(With credit to P. G. Hoffman who, I believe, first coined the phrase.)
I have been struggling with how to relate the prior eleven days in Beagle; I could entertain you with stories about The Night of the Tick
Infestation (I spent all night crushing ticks off of myself and Opus—they didn’t
seem to care about River—and every time I found one crawling on me I would shout,
“Bug!” And that, being Opus’ nickname, would cause Opus to jump. It was a long night.) or the Tale of the City
United in Defiance (an entire city in Oregon refuses to play the fear game,
they have restaurants open, bars, someone served me ice cream! It was like walking onto another planet, a familiar
one, one for which I yearn.) or The Tale of the Island United in Fear (you can
guess where that is.)
But I would rather talk to you about courage.
During these past eleven days, my courage has grown immeasurably. Which got me thinking, how does one become
courageous? I posit that it comes
from experience; experience and learning from that experience, building one
little brick of courage at a time.
While on the Oregon coast, I stopped at a State Park
parking area. I knew all the state parks
were closed and all the turnouts I had seen had roadblocks and signs. But then one turned up without either roadblocks
or signs and I thought maybe, just maybe, they were giving us a break.
So I parked the Beagle, leashed the noses, took a breath to
replace trepidation with courage, and started into the heavily wooded hillside,
hoping to get a glimpse of the rocky shore.
About a mile down the trail I became very uneasy; the woods were too
quiet and the trail more and more narrow; I was plum out of courage—it was time
to listen to intuition. I turned
around. When I did so, I saw a side trail
off to my left, heading west, almost covered in bushes. I broke through and was awarded the view you
see above. I stood there for a long
time, eventually raised my arms to thank the scientists above for giving me
courage. Without courage I would not have
been standing there.
Every day and night on the road I had to stifle my fear
of not knowing where I was going to park for the night. All the RV parks are closed as are state,
county and federal campgrounds. (Can someone
explain to me why you can stay in a hotel, where you pass people within two
feet in a hallway but you cannot park your self-sufficient Beagle in a campground? Illogic like that makes me think the people
in Oregon have it right.) But I digress…
As you know, my first night was on a street outside a
hotel in Petaluma. I awoke the next
morning and was thrilled; I felt freedom.
When I walked through the (mostly closed) downtown to gather my
Starbucks breakfast, I stopped to play a piano on the sidewalk (talk about courage!) looked
a man in the eye as we were passing (within six feet of each other and no masks
dear god!), smiled, returned his good morning and felt a spark in my being that
has been missing for far too long. I
felt like Kit. Finally. Happy.
Free.
Then there was a night at a marina (in the happy town
with ice cream) and my first ever night in a WalMart parking lot. You know what? It was a hell of a lot better outside in
their parking lot than inside their stores!
Yes, that took courage. Particularly
when the truckers rolled in but I quickly learned that there is a nice comradery
amongst them which made me feel protected and safe. That morning I woke and knew that I had
turned a corner in my courage; I could go anywhere in Beagle now and not worry
about where I might end up for the night. Imagine what that has opened up!
Eventually I got to Orcas and stayed six nights in Sea
Salt but still showered in Beagle. Long,
uninteresting story. I also cleaned out
the shed, depressing, private story, but another experience that added foundation
to my courage. Not all experiences are
enjoyable; sometimes the difficult ones lay even more bricks.
After leaving Orcas, a friend told me about Hipcamp.com,
a site where private land owners list camping spots and, apparently, are not
afraid to do business right now. As my
final (to date) step up the courage ladder, I booked a site east of Chico, off
of Highway 70 for two nights. And it is
amazing! A little challenging getting in
(unlike campgrounds or RV parks, I could not be sure what condition the
road might be in and there is no directional sign indicating a turn into a
campground.) So, courage in place, I blindly
turned off the highway, onto a dirt road, eventually finding my lovely little
pitch. Full hook ups no less!
Now I sit here, finally writing my blog. Experiencing life provides an opportunity to gather
courage and using courage leads to experiencing more of life; it is a
delightful circle, but one that requires you to begin by choosing to live.
So I ask you all, can you step up on your brick of
courage and choose to live? The thing
about courage is, much like muscle, you have to use it in order to keep it. If you stop being courageous, fear creeps in
and that cycle is what I think most of society is in right now. More fear leads to less courage which leads
to less experience of life and therefore no chance to build courage, which
brings us back to, you guessed it, more fear. This is a vicious circle.
Give the other circle a chance. Use what you need to in order to be
comfortable (masks, hand sanitizer, social distancing) but go experience life even if it means pushing against those trying to hold you back,
add some bricks to your foundation of courage.
The only thing anyone can guarantee you is that one day you will wake up just in time to die—from any one of hundreds of
ailments or accidents, often without warning. Live while you have the choice.
-K
PS: Turns out, the
only thing essential to me is the freedom to determine what is essential to me.
