Is this life sustainable?
Forty-five days ago I arrived in this small town with nothing but a idea of it's existence, based upon topographical maps, and a sense that adventure was on the horizon. In that time I have worked hard to accrue certifications which allow me to do what I love while earning a paycheck. I have discovered a new passion for the outdoors which I have long had but had not fully appreciated. I have met people who have changed my mind on what is important in life and I have been to places and taken in sights which are burned across the space behind my eyelids.
I do not make much. Some of my friends have begun lives on their own path which are divergent from mine in nearly every way; people that I know and love very much. One of my oldest and closest friends has a full time job with an income that would take me four years or more to match, for his one. He has a fiance, a dog and an upcoming honeymoon in Hawaii. I have a bike, a sleeping bag and tent and unlimited access to the places that I find unimaginably beautiful. On paper, many people would consider him the American Dream in action.
But whose dream is it?
I remember having a conversation once with my mother about my future. I believe I was fifteen or sixteen years old. The final words that I got out before she hugged me and walked away, distraught, were: "Mom, I am probably not going to be rich. But I am going to be happy."
Every day in Skagway has been the best day of my life. I have climbed on top of glaciers, seen wolverines, beavers, bald eagles and great blue herons in their natural environment, done yoga poses on top of mountains, ran through the forest as fast as my feet would carry me with a cattle dog matching my speed beside me, woken to the sound of song birds and the early rustlings of a camp awake, and all the while I've met people who found those exact same possibilities endlessly exciting.
One of my roommates asked me this morning, "Do you think you'll continue coming back here?"
"To Lower Lake?" I asked, "or Alaska?"
He laughed a moment, "I mean Alaska."
"I'm not sure." I had to think on it for a little while, watching the light shift and glimmer on the surface of the lake in front of me. "I do know that this is the best place I've ever been, but I've said that before, and this is the best job I've ever had, which I've also said before." He nodded his head. "Yeah, this place will change your life."
Forty-five days ago I arrived in this small town with nothing but a idea of it's existence, based upon topographical maps, and a sense that adventure was on the horizon. In that time I have worked hard to accrue certifications which allow me to do what I love while earning a paycheck. I have discovered a new passion for the outdoors which I have long had but had not fully appreciated. I have met people who have changed my mind on what is important in life and I have been to places and taken in sights which are burned across the space behind my eyelids.
I do not make much. Some of my friends have begun lives on their own path which are divergent from mine in nearly every way; people that I know and love very much. One of my oldest and closest friends has a full time job with an income that would take me four years or more to match, for his one. He has a fiance, a dog and an upcoming honeymoon in Hawaii. I have a bike, a sleeping bag and tent and unlimited access to the places that I find unimaginably beautiful. On paper, many people would consider him the American Dream in action.
But whose dream is it?
I remember having a conversation once with my mother about my future. I believe I was fifteen or sixteen years old. The final words that I got out before she hugged me and walked away, distraught, were: "Mom, I am probably not going to be rich. But I am going to be happy."
Every day in Skagway has been the best day of my life. I have climbed on top of glaciers, seen wolverines, beavers, bald eagles and great blue herons in their natural environment, done yoga poses on top of mountains, ran through the forest as fast as my feet would carry me with a cattle dog matching my speed beside me, woken to the sound of song birds and the early rustlings of a camp awake, and all the while I've met people who found those exact same possibilities endlessly exciting.
One of my roommates asked me this morning, "Do you think you'll continue coming back here?"
"To Lower Lake?" I asked, "or Alaska?"
He laughed a moment, "I mean Alaska."
"I'm not sure." I had to think on it for a little while, watching the light shift and glimmer on the surface of the lake in front of me. "I do know that this is the best place I've ever been, but I've said that before, and this is the best job I've ever had, which I've also said before." He nodded his head. "Yeah, this place will change your life."
Is this life sustainable?
People keep telling me, when I was in Utah working at a ski resort and now in Skagway working as a hiking and rafting guide, "That's so good that you're doing this while you are young. Do what you love now, because when you get older, it's different." Why? I want to ask them. Why not live this way, live without televisions and a new car. Live in a small community where people help each other get by. Live in a place where the world's most beautiful wild places are just beyond the front door. Why do you feel the need to get back to the lower-forty-eight and chip away at the marble statue of economic gain once more? Do you sleep well at night? Do you love your wife and your family? What black dog is barking at your unconscious mind when you're alone? Is there joy to be had in the life you've chosen that I can't see? I have so many questions for them, but all I ever say is, "Yeah, I love it here," with a stupid smile on my face and a million questions left unanswered.
I am not naive to the commercial engine which powers America's V-8 turbo diesel economy. I understand the thirst. I understand that to remain a "Superpower" we are expected to give to the world a feeling of security, that someone, somewhere will right the wrongs and keep an eye on the bank account. We can't all live this way. I tell myself, giving up. We need the software engineers and the construction managers and big box stores. We need them because without them we slide back into reverse, back in time to family owned business and share cropping. We de-evolve, lose progress, stop breaking new ground. Wait! I want to shout, can't we take a look around to assess what we've already got, assess our strengths and weaknesses before cracking the whip of development once more?
I know, I'm young and I just don't understand. But it seems to make sense to me right now that living for a love of life is the only way to live at all.
People keep telling me, when I was in Utah working at a ski resort and now in Skagway working as a hiking and rafting guide, "That's so good that you're doing this while you are young. Do what you love now, because when you get older, it's different." Why? I want to ask them. Why not live this way, live without televisions and a new car. Live in a small community where people help each other get by. Live in a place where the world's most beautiful wild places are just beyond the front door. Why do you feel the need to get back to the lower-forty-eight and chip away at the marble statue of economic gain once more? Do you sleep well at night? Do you love your wife and your family? What black dog is barking at your unconscious mind when you're alone? Is there joy to be had in the life you've chosen that I can't see? I have so many questions for them, but all I ever say is, "Yeah, I love it here," with a stupid smile on my face and a million questions left unanswered.
I am not naive to the commercial engine which powers America's V-8 turbo diesel economy. I understand the thirst. I understand that to remain a "Superpower" we are expected to give to the world a feeling of security, that someone, somewhere will right the wrongs and keep an eye on the bank account. We can't all live this way. I tell myself, giving up. We need the software engineers and the construction managers and big box stores. We need them because without them we slide back into reverse, back in time to family owned business and share cropping. We de-evolve, lose progress, stop breaking new ground. Wait! I want to shout, can't we take a look around to assess what we've already got, assess our strengths and weaknesses before cracking the whip of development once more?
I know, I'm young and I just don't understand. But it seems to make sense to me right now that living for a love of life is the only way to live at all.
