The Flower or the Bee

There are some things thrust upon us, some we bring on ourselves, and some things tip us spinning and careening into chaos. We view them as bad, we view them as good; and yet, we do not know the end. Perhaps we should not be so quick to judge.

A farmer named Sei Weng owned a beautiful mare which was praised far and wide. One day this beautiful horse disappeared. The people of his village offered sympathy to Sei Weng for his great misfortune. Sei Weng said simply, "Who can say what is good or bad?"

A few days later the lost mare returned, followed by a beautiful wild stallion. The village congratulated Sei Weng for his good fortune. He said, "Who can say what is good or bad?"

Some time later, Sei Weng's only son, while breaking in the stallion, fell off and broke his leg. The village people once again expressed their sympathy at Sei Weng's misfortune. Sei Weng again said, "Who can say what is good or bad?"

Soon thereafter, war broke out and all the young men of the village except Sei Weng's lame son were drafted and were killed in battle. The village people were amazed as Sei Weng's good luck. His son was the only young man left alive in the village. But Sei Weng kept his same attitude: despite all the turmoil, gains and losses, he gave the same reply, "Who can say what is good or bad?"

Sandstone Creek

I was bantering with some Louisiana boys just the other day about the word creek. I say creek - they say kreck. There’s run and kill, stream, and many others, but where I grew up it was creek.

When I was small boy we lived on Gordon Road, just down the road from Tompkins Center and Sandstone Creek crossed the road just down the hill from the house. It was a dirt road then, the bridge was red, rusty metal with boards for tire tracks. In between the tire boards was space and water below. It used to scare me to death to cross the bridge - I thought for sure we would plunge headlong into the creek never to be seen again. The boards were just too skinny to support a car, or so I thought. I was terrified and excited all at the same time whenever we approached the crossing. It was replaced in about 1964.

Tompkins Center was a branch in the road and one store then. The store was every bit a country store and it too sat beside Sandstone Creek. You could buy nails and shovels and food and beer. Everyone knew my Grandpa, who used to take me there almost everyday while getting something (for my Grandma, who never drove, ever). I most often got a candy bar - Heath bars were my favorite. I would eat all the chocolate off then eat the center like a sucker. (Sucker is another one of those regional words) My Grandfather is buried just up the hill, about 100 yards from the store.

Sandstone creek ran clear; the banks were steep and generally sandy, always surrounded by trees edged with corn fields, and then small farms. The creek started at Minards Mill, just about two miles from our house. The mill was gone, many years past, and just a dam remained forming a shallow, lily-filled lake of maybe twenty-acres. Sandstone creek ran through the fields and farms of my youth and then into the Grand River. The Grand wasn't so clear, but the creek was glorious. Its clarity exemplified the times, my youth, and the country life as it exists in most people's imagination. The barns, the woods, and simple carefree freedom we enjoyed have now been replaced.

Just down from the store the creek cut steeply into the bank and someone put a rope swing. In the summer the water was cool and deep. If you swung too far the result wouldn't be very pretty. I would have to say the rope swings in the barns were far worse. I’m surprised we survived. I don't think anyone would ever allow a swing there today.

Although, Sandstone Creek is still there, I fear it is gone forever - changed by sands of time that our modern world blows too quickly away.

Passion, Age & Identity

"Is not life a hundred times too short for us to bore ourselves?"
— Friedrich Nietzsche

Passion is the mirror of identity and identity the mirror of passion.

Many people define themselves by what they do or how they relate to others - a mom, an attorney, a racer, a biker, a web designer, an executive, a husband, or an artist. And I would guess, that even those that might deny it most likely do so. This "self-identity" often contains more than one definition. Someone might see themselves as a racer and a dad, or an attorney and a biker or even an artist, a mom, and a biker. Actually, having many passions is healthy. (Too many might be a problem - gee never been there....) Intellectual pursuits, the pursuits of family, and physical pursuits, all in sync, are the mark of a balanced life and most likely a balanced person. Often these self-identities happen to also be our passions. Joesph Campbell in "The Power of Myth" called this following your bliss.

