"Goodbye"

Some say that the more “goodbyes” you say, the easier it gets. What foolish words we speak to ourselves, then, because they most certainly get tougher. With every goodbye we exchange, we lose a bit of the naiveté once harbored. 

This realization is how I found myself crying into a glass of wine at open mic night last year, nestled into the corner of a Maine coffee shop as a fiddler played an upbeat song in the background. In truth, I was smiling and surrounded by friends, settled in a moment of true contentedness. It was just that the emotions of these thoughts, accumulated over 25 years, had finally caught up. 

For the record, it was not a “who is this crazy, bawling fool, making the room feel awkward” kind of cry. Just a tearing up kind of cry…

Anyway. Looking back in our own histories, I think most of us at our youngest ages would tell one another in full sincerity that “we’d be best friends forever.” I fondly remember those goofy gold-plated broken heart necklaces, with “best” on one side and “friend” on the other, as a testament to this early belief. Maybe that was a girly thing though. 

Later, when we nabbed our own set of car wheels, we guaranteed that we’d most definitely pay each other frequent visits.  

Facetime, Facebook, Phones… all made our capabilities to stay in touch infinitely easier, but the actual actions of staying in touch take a concerted effort that we simply cannot do as much of as we’d like to do. Despite genuine intentions, the reality of remaining in consistent contact tends to be far harsher. More often than not, the typical progression is that we fall into a year or so of dwindling contact, an annual Christmas card, and a few check-ins on Facebook. 

I am a far greater cynic than I used to be, but I don't intend to be depressing.

Visits with a few good friends and family members are my most cherished memories. There are some connections that stand the test of time, bar nothing. Meeting these people again is always a flood of contentment and compassion, where we remember how easy it is to be fully ourselves and alive with one another. Time can’t move slowly enough, for us to catch up and wreak havoc on the world once again as a team.

Even in these reunions, though, a bit of sadness always hits me. With many of my friendships, we’d at one time fallen into easy routines, where spending time together was the norm and not the occasion…when “see you later” meant see you in a few days, a few hours, or on our next adventure.  It’s the difference from present to past that gets to me a little. I suppose that’s why all the yogi’s keep saying, “stay present.” Hrrumph.

This might just be a sad ode to my lack of yogi-ness and a recognition of my plain-old-humanness. I miss spending time with people I love with ease and on the day-to-day basis. This is not to say that there aren’t these dear people in my proximity now, because there absolutely are, but I just want to be around all of the people I love all of the time. Is that too much too ask? (I'm just kidding). 

A simple visit with any of these folk is like coming home, if you will, but knowing you have to leave again soon. Especially for those military brats or current active duty members, sometimes home really was never a firm location of bricks and mortar anyhow. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Then why do we lay roots, knowing the emotional consequences of uprooting?

In Maine, I’d found a place I belonged, in an environment and community I adored. These were “my people,” if you will. At 25-years, that was a pretty wonderful thing to discover, having lived in quite a few places previously (13 unique addresses, to be exact). 

But then there I was, drinking wine and getting ready to up-and-leave again, a place I’d found myself all too often before. There was excitement for the next adventure, a readiness to leave certain raw things in the rearview mirror, and a piercing sadness to be leaving so much behind. Change and nothing ever going to plan are some of our few guarantees, I’m afraid.

Fortunately, I have found that the most important paths cross again. Usually intentionally, occasionally not. People return at often just the right time, helping us back onto our feet, or simply make our afternoons more pleasant. Either one is a pretty good deal! The efforts we do make to stay in touch do lead to something good, I think, whether it’s an occasional post-card/text, annual visit, or bi-yearly Skype-date. 

A  note on wanderlust:  I think sometimes there is a wanderlust so insatiable, that even when we are dragging our heels into the earth to hold on a little longer, we know down deep that sometimes you just have to let go and move forward. To see the world and all that jazz. 

On the flipside, I do think there are also times when we realize that we might just want to put up our feet and stay for awhile, and not live in a permanent state of transition for a season or two. It'd shake off some of that bittersweetness that's been chasing us for awhile. 

