element and listen to why he likes to use it as his adventure vehicle. We talked for another hour about this and that, he’s getting new windows put in his house, my last adventure to Alaska, his wild mountaineering experience and close brush with death in Scotland years back, the stories just kept coming. The conversation was refreshing. The fact that I was standing next to someone who knew a little bit about me was refreshing. We could laugh about how I was too timid with the hammer to break the window, or talk about the John Grisham book he flew through the day before, or other little oddities that we now shared having been neighbors for 24 hours. I didn’t know Doug’s spiritual beliefs, family values, or the things that really make him who he is, but I knew he has a daughter in Sweden and that he likes to drink wine and read insightful books while looking over the mountains. This is the first big surprise for me this trip. The longing to stay a little longer where I had met a friend. Not wanting to leave and hit the next amazing spot that had trout waiting to be caught, but to stay another thirty minutes, hour, two hours...talking to a friend. 

I have only been traveling away from everyone I know for fifteen days now and I recognize that I value these interactions. Interactions with someone who sees your face and knows that you are good. That you can recall something of the past together and laugh or share some kind of emotion. That is rich. I have met a handful of people along the way that when it comes time to leave, to venture on, it’s not easy. Saying goodbye just isn’t easy I guess when it’s a good thing. There lies the dichotomy of staying put and adventuring on. To stay, is to have deeper relationships with the people you meet. You get to know their sense of humor, their idiosyncrasies, what they like and don’t like. And they get to know those things about you, how you respond in times of crisis, like when you lock your keys in your car far from civilization, time of happiness, sadness, and the like. There comes a beauty in being known. I guess that is why some people choose to live in the same town they were raised in and never leave, or move away for a short time and come back to “settle down”. There’s something innately special when you can swing by a house and know that you’ll be greeted by a familiar goofy grin, or that smart aleck remark, or even an annoying repetitive thing they do that gets on your nerves. There’s something about that consistency, that being “known” aspect of life that is truly comforting. It’s the same feeling when your phone rings and you see the name of an old friend pop up on the screen. A smile inherently creeps across your face thinking about what what accent you will use to answer the phone with. Or when you walk into your parents house and you smell fresh French bread about to come out of the oven reminding you of fond childhood memories. To be known is a good thing. It’s a desire in us all, that I believe God put there, and it needs to be fed. Soul food is what it is. Not like your grandma’s ham, black eyed peas, greens, corn bread, and milk, however, that is also soul food and should not be discredited on how important it is for the betterment of your soul...and stomach. But soul food. The things that breathe life into us and touch us in ways that other things in this world just can’t. To be known is to be blessed. Soul food.

On the other hand, adventure is an indispensable hunger inside of me that must be fed if I am to live. It’s not this hippy go and be, live free and love, ridiculous mindset of flowers and dancing in a field listening to Purple Haze by Jimi Hendrix. Although, to be at Woodstock in 1969 would have been crazy and definitely would’ve yielded some hilarious stories I’m sure. But that’s not what this is. It’s a need to adventure. A need to see what’s around the bend, or over that mountain, or hiding in that deep river swirl behind that rock. A need to explore. I think of Meriweather Lewis and William Clark. I think of a handful of John Muir quotes; “Going into the woods is like going home”, “Of all the paths you take in life, make sure a few of them are dirt”, “Between every two pines is a doorway into a new world”, “Few places in this world are more dangerous than home. Fear not, therefore, to try the mountain passes. They will kill care, save you from deadly apathy, set you free, and call forth every faculty into vigorous, enthusiastic action.” I wonder how anyone could get inside their car for their commute to work, spend their whole day inside of an office building, then to get inside their car for their commute home, to walk inside their home to go to sleep and start the process over hitting the repeat button for a lifetime, and feel alive. How can someone feel alive when “inside” describes their life. I understand how someone gets to that point, I’ve been there. For years on end I’ve been there. I guess that is why we have so many weekend warrior explorers. Shoot, I mean, that has described my life up until this point. I understand that to afford the necessities of life is something that you can’t go without, obviously. And it is foolish to not save “6 months of life expenses in an emergency fund” thank you Dave Ramsey. But then you add the wants in life such as a boat, fishing gear, other toys or fun things that are expensive. And the fact that most jobs in our society are done from inside an office building behind a computer screen. So I get it. But...that doesn’t diminish that hunger inside of me for adventure. Maybe most people make their work, their vocation, their “adventure” and they are fine with that. Or maybe others bottle up their need for adventure to fully release it for seven to fourteen days out of every three hundred and sixty-five and call it good. I find that I relate much more to John Muir that adventure does not come from between four walls, and it needs to consume more than the yearly 4% vacation time of my life. Adventure comes along a hike to a mountain peak. It comes from wading through frigid water balancing on river rocks. It comes through meeting face to face with a moose in an evergreen thicket. It comes through rounding a bend and seeing a field of wildflowers edging up to a mountain top lake. It comes from hearing the ripple of a trout stream trying to shape the earth bending and winding through rocks rounded smooth. It comes from watching a sunset shower it’s last rays on mule deer making their way into the fields. That’s where adventure comes from. Not knowing what’s around the bend and using your God given feet to go find out. That is soul food. 

And so I ponder, how does one consume both the soul food of being known and the soul food of adventure simultaneously? For me, I cannot survive without both, but how to live without starving one or the other does not seem evident and clear for me just yet. Or is it a seesaw of consumption? Does the weekend warrior have the best and worst of both worlds? Feeding one hunger during the week while starving the other, waiting for the weekend to quench the thirst of adventure? I do not know. And here lies the dichotomy of quenching my hunger for soul food.