People are fulfilled and happiest when their passion is also what they do - be it a job or some athletic pursuit, hobby, or other things they spend their time on. Certainly, the pursuit of our passions fills us with deep satisfaction.

Sometimes age overcomes our passions - we change. Lost passion isn't necessarily a bad thing - sometimes we just move on. The difficultly comes in the letting go and not loosing our identities. I once defined myself as a climber - it was truly a passion. I still love it, but now it doesn't dominate my life. I've simply have other passions now, but I still am that climber and all that I learned is still with me. (see Recreating Ones' Self) Some people get lost when passion fades, and it does so naturally, just as it should. When this happens they suddenly don't know what they are, where they're going, and what to do. There is most likely some of this in a mid-life crisis. I would go so far as to say each new decade brings new passions - I guess the trick is learning to move on to new things while still keeping our personal perspective in place. That sense of who we are and where we're going is very central to everyday life.

It is also important that our passions define us in a healthy way. For example, some might define themselves by their beauty and as they grow old the vain attempt not to loose that identity presents the world with a sad picture indeed. I think it goes without saying that our passions need to be healthy. I'm really not discussing unhealthy pursuits - that's another topic altogether.

"One person with passion is better than forty people merely interested."
— E. M. Forster

"With out passion you don't have energy, with out energy you have nothing."
— Donald Trump

Painting by Tammi Brazee, Seeing Red 2006 (kind-of reminded me of many passions)

Halloween madness

Wow, Halloween. Bridger came home last night, stripped down to his underwear and jumping bouncing, rolling, hopping, leaping, and yelling had me sit down and sort the haul. Candy bars here, and gum here, suckers over here, and...what do we do with these dad? Piles were everywhere. Some enterprising anti-candy Nazi even gave out rubber balls. Most likely a dentist.

So, now we have to endure the pleading. By the way, if you throw away a piece a day, they never know. And, of course, there is always the big lie, "I think you ate that last week, sweetie".

Halloween has gotten pretty sophisticated since I was a kid. Pillowcases were the most common haul bag of choice. Costumes were all homemade. Only the "rich" kids got a orange plastic bucket. If you were lucky you got a mask. They had this funky elastic string, skinny and white attached to the mask with little tiny metal pins fit into the end of the elastic. But, the pins were the second thing to break - the first was the hole in the mask. A second hole was then needed. By the end of the night the "new" holes were everywhere, and this wasn't even the worst. The worst was the hair. Everyone walked around with a bald ring around the back of their head for several weeks. I think some of the girls may have actually found the white string somewhere in a tangle of hair several weeks later - mixed with some hard candy. Eventually, the mask ran out of places for new holes, the pins came off and knots no longer could replace the pins. So, you just held it up in front of your face and said your piece. Most every kid walked away holding a mask with so many holes; and because it was being carried, now long tears from each side all the way to the eye and mouth hole. Speaking of eye holes - they must have had some weird mishapped kid for the mask model with either no eyes at all or eyes on the side of their head. I'm not sure I ever even got my mask out the the box without creating a long tear. How the one shown here survived, I will never know. Perhaps it is the only one. And, who is this? Did we actually go a just some guy?

We would get apples, a lot of popcorn balls (you couldn't eat them fast enough and soon they became popcorn rocks - the real, but secret source of bad teeth), cookies, and some candy bars. Maybe five candy bars were a real score - the holy grail of the season. These were almost worshipped. Carefully laid out and guarded with your very life.

Bridger doesn't guard his candy so jealously. Amazingly enough, it wasn't too long ago that he finished last year's stash. It wasn't that he got so much as he is really into saving. Don't ask me what that might look like when he's grown!

Now, if I can just sneak the tootsie roll pops before he finishes them off I'll have it made.

Knowing & Being Known....