Again, anyway. By far and away, relationships are of utmost importance to me, if not the most important. I can’t imagine a life with relationships that only ever go half-way, never quite reaching their fullest potential. We don’t have the capacity to be important to everybody, nor to feel as if everyone is important to us;* however, those few great relationships are the ones that form the most important structures of our life stories. 

So to answer the question of “why lay the roots, when we know we’ll uproot anyway,” well, I think it comes down to simple physics. Every force has an equal and opposite reaction. The more you give, the more it hurts to leave. But is it worth it? 

Hell yeah. I wouldn’t have it another way.

* I remember learning some odd-ball research/psych note that most humans are only capable of keeping 8-10 people in their closest social circle. It seems arbitrary, but also makes sense and makes me feel a little less bad about losing touch.

PS: last blog post, I think. GOODBYE, and thank you for reading. 

Photo/Video CredL Julia Monahan

Sunsets with friends.

fleeting beauty

feet beauty (JK).

Earth Child Syndrome

Fresh air, salt water pulled through hair, fast motion through a leafy, wooded trail…there are worse things in life to be addicted to, I’d say. 

*****

I walked barefoot down Constitution Ave in D.C, past the Department of Labor with my white high heels dangled from my left hand fingertips and a red interview folder cradled in my arm. The folder held the resumes, research, and hopefulness of a classic post-collegiate job hunt. Now in that moment, I was also walking away from a career in environmental policy. 

“Take ‘em off, it’s all over now!” someone called from his car, referring to my shoes as I stood shoeless at the crosswalk. 

Ha. 

I waved with my shoe hand, keenly aware of how out-of-place I was in this professional, urban jungle of a city. It was a ridiculous cat call, but I was likewise ridiculous. In my defense, I had a triathlon in the morning with two wicked blisters developing on my heels. Ain’t no time for that. 

Anyway, my morning was an interview gauntlet: a round robin style interview at a defense contractor and a reverse kind of interview at the Marine Conservation Institute (MCI). I didn’t get the corporation job, and I ended up turning down the MCI position.

Funny thing is, we have an uncanny ability of rationalizing things to ourselves when we just want a direction to travel in, and most other directions look murky and against the odds. I suppose, fortunately for me, that when push came to shove I realized I’d wither away if chained to a desk in D.C. I would truly go berserk.

Even if I was fighting for those environmental things I cared about deeply, and the people surrounding me were intelligent and passionate about what they fought for, I knew how frustrating the field would be for me. Patience and tedium are not my virtues. These are good fights, just perhaps not the fights for me to be fighting. I’d continue to admire and respect those environmental soldiers, but my particular strengths lay elsewhere. 

Plus, me in D.C.? Psh. Fish-out-of-water..

“Do you ever actually go to the ocean?“ I asked once, innocently. My interviewers smiled at me endearingly, as if I were a young child asking if our staff took their annual vacation to Disney World. 

“What’s the worst part of your job?” I asked on another interview. 

“Oooh, I suppose sitting on my tush all day,” she said with a giggle. 

“Haha,” I giggled back, alarm bells going off in my head. 

I never thought of myself as odd or afflicted before, until it was brought to my attention in college by a few close friends.“You always light up and ask if we can go outside,” one friend said. Indeed, sitting on the porch with a glass of wine and a couple of friends is one of my favorite pastimes. 

My RA staff’s goodbye note for me was doodled with humming birds and mountains. One wrote, “I’ve never really met such an earth child! I admire your love of the outdoors and the little things. I thought of you as I studied outside the building yesterday, but then my papers started flying away and I gave up.” In contrast, I have a tendency to ignore the sun’s glare on my laptop or the breeze that strews my papers everywhere.

As the years progressed, further evidence of my “affliction” arose. I’d routinely fall asleep on UVa’s Lawn with my head in a textbook, until I woke from ants crawling beneath my cheek. It was a common occurrence for my friend and I to walk back in the wee hours of the morning with our heads turned upward towards the stars and the moon. I also insisted on walking everywhere, sunshine or stormy  weather, for the simple reason that I wanted the fresh air and to hear the birds chirping along 14th street in the morning.

How poetic of me. 

