I just realized something tonight. I’m afraid of the dark.
It’s true. And, now so much of my life makes sense since I just realized the big, bad, boogie man is hiding outside as soon as the sun sets. Or, at least that’s what my mind thinks.
Tonight as I took Pup out for his last walk of the night, (really he takes me out for a walk) with the sun setting so early and the sky sitting heavy, pitch black, and eerily dark, I was totally spooked.
As Pup pulled me through the darkness I wondered why I was on edge.
Why am I spooked? What am I afraid of?
Wasn’t I the girl who slept next to scorpions in the Grand Canyon? The bikini clad body that swam next to sharks in the Bahamas? The Braveheart that rid herself of her old wedding rings?
Yes. And that girl, me, myself and I, is afraid of the dark. Or rather, what I cannot see.
It makes so much sense.
It’s what makes my skin crawl in the ocean with all those creepy crawly creatures skimming next to my bare skin.
It’s what freaks me out when Pup pulls me around hedges and up and down the dark Martha’s Vineyard streets with no lights and visions of skunks dancing in my head.
It’s now so clear to me. I’m afraid of what I cannot see.
As I work on what I love and what I fear this year, it’s plain to me that I can’t let what I cannot see stop me.
I must keep walking. One step at a time. Even if it’s in the dark.
Can you smell that?
There is a breeze in the air that smells distinctly of school supplies. Wafts of pink erasers, lined paper notebooks and plastic Trapper Keepers are floating by my nostalgic nose.
Sad thing is: I can barely finish the books I already have on my shelf — and in my iPad!
Even so, in this Back-To-School-Fall-Frenzy I am motivated to take myself back.
To school.
I am committing to finishing all the books that I set out to read this year.
GULP.
Just writing that down gives me a lump in my throat. But I know there is so much more I can learn in this Lovemore+Fearless year of mine. Sure, I have already swam with sharks, reclaimed Paris from my past and rode the whitewater of the Grand Canyon. But, I know there is more for my mind and heart that is just waiting for me.
Which means I have less than four months to put my nose in a handful of books. If you have a good book suggestion on LOVE or FEAR please send it my way!
I’ll put it in my Trapper Keeper.
What are you going to do with the rest of your year?
I first noticed white butterflies in the Grand Canyon during one of our amazing hikes up to Upper Deer Creek and the “Patio.”
There, the beautiful little creatures flew all around the waterfalls and crevices in the canyon wherever it was growing greenery. I didn’t think anything of it then, other than the fact that it was the most perfectly peaceful spa-like setting I could imagine out in the wild.
But, lately, here on the Vineyard, all I see are white butterflies.
And, it has me wondering... why?
Maybe it is butterfly season?
Maybe it’s some strange butterfly dance or mating call?
Who knows?
Something inside me has a feeling that it is something else. So I did what I recommend nobody should ever do — I looked it up on Google. Which returned more results than I could possible sort through in this lifetime.
To some, the white butterfly symbolizes rebirth, or a spiritual stage in life. To others, it represents the soul of a child or even a sign of death.
I’m not sure which source to trust, but I can tell you this — as soon as I tried to take to the streets to take a photo and hunt the elusive white butterfly, they all disappeared.
No more white butterflies. Just like that, gone.
I will of course be on the look out with camera phone constantly in hand, wondering … What are these white butterflies trying to tell me?
I just washed the final bit of dirt out from underneath my fingertips.
While a Sunday in July may be known as wedding day for many, it was “weeding” day around here for me.
And, I am so proud of myself.
I didn’t shriek once as I buried my BARE hands in the dirt digging for roots.
Before my lovemore-fearless mantra I wouldn’t think twice about wearing gloves on my hands. Before my lovemore-fearless adventure this year, I would have screamed and scrammed at the first sight of a spider too.
But, not now. At least now I pause before I scream.
I credit the Grand Canyon for my newfound fearlessness.
Sure, not wearing gloves in the garden sounds pretty puny to some.
But, to me, it’s a HUGE accomplishment.
And, today, to top it all off, there were no spider sightings. It’s as if those spiders know something in me has changed. As if they are no longer needed.
