No Goals for Me

I don't have goals. I have ambitions.

And here is why I make the point to separate the two... goals are just that, goals. There is no less and no more to a goal than the end result. They are flat. Goals are what you achieve for yourself. Ambition is what you become in the process.

Ambition. Whoa, now here is a word with meaning. With thoughts and emotions, with rocks and rivers cut through paths and superheroes saving the day, your feet stuck in the mud yet a crowd of faces still cheering you on.

I don't know why this makes a difference, but the pictures in my mind of these words are drastically different.

So here are some of them... perhaps they'll come to be reality and I'll write about them in my blog.

1. Spend an entire day in prayer

2. My name on Google (on the first page of search results!)

3. Live in a spanish-speaking country for at least 6 months

4. Start a Supper Club

5. Be fluent in Spanish (regardless of whether ambition #3 happens)

6. Learn to make sushi

7. Live alone

8. Help teach an adult how to read

This list is ever-expanding. We'll see how it goes.

7:00 a.m.

Kelly Flats Campground #20

$17 to camp here, but definitely well worth it. There is the constant sound of the river, the way it carefully and intensely overrides all other sounds. I have my own little bank of the river at which to sit, write, eat, read, whatever.

I can look 180 degrees (maybe even 200) around me and not see a soul. That's enough for me today. I have enough imagination to pretend the other 180 degrees don't exist.

My spot is isolated from the road and backs into nothing but trees and brush and the rocky hill I'm sure I'll climb in a bit. A rare spot to find in a campground such as this, and I am thankful for this gift.

I drove up last night after work and without any real plan. I almost turned around nine times. It was 8:30 pm before I hit the canyon walls, my eyes were heavy from a long day's work, and I kept getting flashes of the laundry pile in my closet at home. The voices in my head - countless friends' warnings of going out alone: "It's not safe", "Don't forget the bear mace... you don't have bear mace? You have to have bear mace", etc.

I find at times a seeming contradiction of desires. The "responsible" self - work, laundry, rest, safety, etc. And the "other" that can often carelessly say "do what you want." I wager that the "other" has to be the best thing at times. Also that the "other" does not have to be careless or even irresponsible. It is true to me, though. True to what I care about. If I want to wake up in the mountain sun, I'm going to take every available opportunity to do so. Last night presented itself and clearly I couldn't resist.

A brief note on safety: the lack of it - not a bad thing. A little risk, uncertainty, a fleeting "what the hell am I doing?" never hurt anybody. It's in those moments (or hours or days) that you (I) look beyond your own (my own) sense of self sufficiency and independence and find where true help comes from. Don't get me wrong, I'm not suggesting it's wise to coat your bare skin with fish grease and wander out into bear country to learn a lesson or two about trusting God. I digress.

What kept me following the road up the canyon was this. Right now. Waking to the very early morning sunshine's shimmering reflection on the water. The golden light on the rocks, the trees, my face and knees. Waking to stillness. Waking to the roar of the river, the smell of my wet dog. And getting to use my new stove. And the fact that no matter what it took, or what it risked (not much, really) to get here, I am here.

Nevermind that it isn't perfect solitude or quiet. Nevermind my tent being on a gravel pad or my dog whining at the neighbor's dog or that some ambitious early morning tubers just floated by. An adventure is what you make of it. Or rather, make your own adventure. There are no complexities to it, just a simple mindet to make the most of everything and experience all you can. Like setting up camp and cooking dinner in the mountain darkness, stars innumerable above, then waking up to the revelation of what the light of day brings. Exactly what you had no idea you were looking for.

This is quietude - the musical "shhhh" of water running over rock and my thoughts expressed in written word.

naught, she thought

I find it interesting how plans change. The past couple of weeks seem to be marked with the changing of plans. The unwanted and undesired have been met with surprising gladness, the wanted and thought desired have been met with disappointment and frustration, maybe a few tears.
I think I am being taught that my life is not my own. My time is not my own. My steps are not mine to determine, to calculate, to plan. So I'm trying to figure out where this lesson leaves me. Where to go from here. How a gospel-sharing, Mommy-visiting, physically draining week at work including patient death, my own sickness, a cancelled backpacking trip, a rescheduled camping trip, a woodland creature attack, and a, I guess I'll call it a guy situation... all add up to teaching me something bigger than this weeks' events, bigger than me. I know this week is not for naught.
Perhaps only to bring me here, using the phrase "not for naught" and the simple and strange pleasure that brings.