It’s quite annoying, actually, that I can’t sit still in an office space for 4 hours without beginning to pace. My head might begin to throb, my limbs get ridden with anxiety and tightness, and I start to ache to be out in the open spaces and earth. It’s not particularly conducive to certain routine activities of our modern world.

This earth child syndrome, though, it’s not the worst. Richard Louv wrote a book about “nature deficiency order.” That affliction sounds much worse to me. Louv describes, and backs up with his research, how a direct connection with nature is essential for childhood development, and for the physical and emotional health of both children and adults (http://richardlouv.com). I haven't read the entire book, but I’d say he makes a fair case.

The one thing I know for sure is this: there are other “crazies” out there too, waiting to go run around in the woods with me. We easily recognize ourselves in each other. Our adventures involve mud and mishaps, sunshine and shitty weather. We’re most alive out in the elements, far away from the silly things that tie us to the human world. 

So to my friends and family members who have adventured with me, this is simply for you. I think of you who have accompanied me in looking up at the stars; who’ve jumped into really cold oceans or lakes with me; who’ve picked up snakes and turtles on our hike; who’ve run mountain trails alongside, stealing blueberries from between the rocks and catching magnificent views as we flew. Maybe we’ve laughed in hysterics over our lostness, trippings, or full on catastrophe, realizing soon after that it was well worth the trouble and the story. Sadly, most of these shared experiences can be only relived in our memories, but I feel lucky to own them. Thanks, for taking part. I get you.

Finally, we all need something to be weird about. Life’s too quick to fit ourselves into a stupid and unreliable mold. Or, perhaps worse, to be a genuinely incredibly boring person. What a terrifying thought.

The only remedy? Do as Emerson says: “ Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.” 

PS: 

A good friend once said, on a late afternoon Beech Hill snowshoeing adventure, “you know how some people need to see the ocean every once in awhile (yes, yes I do), that’s how I feel about the winter light.” At the time, golden light bathed the entire hillside, lighting up the berries and bending through the branches. Rays reflected on the white snow and ocean, up to our pink-cheeked faces. This was amid moments of hilarity, I might add, including broken-then-jerry-rigged snow shoes and a few moments of being one-legged into the depths of the snow. 

Anyway, that was such an interesting notion to me. I’d never really thought about how different people are significantly pulled to certain things in the natural world, while other elements, though also good, don’t have quite the same draw as they do for a friend. When I mentioned it to two other friends, they each had different answers (woods, the mountains). Mind blown.

And finally, good ol' Wendell Berry. He gets it. : “Peace of Wild Things”

Driving in Maine: What NOT to Do

Well, here goes a story. It began on an early Wednesday morning, the day after the massive Juno snow storm hit the northeast.

I had a hunch I wasn't going to be able to go for a run on duty, so I wanted to run before I left for work. Sadly, it didn't happen. Those 5:00 a.m. deals are just real struggles. But, I thought, "maybe I could snag a quick little, 10 minute boardwalk jaunt before work." We weren't going into work until 7:00 a.m. and arrival time was flexible because of the roads and their snowy conditions.

As I was pulling down the road to work, I looked down the hill that went in front of the police station. It was the best way to get to the boardwalk parking lot. "Looks kind of steep, hope my car can make it back up," I thought.

10 min later....

My car could NOT make it back up. Halfway up, I slid backwards into the bank directly in front of the police station. I took a few (like 6) slightly frantic in-and-outs from my car, where I would attempt to bare-handedly clear snow from around the wheels, then put my car in all kinds of gears to make it move, to no avail. I was starting to get nervous, mostly from impending embarrassment.

How was I to explain I was late because I was dumb enough to go down a too-steep hill from about 400yds to work, just to get some fresh air before 2 days of confinement? I debated walking with my uniforms and bags, but realized I couldn't really leave my car there, blocking the whole Rockland Police force. I figured I might have to call for assistance and bring the help out, in front of the probably-laughing policeman, both Coast Guard duty crews, and the Tradewinds Inn guests on the other side of the road.

Finally, though, my car budged. Not sure how. However, I got stuck diagonally, even more in the way. I attempted to wave to a snow-plower, who just looked at me and probably couldn't have helped me anyway.