To that I say (at least today):
Pack it up eight-legged boys, your work here is done.
In the middle of my work day, while typing away on my computer, fingers flying in all directions – I reached up and scratched my head.
A scab.
Some sort of dried-up scab was sitting on the right side of my head, above my ear.
“How odd?” I thought, not remembering any reason to have a scab on my head. I am prone to hitting my head on lots of things — showers, low ceilings, beams, doors — being almost six feet tall.
As I replayed my last 48 hours, I could not remember for the life of me, hitting my head with any scab-causing force. “Although,” I thought, “if I did smack my cranium I could have blacked out with a small case of head-scab amnesia…”
As I pulled the scab down to my palm to inspect it with the curiosity of a scab-picking thirty-eight year old, the scab ran up my finger.
TICK!
For one, it was good confirmation that I did not hit my head.
Second, I swear the tick could fly.
I actually flung it off my fingers so fast I didn’t see where it landed. Which caused acute panic in my little Amygdala, as my eyes scanned the landscape of my desk to see where it lay.
“Oh, no!” my head screamed.
“Is it on me?
Did it land on my desk?
Are there more?”
I furiously scratched my scalp to see if there was an infestation on my hands and head.
Nope.
Just one tick, now dangling off the corner of my journal. I scooped up my journal and held it over the toilet, hitting the end of it like a ketchup bottle, coaxing the little thing to jump off.
No dice. Not happening. Sure, he could jump onto my head of hair with no problem and make himself a merry little home, but try to remove him from my red, leather journal and his legs turn to glue.
I resorted to toilet paper.
He flushed down the toilet in a spiraling tick send off.
Right. Down. The. Drain.
It left me with so many questions.
1) How did I get a tick in my hair?
2) How did I not feel it moving on my scalp?
3) Why don’t I feel bad for flushing it down the drain?
Thus is life on Martha’s Vineyard in the summer.
Sure, people talk about the sailing and the tennis and the hiking and the beaches.
Because people don’t come here for the ticks. They come for the island vibe, the summer sun, the cool breeze and the water view.
Ticks come with the territory.
They were probably here first.
Later tonight, I walked down to the water to sit on a rock.
Over in the distance, next to the beach line, sat two pink chairs.
You can’t get to these two chairs from the beach, they are surrounded by brush (probably tick infested and laced with poison ivy!).
Here sits two pink chairs, perfectly situated to watch the summer view privately — as the sign says — PRIVATE PROPERTY.
Seeing these two chairs made me think about the people who sit on them. Are they married? Did they grow up here? Do they bring a picnic basket down to the (almost) beach line and watch the sunset?
Do they stare at the rest of us on the other side of the PRIVATE PROPERTY sign? Do they talk to people on the other side of the hedge? Or, do they just sit there, marking their property, sipping their wine and munching on snacks. Maybe they read a book?
Why do these chairs need protection? What are they afraid of?
Who knows?
I suppose it’s not my business.
In a way, it’s no different than some unsuspecting tick, one of God’s creatures no doubt, who thought he landed a nice new pad on the top of my head today.
Instead, he landed in the middle of the swirling toilet bowl.
To which I pointed to the sign that in my mind said private property. Get out!
I’m learning to be LOVEMORE this year, and, I must admit after a 9-day trek in the Grand Canyon, I’ve made considerable progress with spiders. But, I’m having a hard time with ticks. And, skunks.
As the clock ticks down to December 31st, I realize I have a long way to go. Tick, tock! Tick, tock!
Fearlessness takes patience.
And, a little practice I suppose.
As you know, I entered this year determined to be fearless. But, I don’t want more fear or less in my life. I want more love. So I made up a new word, lovemore! That’s why Lovemore Mondays are here.
Today’s Lovemore Monday is a love story about food.
My dinner consisted of:
Water
Popcorn
and Leftover Baked Apples and Pears
I got a chuckle out of it, actually.
We’ve eaten so well over this last year, mostly yummy, fresh, natural foods. So much so, my sorry semblance of a “meal” tonight made me feel like I was fasting.
