Posted:Sun Oct 19, 2008 11:04 AM CST
Notice This
Growing up I wasn't very athletic. I tried a stint at soccor for a year in fifth grade that didn't pan out all that well. It wasn't only because I couldn't keep up wth the ball like the other boys, I just didn't have the interest. I'm not a team player. I'm a loner. Always have been. Perhaps a part of me always will be.
I started climbing in high school. I would cut a few classes and hop rocks in the Cuyahoga River at first. It was a challenge not only to leap from one outcrop to the next, it was challenging to find a new explaination to give my 9th period teacher every day as to why I was wet and covered in brown river mud.
I think my favorite was, "The toilet blew up."
Ledges and smaller cliffs were next. It's really not a good idea to climb the ledges at Virginia Kendall Park after dusk, the Park rangers tend to get pissed when they have to chase you through the woods in the dark. Then there were the explainations to my mom as to why I had a new scar across my arm, face, leg or back.
My favorite for that was, "There's bears in the Metro Parks, Mom."
After a few run ins with the local authorities for late night climbs, (I think my name may be on a brass plaque over a cell door or two) I found that climbing under bridges gave me a rush of adrenaline better than laying out a rail of cocaine. Reaching the top of the concrete support pillars of one of the bridges over the valley gave me the best vantage point to observe everythig nature has to offer. I wrote about it once--about how the valley looks like god took big "god scoops" out of the Earth and the trees took back what was rightfully theirs. Scooting along the storm drainage pipes hanging under the concrete road above made me untouchable and unseen. A place to be alone and stay alone.
I still go there fom time to time to sort out thoughts or get inspiration to write. (I do my best thinking when I'm there)
But no one ever knew what I was doing. I always went alone and never told anyone where I was. Only excuses for the mud, scars, and torn clothing. Solitude is what it was all about. I could get to a ledge and just sit and talk to myself without anyone staring at me like I had a weird facial tick.
I just went there to think. But something else was happening that I had neither planned nor did I notice.
I was getting in shape. I was getting stronger, my legs were getting toned, and I could pull myself up with just my rubberband arms. I was still very thin, but now more like a runner in a marathon. I got out of the shower one morning and looked in the mirror. I could no longer count my ribs. And I cried.
What's the point of this little story? I suppose it's this. Things (good things) can be happening all around you and you just can't see them. They're everywhere, all the time, and I think that's something I realized that day in front of the mirror. That no matter how disgusted you are with yourself, your situation, or the people around you, there is always something good to be found.
It just needs to be noticed.