Somehow, someway, I made the car move enough to get the traction again after two more attempts. I safely backed into the flat area of the lot...and guess what I did?

FLOORED IT up that hill. For a few heart-rending seconds, my car stopped at the top lip of the hill, wheels spinning. I kept pushing the pedal all of the way down. The wheels eventually caught and my little blue car crested the hill and went over. I'm not sure what would have happened if I'd not made it over and simply backed into the police car parked not too far behind me. Phew. 

After driving down the block and parking in front of the station, I took a few deep breaths and walked into work as if nothing had happened. I was only six minutes after 7:00 a.m. the third one from my section to arrive. Hallelujah.

Stubborn, stupid, or strong-willed, I don't know. But had I not cracked myself up, nearly to tears, as I re-lived this story with my friends Anna and Tara, I would likely have kept this story from all you experienced Maine drivers 'round here. Some lessons you learn the hard way, though.

The Art of Small Gestures

Let me tell you a story.

It’s not my own story, but the story of an anonymous, flanneled couple at a Maine vineyard. They made my evening, about a month ago. (I swear I'll write about the military sometime, as that seems to be what the people back home are most curious about...perhaps I'll soon tell you about my recent "OC Spray" day. Ugh.) Anyway- 

Cellardoor Winery

I’d just finished a trail run up Derry Mountain in Lincolnville, Maine. My running partners couldn’t make it this evening, so I was running solo. It was a good night for meandering, with a bit of time to kill and no imposing plans. So, instead of taking the main drag through Camden, I decided to take one of the more scenic backroads back home to Thomaston.

On my way back, I saw a beautiful, well-lit, rustic-looking building on the roadside. It was the Cellardoor Winery, whose wines I’d seen many places around town, but never tried. I also saw the sign that said “Wine tasting tonight-! 3-6PM.” I drove a half mile or so past...then three-point turned it in one of the dirt driveways. I went into the winery wearing my shorty-short running shorts, high socks with blue anchors, and a large fleece jacket.  I got some funny looks, but far fewer than I’d receive in the southernly-charmed Virginia. 

These spontaneous side adventurers tend to be my favorite. In Cellardoor, which I highly recommend, classy collides with casual in the most comfortable kind of way. It sits atop the vineyard on a hill, and on a night like I was there, a stunning sunset behind the mountains sets the backdrop.

So, I was sitting there tasting my wine. Everyone around me seemed to be in good spirits. It was a pretty mellow atmosphere, with gentle smiles and nice pleasantries going around. I exchanged a few comments with the sweet, older couple beside me. “Oh yeah, I’m not a fan of anything too sweet either...no, I’m actually not freezing...yes, I’m in the military...the Coast Guard Station over in Rockland...Oh yes, this is my first time here too...Oh cool, do you miss living out here?” Nothing crazy, we were just enjoying ourselves and our escape from business-as-usual. I said goodbye to them and continued onto my next half-glass of wine. 

As I was drinking, the wine-pourer came back to me to ask me how I had liked my previous glass of red wine. I re-assured her, for a second time, that I really did like it a lot. “Urbane” it was called, named after a local artist. A few moments later, she came back again, this time outside of the bar, with her crisp black skirt swishing and a sneaky smile on her face. She carried a slender brown bag with a ribbon on the handle. “This is for you,” she said, “from that couple you were sitting next to.”

My jaw dropped. I hadn’t expected this at all, and I was flabbergasted by the sweet surprise. My wine-pourer was so happy to have been part of this little mission. I looked over to the cashier where the couple was checking out. The older women, in her red flannel shirt, came by. We both kind of were blushing through our shyness, but she said she just wanted to wish me “happy holidays and enjoy my time in Maine, along with a bottle of wine.” I stuttered through my thank yous, goodbyes, and a “this is awesome!” 

I now wish I’d gotten their names so I could thank them with a card, but I didn’t think of it at the time. All the cashier knew was that they were from Owl's Head. I’ll just have to pay it forward someday, I suppose. 

It was the best bottle of wine I’ve ever owned. Not because of the taste, per say, but because I  thought about that gesture through every glass I poured. Hurray for the holidays and wonderful Mainers.