There have been times in my life that I knew something to be true, but denied its existence because I couldn't change it. I would have to admit I hid from it. Whether avoiding the pain by not looking at it, or fearing the blindness it might bring, the results were the same.

We all have the opposing desires to both cloister our inner selves in order to hide aspects of ourselves from others, and also to expose our inner selves to others. We feel deeply that we want those around us to know us, to embrace what is truly us, to accept, respect, and love us for what we are, but yet instinctively we fear the cold glare of both strangers and friends alike. Do we fear ourselves that much? (Or, do we fear pain? See previous post.)

In thinking about this idea it is telling that the simple act of just accepting someone can bring that person to tears, especially if there is a perceived negative aspect or shame in the hidden or undisclosed. Acceptance is powerful stuff. Yet, that opposing desire to hide, driven by fear of rejection, keeps us from knowing and being known.

We talk about knowing ourselves and finding ourselves. If you think about it this is quite an odd concept - finding ourselves. It even sounds silly, but we all relate. How? If we do find ourselves that means previously we have been either lost or blinded, but most likely hiding from ourselves. Few of us are completely lost and if we are blinded to certain things it is usually permanent. So, finding ourselves (think smaller scale...perhaps, not in the grand sense, but in smaller, subtle ways - but, none-the-less damaging) is not really finding anything. It is not hiding. When we are transparent we can then know and be known - real connections, real relationships, real life. Remember, we talking about degrees. Few have no real relationships, but few have the transparency that allows us to be truly known.

I would be the first to admit that it is no simple task to allow our foibles, imperfections, fears, or whatever out there, but as in most things simply acknowledging a thing eliminates its power. Leigh, a good friend, said it like this:
"I believe that we are born with the imprint of personality and that we inherit certain biological structures, processes, and tendencies, but that who we mostly are is the culmination of profound experience and the impact that those experiences have on our emotional, psychological, and spiritual development. I think that those three, emotional, psychological, and spiritual are interconnected and inseparable. What impacts one area also impacts the others. I don't know how you feel about it, but I always find it interesting to stretch our internal selves. I think it's the only way we grow, and that if we aren't progressing, then we are digressing because change is ongoing and nothing remains in stasis. Our society pushes Intellectual pursuit as a big thing, and it's a good thing, but for me it's just the acquisition of cultural, and other, information and does not necessarily encourage growth in the big three areas that I think are vital for functioning. In fact I think that for a lot of people it becomes a shield that they use to protect themselves so that no one can see how truly vulnerable they are feeling."
She is right on.

Milky Way

Recently, I was thinking about the Milky Way and remembering some of the places and times I've been mesmerized under its white embrace. There are many, and to me I always have clear memories of when it dazzled me. It never fails to inspire. I suppose that once upon a time most anyone could go out onto the front porch, or perhaps the tepee, maybe the hogan, or the yurt and simply expect it to be there. That, of course, is no longer. It is now special; reserved for memories and places we may wish we were at right now. There are many people who most likely have never seen it - not truly.

The Milky Way is the name we all know best, but it is only part of the name. It is the Milky Way Galaxy - it is where we live. Most readers have seen pictures of galaxies; a round, spiral, flattened disk. These galaxies are spread around the universe and we see most of them a single stars; although, in fact, there are billions and billions of stars in what we perceive as one star. Our galaxy is roughly 150,000 light-years in diameter and contains Earth's solar system. (A light year is 5,878,625,373,184 miles - yes, that's almost 6 trillion miles in one year. By the way, the farthest galaxy is 13 billion light-years away. Do that math!) We are on the outer edge, thus what we know as the Milky Way is really looking inward toward the center of our galaxy and what we see is a white irregular luminous band that encircles the sky defining the plane of the galactic disk. Kind of similar to being a mite on a pancake. Looking up you might be able to see "out of the pancake"; however, looking toward the middle the mite would only see pancake and not the outside world beyond the pancake. The Milky Way system contains hundreds of billions of stars and large amounts of interstellar gas and dust. The Sun lies in one of the Galaxy's spiral arms, about 27,000 light-years from the center.