Over the past year, there have been a few moments of dietary dilemmas: yes, that’s you Paris and the Grand Canyon! They both sent my dietary routine into a tail spin.
Let me just point out that there is an interesting phenomenon that happens when you write a daily blog. For one, friends stop calling because they already know what you’re doing — and everybody else knows what you eat (or don’t).
So much so, down in the Grand Canyon a family member pulled me aside and said, “So, I see you are eating cookies…”
Busted. Yes. I ate cookies in the Grand Canyon.
Before we left, I decided to let my diet be open to anything during our trek in the canyon. Mostly because I didn’t know what to expect and I really didn’t want to be a pain at dinner time gatherings. We were, obviously, not just on vacation but on a survival trek — and if ever there were a time to eat an extra 58,000 calories, I figured this would be it.
(Just kidding on the 58,000of calories. I have no idea how many calories we ate down in the canyon, but I do know this: nothing tastes better than a big meal after a hard day of work and play.)
Now back to civilization I am and my body needs a rest.
So, this weekend I watched Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead. It’s the story of Joe Cross from Australia and his commitment to juicing 60 days straight in order to clean up his act and his health.
I’m not ready to jump into a 60 day fast. But, it did make me realize all the goodies I can add to my summer diet.
Oh! Did you hear that? The fresh tomatoes are literally dropping off the vine.
And, that’s why, on this hot, scorcher of a summer day…
I. Love. It.
Happy summer. Happy fresh food. Here’s to your summer dinner table (clink! clink!).
As you know, I entered this year determined to be fearless. But, I don’t want more fear or less in my life. I want more love. So I made up a new word, lovemore! That’s why Lovemore Mondays are here.
Today’s Lovemore Monday is a love story about a tee.
Tonight I watched this Harvard Graduation Speech by the author of Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling. It’s worth the good 20 minutes it takes — and I mean, GOOD 20 minutes! (Thanks to The Daily Love for posting a link to this speech today).
“We do not need magic to transform our world. We carry all the power we need inside ourselves already. We have the power to imagine better.”
~J.K. Rowling
Over this journey and this promise of mine, I have learned much. Most of which can be whittled down to one nugget of wisdom: Lovemore-Fearless.
I have learned there are only two forces in this world: love and fear.
In any situation it’s our choice. Choose love or fear. Your choice!
But more than anything, now, I want to give this world a gift. It’s everything I know. It’s a promise to keep and wear over your heart: your lovemore-fearless heart!
I believe you can do anything — that includes surviving cancer, a divorce, job upheaval, one crazy year without shopping, this roller coaster economy and all the rocks and rolls of this thing called life.
I also agree with Ms. Rowling — we have the power to change our worlds. And, that, I believe, will change the world.
And that’s why, on this Lovemore Monday…
I. Love. It.
Go fearlessly forward! Lovemore,
xo~Jamie
P.S. Limited Edition Lovemore-Fearless Tees available while supplies last, so click to get yours! — (somebody had to say it!)
Dawn breaks through the canyon walls in the early morning light.
It meant only one thing — it was time for us to leave.
We reunited with our backpacks (which had been hiding for nine days) and instructed to repack our packs one more time. This time for home.
My clean clothes were indiscernible from my dirty ones. Everything in my bag smelled like river, even the few items I had not yet worn.
Our toiletry bag was torn to bits from the kamikaze ravens we encountered at one campsite. The ravens got away with a bag of GORP (good old fashioned raisins and peanuts) but weren’t so lucky with our toothpaste. We caught them right before they totally destroyed the ziplock bag holding my contacts, toothpaste and sunscreen.
I’ve never had an appreciation for ravens before. But, lore of the canyon says river guides come back reincarnated as the black birds — and, in watching the ravens of the canyon work together, that makes perfect sense. They fly together in pairs, they conference on rocks before they strike. They seem to know every nook and cranny of the canyon walls. They certainly knew which bags to steal a Vitamin C pack from.
But, it wasn’t just the ravens that surprised us.
We saw the most amazing creatures down in that canyon…
And insects…
And plant life…
And flowers…
All told, we hiked eight miles down from the top to the bottom of the grandest of canyons and rafted 190 miles of the Colorado River.