The End.

Cellardoor Sunset (iPhone photo, not great)

.
.
.
. 

First Year, UVa 

   

PS: 

 Postcards are my favorite "small gesture," as many of you know. I swear a postcard will mean far more to your friend than you silently perusing his/her Facebook page tonight. 

Running. A love letter to lacing up.

Somedays, I just feel so damn lucky to be a runner. Yes, absolutely lucky. For those who say “bah, I only run if I’m being chased,” or “...sometimes on the soccer field” you could stop reading now. This might not be your thing. For my fellow runners: those wonderful people clad in too-short of shorts and mismatched neon, sweaty and chafed in all the weird spots, and endlessly chasing PRS and the esteemed runner’s high...this one is for you.

I realize I’m off the trail of whatever vaguely-defined direction this blog was going to follow in its beginning, but, it wouldn’t be a “Kerry-blog” without a post or two about running. 

Running is freedom.


It’s the time in the day to look forward to, knowing that once the shoes are laced up and begin pounding the pavement, the day’s anxieties and absurdities fall away. Somedays it’s a LSD day (ahem, long slow distance day, even with my tendency to be a little trippy), where you pick the pretty routes, find a rhythm, and simply roll with it. Somedays it’s a grit it out kind of day, where you’re either just “running really freaking fast" or participating in the love-hate relationship of speedwork on the track. Then, of course, there's that small masterpiece and gut check, the race. Whatever its form, the run is a minor escape from the clatter of the day and a few moments of freedom from daily demands.

Perhaps a draw to running is its purity and simplicity. There’s a bit of wildness in tearing across pavement, the sand, or a muddy trail. There's also a singleness of mind that is tough too find today, only present when 100% involved in something and unencumbered by distraction. Shoes, you, and a probably some clothes is all that's required. Or, perhaps you’re streaking and don’t need anything at all, a truly exhilarating moment in running, and freedom at its finest. (WAHOO WAH, U.Va and our traditional Lawn streaking).

In the end, and every runner understands this at the core, there is no space for excuses. There is only a body in motion and acceptance of whatever decisions made before a test. People get fancy with running apps, running gels, and heart rate monitors, but good runners knows when it’s time to ditch them.

On a track, it’s quite simple. You either conquer the long oval, or it conquers you. It’s an ongoing war with many hard fought battles. The heartbreak and the accomplishments are our own, and the victories quieter than most. And those quiet victories, when the only finishing tape you’ve broken is your own? Those can be the sweetest.

I could go on about my love for running for pages, so I'll stop for now. Nobody enjoys the sport of running at first. It’s like one of those people you have to get to know over time, in order to reveal whatever he or she has to offer.

10+ years ago: UGGGGHHHHH,” what did I get myself into?!?” I gasped, soon after crossing my first high school cross country race finish line at Bells Mill Park in Chesapeake, Virginia. It was a sincerely miserable experience. I don’t remember much of that race in itself, just the sharp shadow of pain and thinking along the lines of: “how the hell do these people run so fast?...this hurts a lot....catch that swinging ponytail ahead....thank goodness for Aubrey’s mom’s cookies at the end.” (I’m serious about the cookies. They’re truly the best).

I stuck with it for the year, though, and I think a dedicated year is what it takes to get adjusted to almost anything. I loved my teammates, my goofy yet genuine coach, and the thrill of competition. Once you’ve become a part of the game, it’s hard to leave it.

However, the year I fell in love with running was the year it seemed the rest of my life fell apart. Tough things and craziness ensued after the move with my family to Pecnsacola, Florida in 10th grade. This, along with the normal tumult of the teenage years, was a lot to handle as a 15-year-old. Therefore, I literally ran away from my problems. I logged hundreds of miles along the sandy beaches and on the base’s wooded trails. In the summertime, I’d wake up before the sun to avoid the suffocating deep south heat. I'd jump in the ocean after a lot of my runs.












Competitively, I didn’t PR once. I didn’t even participate in the track season. I was a fine runner, but couldn’t really pull it together in the heat, or in my head. Running for yourself, though, is when running transitions into something beyond sport.