But, back to the point - it's not science, it's memories. Moab is one of my favorite places. You can disappear in many places and be at least a hundred miles away from the nearest light and the cites are so far and so small and so spread out they don't affect the sky. I always believe I am looking at the same sky as the Fremont and the Anasazi. The Winds offer the same solitude, but higher. Sleeping at 12,000 feet one can hardly separate the stars one from the other. You can even see satellites wiz across the sky. Mt. Robson in the Canadian Rockies is also unforgettable.

There is also a special place in Vermont. The stars aren't quite so bright there, but the place in full of memories, and fun, and the stars are just the icing. Once Tammi and I, when we first met, slept under the stars in western Maryland. The Milky Way shone like new love. I will never forget the view and the feeling.

The milky way makes me think of my friends. Of being high, and cold, and tired. Of fun, of good sleep, and of fires, and climbing, and blankets, and easy talk. It is the stuff of life.

Ouch!

Pain is a rather interesting force. For obvious reasons I have been thinking about this topic again. I actually have a "philosophy" built around the entire subject developed recuperating from the dissolution of my first rather short marriage, now almost twenty-years ago. Of course, I am talking about emotional pain. Thinking about this I am just reminded of something my grandfather said as he lay dying just this last year. I was saying good-bye for the last time; "Artie", he said, (he is Artis, so in my family, I am Artie) "you’ve had a hard life". I don't remember what he said next - that stuck like a spear in my side. I laid my head on his chest and sobbing, said my good-byes leaving with that thought in my head. I flew back to Colorado and I think he died the next night. So, I will never be sure why he said that, especially since he watched his young wife die, leaving him with four little children. He did not have an easy life. He was born into a family of sharecroppers in the Deep South during the depression, and that was just the start. Gradddaddy's perspective deepens the mystery. Anyway, I guess I have a reputation; although, I really don’t see my life that way. There are plenty of people with hard lives. I don’t have a corner that commodity. But, one must always remember that pain is relative. Some people experience great trauma while growing up and some very little. It can very well be true that the person who really suffered some serious abuse can be quite fine, while the later develops some serious psychiatric condition. The capacity of the psyche to either overcome or succumb can never be minimized, nor can psychiatry portend some condition based upon any set of tragic events.

Back to the subject though -– physically, pain is a necessary evil; it literally keeps us alive. Touch the hot stove and it is a sure thing that pain will "make" you save your hand. Without the pain, you could very well just burn your finger right off. Not an altogether pleasant thought making it quite easy to see that pain is a good thing. But, (here's a great dichotomy) only through pain can we achieve greater fitness and the benefits that implies. The saying, "no pain, no gain" is familiar to us all. What we are accomplishing with the pain is building a better "machine". So, the more "pain" you can embrace while working toward a fitness goal, the more fit you will be.

Physical pain, therefore, has two aspects - one positive (building the body) and one negative (saving the body from a threat). There are those that avoid physical pain like the plague. Workout -– never, be hungry -– unthinkable; I could go on, but you see the point. Those life choices produce negative results, which in turn produce things like obesity, which in turn can produce all kinds of physical problems. All of this is fairly obvious, but apply the physical aspects of pain and pain avoidance to the other parts of our lives (emotional, spiritual, and relational) and wallah; you've got something to think about.

Think what happens when you avoid emotional pain. Think about the long-term affects - think about the relational affects. I am quite sure you can relate. This is huge if you think about it. Now, think about “"exercising" emotions – working out. A completely different picture begins to form. What if we were as proactive with our emotional muscles as with our quads? I wonder what we can do with our wives/husbands for a little work-out. I know I have had some serious workouts lately. Are you avoiding one - maybe, maybe not. It isn't pleasant, but I promise you some strong quads.

on adventure, risk, kids, and fear....