In 100+ degree heat…
As we packed our bags and prepared to board the jet boat, I reviewed in my mind what had just happened to me — what I had indeed done.
I jumped out of a boat, doing the splits…
Swam in the icy cold water of the Colorado River…
Learned how to get back into the boat (with a lot of help!)…
Jumped from the top of waterfalls…
Slept under the stars — without a tent!
Peed (and pooped) in a bucket…
Camped with scorpions crawling next to us…
Stood on the edge of the boat and Hunkered Down…
Rode the biggest rapid on the river…
Learned that deep down inside I can be FEARLESS!
Lovemore Fearless.
As we entered the jet boat and tied on our life preserves for the very last time, I was overcome with emotion.
As the jet boat motor sounded and we turned downstream, the river and rock started speeding, flashing by our eyes in an instant. It was the fastest we had gone all week.
Tears filled my eyes and a lump formed in my throat.
We did it. We made it. We were on our way home.
And in that moment, I knew. I knew it in my heart, in a way that I have never before so deeply understood. I knew with every fiber of my being that we can do anything.
You Can Do Anything.
It repeated through my head as we sped down the green water and the tears were blown off my cheeks.
You can do anything.
You just have to try. Show up. Jump. Leap. Close your eyes and fly.
Just then, the jet boat swerved and abruptly stopped. The captain pointed out something he had noticed over his last few trips down the canyon — a Great Blue Heron nest with babies.
As we sat in silence watching the brood, one took flight. And, then another. Until they all flew away, back upstream.
The Grand Canyon is large, you could say.
Way down inside its walls, a great sense overcame me. One that I cannot describe. It’s like a window into the churning of the Earth, at times so breathtakingly large, it made me, my daily frets, my silly worries, and everything else in this world, feel increasingly small.
It was our last ride with whitewater.
Before the day went long and the fun took hold, Keith led us on a hike to an ancient overhang on the rocky cliffs to show us something special.
Pictographs.
We learned about the native residents of this land. Before it was a sportsman’s adventure paradise, back to when it supported the livelihood of native men, women and children.
Some of the drawings are easily deciphered, others just look like tribal markings. Under a stone, Keith lifted out the remnants of ancient pottery and we passed it around to each other.
Just like touching a history book.
And, it made me wonder, is this the KitchenAid of old?
Even more so, it makes me wonder what all our belongings will look like in a few thousand years. iPads? Earbuds? The common variety garden hose? Who knows what will stick around to confuse and inspire tribes passing through a millions years from now.
But, we are here, right now. So it was back to the river, to turn on the fun!
Our boat, being manned by Justin and Uncle “Spike” set out to do what no other boat had attempted — start a water fight with every other boat. Not only did we go all out and hit every boat with a water-guns, we borrowed buckets from our baggage boat (thanks Kate!) and conducted a full-on sneak attack.
Our guide, Meredith, got in on the act and stole Tom’s Mexican wrestling mask. We were on the war path and it was better than war paint. Soon enough, we became everyone else’s soaking wet target.
After some mighty-mighty water wars, we were on to the big stuff — riding the BULL.
The bull is just what you think it might be… riding on the front of the boat holding on with one hand keeping the other hand in the air. Even I rode the bull, and let me tell you, there is nothing as exciting as seeing the rapid from the top of the boat just before it collapses over you.
Late in the afternoon, after all the fun seemed to be over, we found ourselves with another big rapid and a rescue. As we came out of a Rapid 232, our last fearless ride on the river, we found a couple, one man and one woman, stranded in the eddy below.
He was riding atop an overturned boat.
She was solo in a kayak circling him. There was no way the two could turn their boat back from being belly-up. And, there was no land left in the narrow gorge to step out and get some footing.
We circled our boats and corralled theirs. Like bumper cars moving down the river, one of our boats made it close enough to push them into an eddy.
The belly-up boat missed.
So, down to the next eddy we paddled, while corralling the upside-down black bottomed boat all the way.
Another eddy was in sight.
Missed again.