There are various stages in running, with some overlap or returns back to previous stages. Jeff Galloway, a renowned runner and researcher, presents one way of looking at here: 5 Stages of a Runner . I suppose I returned to Competitor Stage when I returned home to my team at Oscar F. Smith High School. (My mom, sis, and I moved back to Virginia for junior and senior year). Running became 100% ‘my thing'. No longer would I “skip out” on my weekend runs. During track season, I’d request extra sets or sprinters to pace with in intervals, oftentimes running solo around an asphalt track.

As I might have mentioned...I loved it. I loved the adrenaline, the excitement, the performance, and the camaraderie. People in the running world are grand. Runners tend to be the most genuine and optimistic people you’ll come across. Even amongst rivals, there’s usually a great spirit. Oftentimes, I’d fall into sweaty hugs with my toughest competitors after a race, when moment’s before we were hunting each other down and throwing elbows. There’s a unique bond and an appreciation for a race well run, whether it’s your own or another’s.

End high school, end competitor stage.

Except not really. It takes time to transition into “Runner” stage again. I had a new, (fast!) team to run with at the University of Virginia, and was still pretty locked-in to competitor mode. Virginia Club Cross Country was a defining feature of my collegiate experience and a wonderful piece of my time at U.Va. My memories with them are the sweetest. I cried, no bawled, when I watched our 5th runner cross the finish line at our National Championship race in 2012, knowing we’d taken the victory. I’d never been that emotional after one of my own races.

When you’re truly a runner, running spills into life in all kinds of ways. Sometimes in funny ways: running home in heeled boots after bars with your runner friend (always seemed like a good idea at the time), lacing up your shoes and running to class with a notebook because you’re late, literally running errands, looking over to giggle/grimace at your friend on a Sunday 9-miler as you questioned last night’s decisions, finding it normal to lay down with your legs vertical against a wall to move the lactic acid around, or while the rest of UVa talked about J. Crew and Vineyard Vines, we compared our Asics to our Sauconies.

Running also affects us in more significant ways. We reached corners of Charlottesville that the majority of students never saw. We planned days around practice or our “run times.” Clarity, calm, and creativity...these are the things my teammates and I found through excellent runs. Running together, we bonded over miles of endorphin-infused conversations, or perhaps in silence as we ran next to our partner, matching pace and rhythm with no excess of words required.

Every runner comes at running with different motivations and talent levels, different quirks and tendencies in their biomechanics, and different levels of commitment. The unexplainable parts of running are what keeps it colorful. There’s both a science and an art to it. Some will never leave the jog-around-the-neighborhood stage, and that’s cool too. No two runners are the same. However, most of us share that universal runner nod when we pass each other on the sidewalk, an unequivocal understanding passed between people with thousands of miles on their shoes.

Finally, and I do mean "finally" because this is such a long post, when someone says “running is boring,” I smile and shut down. Come back and tell me running is boring after you’ve run yourself into the ground, where your blood courses through your limbs like battery acid and you’ve smacked head-on into the proverbial wall. Try a late night December run, where Xmas lights light up the cold, crisp air. Tear up a snow-encrusted, leaf-covered mountainside, because the world makes more sense on top of a mountain. Stride down a beach and into the waves at sunrise. Get lost in a big city or on the trails that surround it. Seek out runs in stormy weather, rather than shying away from them. Let it become your craft, the thing that makes you feel most alive.

I have many, but one of my all-time favorite running memories took place on a morning run in New Orleans. It was eerily quiet and peaceful on the streets, the sky a cloudy gray-blue. As I ran down the seawall, I came across a man with a trumpet, playing a tune oddly upbeat and sorrowful at the same time. Before that moment, I’d been disappointed by the lack of good music I’d heard in New Orleans. I stopped to listen for a few minutes, and he looked up to pause and give me a smile. We connected right then, respecting and appreciating each other’s pursuit of our chosen crafts. He went back to playing, and after a few moments I turned on my heels to be on my way.

Most of us have our own bit of crazy, our own passion that shapes how we see things. Perhaps the only true “craziness” is when someone ignores those things that set them on fire. RUNNING is only one of many lenses to look through, and it’s certainly not the end all be all. In fact, taking a few steps back from it brings a fresh appreciation, and allows other things to fill in the spaces its left. But running, my friends, has its major perks.