Deena commented on adventure and I found it an insightful comment. I want to follow-up with some thoughts. Here's what she said, "With the introduction of children, I find that my sense of adventure has lessened. Is it because I fear my own mortality and the thought that I may not be here for them. The realization plagues me daily that we all leave this earth some day and isn't it better to leave my children with a sense of adventure than a sense of fear...here is to reigniting my sense of adventure and remembering the bonds that brought us all together."

Of course, I can never think of adventure and Deena in the same sentence without thinking of her "fall" on Rainier. It was an piercing, earth shattering, warning - "falling"... after six inches it was pretty much over. It was a great moment.

Actually, this is a pretty weighty subject. When Alex Lowe died and left 2 kids there was quite a lot of banter. Both Tammi and I have been "chastised" for climbing. I think that adventure is equated with danger and rightly so, but it is an interesting pairing if you think about it. Adventure can't really be adventure without risk. I can't think of any other element that makes adventure "fun". (Not that there aren't other ways to have fun or other parts of it that arn't fun) Perhaps this is a whole other topic. What is risk for one person is not risk for another. Example - a commercial float trip with class two or three rapids wouldn't be too much adventure for any of my close friends. Sure, it would be fun to take the kids, but I think we would only say the day was ok. Add in some craziness and we would have a blast.

Now, throw in the kid factor to our adventures. Do I teach Bridger to climb? How about mountaineering? When I look at what I enjoy the most the answer is clear, but the answer is scary as hell too. And, as Deena pointed out - how about me? What do I do? I just went out into the desert for five days alone and climbed some things that most people would call crazy. For me it was like crossing the street and completely controllable risk (fun). (Why are these words interchangeable?) I truly do want to give my kids what I have enjoyed, but I can tell you one thing - it is personal and maybe genetic. I regret that neither Erin or Taylor enjoy what Tammi and I enjoy. I have had to accept the fact that they don't and it wasn't easy. I don't even completely understand it. It is so basic I think it universal - it's not.

Last year Tammi and I were mountain biking near Pine Ranch and we came across a dead guy. He was 52 and had a nine year-old daughter. He went over the bars and that was it. Broken neck - gone. On my vacation I went over the bars about six or seven times and thought nothing of it. I'm not sure why. I will teach Bridger to mountain bike - I just love it too much and he does too - already. And the dead guy - I' m not sure. Was he just "unlucky", inexperienced, or something else? I just didn't process it in a negative way. Although, I must admit Tammi snuck my name and address into my camelback - written with sharpie!

Deena's right - it is better to leave our children with a sense of adventure. Now, we have to figure out how to make them respect the limits - especially boys.

So Deena, here's to adventure and here's to us, and here's to the boys - once they see all the pictures and hear all of the stories it will be pretty much hopeless - we might as well teach them well!

Comments?

just look around stupid...

Morels aren't well known, at least not like truffels. But, this gourmet mushroom has quite a following. Goggle it and you will get about 12 million hits. To its crazed minions it's called mycology, but that's so it has a fancy name. Hunting morels is like hunting snipe only they are real, and after you really find the first one it's pretty much like crack. They can be bought for around $40 bucks a pound, but don't ask anyone where to find them. There have been murders attributed to that knowledge escaping - these people are serious. And, rightly so - morels are good, really good. Scarce, hard to find, expensive, rare, and absolutely wonderful. This picture is in our flower bed. We have a morel factory there - go figure. No hunting, no fuss, no nothing. Just go out and see if they're done. What wonderful things do we miss because we just don't look around? A kids question, a moment that will never return, a lovers touch as they absentmindedly go by - I am sure it is simple things. We get busy and miss lots of morels in the flower bed.