Finally, Travis, manning a baggage boat, hooked on and muscled the ship ashore.
Ropes came out. Our guides went to work as if they had seen this a zillion times. Everyone jumped on land and lined up to do their part in the pulling rescue.
Except for me.
I stayed in the boat to take photos. (Hey, somebody had to record this!)
With a few heavy heaves the boat turned on its side and then landed on its back, with tied-down coolers and equipment bouncing after.
Success!
The couple looked relieved and a bit shaken.
With that valiant rescue as a grand finale, we bid them adieu and jumped in our boats to head to camp.
Our very last night of camp in the aptly named Separation Canyon.
And, our very first experience with cold beer, shipped in from Outdoors Unlimited on a motor boat to soothe us before our final destination.
We deflated the boats.
And set up for our last night of poaching camping spots.
And, then it was time to let loose and play for a bit before we said goodbye to the guides who would be leaving that night.
We were a group of 32.
Some of us related by blood, some of us newly welcomed to this family called Davis, and some of us strangers sent down to guide and navigate everyone through the wild waters of the Colorado.
But, somewhere along the way, it seemed as if the granite walls of this desolate canyon pulled us all together — molded us into one pod of people working together, playing together, and looking out for each other.
As I watched our guides precisely pack up their belongings and gingerly unload their boats, I realized something:
Some of us are made to spend our time on the job, with a desk, in an office, with clients, with patients, with spirits in restaurants, with paper and pen, among the city lights.
And, some of us are made to be on the water, paddling our way through life in a boat — in one of the biggest, deepest, grandest of canyons I have ever seen — just to give some of us the ride of our lives, and teach others of us that we are fearless.
As we waved goodbye to our guides, “The Chain” from Fleetwood Mac blared from the stereo on their boat as it motored up and away, downstream.
They left singing, dancing and waving goodbye back to us. All of sudden Dave realized and remarked:
“We now have no paddles, no boats and no beers.”
To which we determined the only reasonable thing left to do was sing the theme song to Gilligan’s Island, sleep under the stars for one final night…
And, wait for the jet boat to arrive in the morning.
TGIF.
Today continues the weekly series, F*ing Fridays, which will coincidentally occur on Friday. I mentioned some of my favorite F words back on Day 5, in Year One, including: Fearless, Fabulous, Fine, Fun, Faith, Freedom, Forgiveness, to name a Few.
Today’s F*ing Friday is dedicated to the words: Flat Water
As in, souvenirs.
There aren’t many souvenirs to collect while rafting the water of the Colorado River. Except, of course, sunburns and calluses.
We had reached Day 8 on the river.
And, after a big ride through LAVA the day before and rolling through class ten rapids, we now found ourselves on flat water.
F*ing flat water. Flat like a lake with the wind blowing in our faces.
All except for Kolb, our one rapid of the day, we were at a stand still. And, if the wind could have its way we would be floating upstream without a paddle, all the while with that blazing orb burning down on us.
Plus, we were running out of food and drinks.
The most coveted resources on the river were definitely sunscreen, soda, second helpings and wine — in that order. Our party complained more about the dwindling supply of Diet Coke, Chardonnay and seconds at dinner, than spiders, scorpions or the bats flying above our heads each night.
So at lunch, a fellow outfitter stopped by and we traded out goods for more soda. Praise the sugar gods! Let there be peace on earth, or at least this emerald green river.
But that day, on the flat, flat water, paddling into a wall of wind…
We improvised to stay cool. With water guns.
And boat tipping — on purpose.
Anything to get in the water and cool off from the heat.
After what felt like hours of paddling and going nowhere, (with calluses popping up on my hands), to our relief each boat hooked up to a bigger oar boat — our “baggage boats” — just to inch us downstream a little faster.
It made for a lazy ride.
We eventually pulled over to camp just shy of our intended destination, given the wind and our downstream battle. We opted for a sandy spot just before Rapid 209.
That night, I took a poll.
Being eight days into this trip and fully accustomed to peeing in the river, pooping in a can, poaching a camping spot before anyone else could run to and claim it, jumping in and out of the boat and bathing in 50-degree water every night, we all seemed to have a running list of experiences and souvenirs.