If you’re new to running or just getting into it, I hope you’ve been inspired by my ramblings to go outside and lace-up. If you’re a veteran, I hope you don’t forget to enjoy the ride sometimes.


Keep runnin’ peeps. I’ll catch you on the trails.



<PS>: Check out this really awesome, 2 minute film: What moves you? A film for runners, by runners.

Maine Trails

There are only two types of people in this world: those who climbedtrees as kids, and those who didn’t climb trees.”

A  few weeks ago, "my people" came to visit me.

By my people, I mean Kristy and Gail Kelley, my Aunt Nancy and Uncle Marc, and my cousins Nicole, Laurence, and Franz. Oh, and Luke Kelley, the pup too!

By my people, I also mean those who are always up for spontaneous adventures and whims; those who enjoy carrying on conversations that dance from travel plans to hydro-fracking to flying airplanes; those who are OK with my quirks, including uncanny klutziness and a “need” to run daily; and finally, those who are brimming with energy and fun, yet will sit back at the end of the day around a campfire, s’more or good beer in hand.

By my people, I often mean those who climbed trees as kids.

I didn’t realize how refreshing , and hilarious, it would be to be around family. While they were here, nothing went according to plan (ever), but we still had a blast. With so many people to coordinate, with so many different interests and ages, we were an especially lively, but slow-moving group. Wherever we went, we kept the people around us entertained.

On one of our bigger, planned adventures, we went rock climbing with the Atlantic Climbing School in Acadia National Park. Our two guides were wonderful, and the scenery stunning. We climbed a few different routes on Otter Cliffs, where the rocks overlooked the ocean and waves crashed along the shore below us. Our feet hit mossy and jagged rocks after each rappel. Truly, putting words to it is tough.

It was after our final climb, squeezed in right before our trip time ran out, when one of the guides asked me: "Kerry, why are you so good at this?”

From my position, where half my body was dangling over the cliff-face and the other half of me was flat on the ground, I looked up at him to smile with a shrug and said, “I don’t know. I guess I climbed a lot of trees when I was younger?”

He laughed and told Nicole and I that he was once traveling with a stranger, met on trip to Ecuador, who made the following claim:

“There are only two types of people in this world: those who climbed trees as kids, and those who didn’t climb trees.”

That notion has stuck with me, and I’ve been wrestling with exactly what it is that sets the tree-climbers apart from the non-tree-climbers. The thing is, I get it. I have the friends who I know will be game to climb a tree with me…or climb a goal post in Scott Stadium…or streak the Lawn at UVa…or take naps after geology in the grassy patch beside Clark library…or take-on whatever crazy, non-practical adventure comes our way.

It was only recently, on a boat ride, that I started getting into words a few of the differences.

The Tree-Climbers

…remember childhood as a wonderful, fleeting and outdoorsy time, not as a time when thumbs got worn-out and eyes bleary from too much screen time. The rate at which smartphones and TV are taking over kids’ childhoods in the US is alarming. Don’t get me wrong, I spent many an hour on N64 playing Super Mario, playing SIMS on the computer, and watching “Hey Arnold” or “The Wild Thornberries”; however, playing outside was usually the #1 priority.

The memories remembered most fondly are perhaps the ones most ephemeral, i.e., those we can’t press rewind and replay on to do over again. Rather, they’re the ones where we were most engaged with the world and, perhaps more importantly, with the people around us.

For me, a few that came forth from my collage of childhood memories are: exploring with my best friend as “a spy” in the woods of Annapolis, cruising all day on the water with my cousins on Lake Conesus, making mud pies on the shore, catching garden snakes in the creek, making obstacle courses out of hockey sticks and deck chairs, building sandcastles and "merpeople" on the beach, playing with fire and writing our names with sparklers, and endlessly daring each other to do stupid things, like hold barefoot running contests in the snow. My hope is my kids get to have similar experiences and don’t fall to the easy addiction of digital pastimes.