curiosity killed the cat

What is the difference between those who, for lack of a better saying: are simply insanely curious, and never stop learning; and those who never really care about much besides what is right in front of them? It is precisely that curiosity that drives the machine of humanity forward and, I think more importantly, each one of us forward personally. I think every one of my friends have this quality - I think that's telling and I certainly enjoy people who are insatiably curious. Tammi certainly has this quality. I don't think we would enjoy so much together without it. (By the way, this is a part of one of a very curious person's painting - Tammi's. It is Erin studying - the person on the wall doesn't exist in our house or on our wall. It is someone from the past looking out to the future. I thought it an appropriate picture!) Anyway, kids have an almost universal curiosity. When does it leave and why do some people retain it and some not? How do we pass it to our kids or at least keep it alive? It seems to me to be one of the foundations of success. Here are some good quotes about being curious.

• I think, at a child's birth, if a mother could ask a fairy godmother to endow it with the most useful gift, that gift would be curiosity.

Eleanor Roosevelt

• Curiosity is one of the most permanent and certain characteristics of a vigorous intellect.

Samuel Johnson

• I am neither especially clever nor especially gifted. I am only very, very curious.

Albert Einstein

• Judge a man by his questions rather than by his answers.

Voltaire

• Curiosity is the very basis of education and if you tell me that curiosity killed the cat, I say only the cat died nobly.

Arnold Edinborough

• The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity

Friends

• "One loyal friend is worth ten thousand relatives."

Euripides, Greek playwrite

• "You can't stay in your corner of the forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes."

Winnie the Pooh

• "To the soul, there is hardly anything more healing than friendship."

Thomas Moore

• "A friend is someone who, upon seeing another friend in immense pain, would rather be the one experiencing the pain than to have to watch their friend suffer.”

Amanda Grier

It has been too long since I've seen my friends. Part of my vacation was spending some time with three of my friends. I haven't taken the time to see them and that silly little fat bear seems to know more than I. It has been a trying year and in some ways I was just attempting to keep my head above water - to make it through. I wanted to spare my friends when in fact they wanted nothing more than to help me. I mostly likely hurt them deeply in order to spare my own pain. The irony is that they are the only ones who could have taken my pain. Ah, what we do to ourselves! The very act of hiding is so counter to friendship. When I consider what I would do for my friends I think I might smack 'em up side the head for failing to let me know when they need anything - for not letting me be what I am - their friend. We have a number of responsibilities to our friends primary of which is to let them be our friends. That takes honestly and perhaps a little courage. Maybe woman do it naturally, but I think men do it poorly or at least I did. Maybe next time I'll get smacked up side the head.

Recreating Ones' Self

I think it is important to realize that we are still everything we have been. That is, everything we were is still inside us, still part of us, and still relevant, still real, and still very much alive. Once I was a boy of 10 roaming the fields and woods, dog in tow, and BB gun at the ready caring for nothing more than some new place to get wet and finding a tree and climbing with reckless abandon so I could possibly spy some new adventure. Once I was a winning gritty high school wrestler facing someone just like me and fighting like hell until an arm was raised. Once I was a Marine, shotgun in hand peering out into the night, or "snapping" the presidential flag for an arriving Reagan. Once I drove a semi along dusty, muddy, or snow covered roads loaded with diesel fuel looking for the lights of an oil rig and waiting for what surprise the rough-necks might pull out of their black bag of tricks. Once I was a mountain climber, ice tools in hand, leading grade 5 ice up a col; screaming calves, cold hands, and summit lust. Once I was a collage student running from class to class, hating my roommates, and loathing the fact that hunger met the dining hall. Once I loved for the first time and when she left I thought my heart was broken forever. Once I was a racer, pain banished, body flexed and honed working only for the love of sport. Once a master carpenter, fitting and working with fir, mahogany, redwood, oak, and walnut; creating beauty and very deep satisfaction.

Now I am a husband, a father, a construction executive, a mountain biker, an adventure racer, and a friend. Yet I am still a child of 10, still a Marine, and still that same carpenter. They are all deeply part of me - they are me.