Here’s the official report… Grand Canyon Souvenirs By The Numbers:
12 people with yellow duct tape covering blisters or cuts on feet
6 people with “boaters butt”
8 with swollen legs and feet
17 with blisters and hot spots
9 with bruises
12 rashes
5 people with hair braided by Jo
10 people who “slapped the bag” (that’s a wine term)
6 fell out of the boat
7 peed out of the boat
24 hit by a water gun by Justin and Andy
9 asked Brian for medical help
6 steered the boat
14 rode the “Bull” (more on that tomorrow!)
12 still had clean clothes
5 with red ant bites
6 had a hummingbird visit their boat
2 stole a sarong from a random rock
4 men wore sarongs on the trip
10 were still wearing the same clothes they did on Day 1
6 lost something to a rapid
2 had something broken
3 misidentified Dave snoring when it was really Jo
13 think pooping in a bucket is now normal
24 lowered their standards of privacy on this trip
13 saw fully nude nudists in a brief encounter
2 mooned the nudists
2 admitted to having AMPA (Advanced Morning Poop Anxiety)
2 never slept in the wilderness before this trip
14 figured out the camping routine so it now feels normal
3 poached the GROOVER
1 took a photo of themselves on the GROOVER
14 want an outdoor shower
1 has not yet bathed
4 did not jump off waterfalls
5 coated their body in A & J’s Goo Goo Butter (calcium phosphate)
5 had nose bleeds
4 had shoes fall apart on the trip
0 were able to keep up with Jim, our 77-year old pace setter on the hikes!
That night, reality slowly set in as we gathered around in a circle.
There was only one more day left on the river, our last day of whitewater rapids.
As the bats came out, flying low along our campsite, diving and dipping overhead in the light of dusk, so did something else we had not seen all week.
The new moon.
We were heading into the home stretch.
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About Jamie
Hi, I'm Jamie. This blog started on January 1, 2011. ...because I made a promise to myself.
I did not purchase clothes or shoes or other frivolous things (things I love mind you) for an entire year and wrote about it every single day. For 365 Days. Now, I am on year three!
Year 2: Lovemore+Fearless
2012 sent me rafting down the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon where I slept next to scorpions. I tossed my old engagement ring in a fountain in Paris, and swam with sharks in the Bahamas. In the end, I learned more about LOVE than fear.
Year 3: Abundance
Part of my journey this year is to dive deep into abundance which includes giving away a gift a day. I hope you come along for the ride!
I do hope you join me in making promises and reaching your goals.
TGIF. F*ing Fridays are back! And, they will continue to occur on Friday. I mentioned some of my favorite F words back on Day 5 in Year 1, including: Fearless, Fabulous, Fine, Fun, Faith, Freedom, Forgiveness, to name a Few. Last week I dove into the word Flip Flops. Today’s F*ing Friday is dedicated to the […]
TGIF. Today continues the weekly series, F*ing Fridays, which will coincidentally occur on Friday. I mentioned some of my favorite F words back on Day 5, including: Fearless, Fabulous, Fine, Fun, Faith, Freedom, Forgiveness, to name a Few. Last week I dove into the word Festivities. Today’s F*ing Friday is dedicated to the word: Finale. […]
You’ve made it. Over the hump of 2011 and looking directly at the other side. Approximately six months left to go, 181 days to mark on the calendar. Today concludes this four-part series, In The Middle. Day 4: Soul I wonder what Lewis and Clark thought as they hoofed it across North America, did they high-five […]
Have you ever felt like you were just supposed to be somewhere at a certain time ~ even though it wasn’t planned, you couldn’t predict it and never expected it? But there you found yourself anyway? That’s how I felt this week having to rush off the island with Pup’s little emergency. It put me […]
It feels like summertime and the shopping is easy. Here in Mexico one can’t escape the local vendors. They come to you. Whether sitting at a restaurant or sitting on the beach. Se vende? Want a new silver bracelet? Want a bright pink strapless beach dress? Want a kabob with shrimp and papaya? It’s so […]