Mark Cohen has a song off the Rainy Season album about his father who did one thing his entire life or at least was seemingly trapped for most of his life. My father-in-law has worked in one place; a Mack assembly line, his entire working life. I don't know how he did it, but he has. It is more than I could do - the sameness would do me in. Due to responsibility, these men seemingly had no power to recreate themselves.

Rest for the Weary

My father was a working man
But his work was never done
He stood behind a counter
And he smiled at everyone
He bought himself a business
Worked seven days a week
Took a holiday for Christmas
Then he fell asleep beside the tree

But one day One day
There'’s love for the lonely
One day
They walk in the sun
One day
Rest for the weary
Rest for the weary ones

Now my mother stood beside him
She did what she could do
But if you look at some old photograph
She looks tired too
I hope there was some laughter
'‘Cause I know there were some tears
Now all I can say is I pray to God
That after all those years
After all those years

That one day One day
There'’s love for the lonely
One day
They walk in the sun
One day
Rest for the weary
Rest for the weary ones

Now I'’m just another traveler
On another winding road
I'’m trying to walk some kind of line
I'’m trying to pull some kind of load
Now sometimes I move real easy
Sometimes I can'’t catch my breath
Sometimes I see my father'’s footsteps
And man it scares me half to death

But one day One day
There'’s love for the lonely
One day
We walk in the sun
One day
Rest for the weary
Rest for the weary ones


I'm not sure if our "recreation" masks our former selves or magnifies our existing selves. Perhaps it will be as we make it. I think an intimate knowledge of what we were and a clear, ever-present memory of that person surely enriches our current life. Stop and remember what you "were". I am happy (and I think my temperament would allow nothing other) that I have had many "lives", many careers, and many adventures. I will have many more - what, I don't know. But, I am quite certain that I am not finished. After all, what better than to be a grandpa and a little boy all at the same time.

I just returned from vacation with some perplexing questions; a number I intend to pursue in some forthcoming blogs, that is when I get around to thinking about them.

It was typical vacation - go, go, go. Temperatures were outrageous (105 daily), sleep deprivation was common, and I came home with embedded soil samples and in quite a few different colors from purple to dark green. It was wonderful, life-giving, and each day holds memories I will never forget. My friends did the same and felt the same.

The question is why do some people go on vacation and waste themselves with activity while others prefer more sedentary leisure? Where's the difference? Each thinks the other's vacation is absurd and can't stomach the thought of either so much activity or so much inactivity. Many of my colleagues look at my vacations and know insanity lurks just under the surface, yet many other people I know envy the manic pace of my adventures. The truly wonderful thing is that my wife is on my side of vacation equation.

I don't question the fact that some people do not like sports (climbing, biking, backcountry exploring, dangerous activities or exposed situations). To each his own, but "the others" have to be passionate about something besides sitting around. History, art, cities, museums, or foreign travel come to mind. Why aren't they exhausting themselves with such endeavors? Where's the passion? Where's the spirit of adventure? Where is the zest for their particular passion? Are they bereft of passion or are they so spent by their daily existence that sloth is the only cure?

And what of you? Do you secretly wish for some adventurous vacation or do you loath the idea of the unknown, the untried, or simply the strenuous? I actually think the people with boring vacations are jealous. Perhaps they live vicariously though those who do break the mold. Perhaps they know nothing else.

About two years ago I met the woman who wrote Hitchhiking Vietnam. She falls in the great vacation category. As a matter of fact, I don't even believe it was a vacation - she just went Asia and ended up writing a PBS series. Beside a road in the pouring rain she rubbed my very muddy and very stinky feet, and also there's the potato, but that's another story...

Oh yes, and the worst - sleeping in. My god man, vacation is finite. Sleep when you get home, watch TV when you get home, lay around when you get home, but don't waste something so precious, so wonderful, so life giving as time SET ASIDE to have fun. Such times come only rarely and never can you get a bad one back. "My vacation sucked, I need another", won't get you very far and if it did, it might get you a very long vacation indeed. Go get crazy!