K. Off my soapbox now.

…are tougher than the rest. Bruised shins, skinned knees, stitches in the forehead, slivers and thorns in the fingers…it happened; however, you learned from the bumps and the bruises, and often took pride in the battle wounds.

A lesson learnt in Campfire 101: fires’ embers hold their heat from the night before if you don’t douse them with water (or pee on them, if that’s your style)…who knew? Fourth-grade Kerry didn’t. At my little bro’s Boy Scout camp out, I picked up a seashell from a “burned out” fire, scorched my hand, and yelped as I threw it across the dirt. I never did that again, and I learned how to re-stoke a fire for breakfast.

…take more chance, push more limits. My poor mother. She was so good at letting me get myself into predicaments. I saw her genuinely nervous only once, on one of my tree-climbing ventures in a tall pine tree; otherwise, she would be the last to call me in from going out too far in the water or sneaking too close to the edge of the rocks. I appreciate that a lot. That bit of risk-taking carries into the later years, I think.

For example: our rock-climbing guides. They’ve done a lot of cool things with their lives, like venture around South America finding all of the best spots to climb. That kind of endeavor certainly requires a willingness to jump into the unknown and to brave things we know only so much about. I give huge respect to people who have the courage to take the risks required to follow their passions and create paths beyond the ordinary.

…simply, have more fun. All work and no play does not make for a happy person. Even work becomes more fun when you allow play and creativity to seep in. I could think of examples in the 
adult world, sure, but I was recently remembering how much fun I had on my modeling jobs as a kid in Japan, when work didn’t feel like work at all.

On a photo shoot in an outdoor park, my friend and I were on a lunch break. We began by gingerly jumping across the dozen turtle-shaped stepping stones, which spanned across a river. Then, my friend began running across, back-and-forth. Unfortunately, my legs were a wee bit shorter than his.

On my first “miss,” one leg went into the water. On the next miss, I flat-out fell into the creek. “I’m in so much trouble,” I thought. We wandered back to the dressing room with impish grins, me dripping from head to toe. The hairdressers shook their heads, but laughed at us and mumbled things in Japanese as they used hairdryers to blowdry my hair and pink overalls.

…get perspective. Sitting in a tree all day gives you perspective. 

…share cool experiences with cool people. Friends are made and bonds are tightened when you share good experiences with each other, whether you’re out in the natural world or not. My good friends are always game to climb a tree.

...appreciate the little things. If you can get away for a bit from the stuff that bogs you down on the ground, you can notice the birds chirping and the way the sunlight peeks through the leaves. It gives you a greater sense of contentment. I think you have to enjoy the little things from where you are, just as much as the bigger, planned things.

…have a certain spark and excitement for life. The tree climbers are the people you like to be around. Instead of shaking their heads, they join in the fun and the ridiculousness. They don’t take themselves too seriously and they recognize that we could fall out of the tree at any moment. Might as well enjoy it all while you can. They smile more too. 

Perhaps "ground hogs" and "tree-climbers" is an oversimplified view of the world, but I kinda like the perspective from up here right now.

Post-class naps in the grass.

A note of thanks goes to my unofficial editor, Miss Sarah Turner, who shared her own tree-climbing stories after reading (my favorite part of it all)

Navigating Post Grad Life

I write this post thinking about my many friends and family members at the beginning of new chapters and decisions.

Some seemingly have it together, but most are still working it out. Nicole is figuring out how to become an environmentalist extraordinaire. Kristy (my sis) begins high school next month. Sarah just bought a one-way ticket to Boston to find a job, and Sharbear just upped and left to Denver with her boyfriend. Karquie is preparing for her 2nd year of teaching in Charleston. Kristina just donned her spiffy white coat for Virginia med school. Alexa begins married life. Erika just got engaged. Anna is weighing the differences between becoming a brilliant English professor or a superb family doctor. Jason is killin' it at Google. Racho is on the hunt for a kinesiology job. The list goes on.

I've had so many conversations over the past two years with friends, mentors, and residents about life after school. After 12+ years of following the straight and narrow, pre-defined direction laid out for us, we finally have to fact the "what do you want to do with your life?" question. Small question, infinite answers.

The funny thing is, it's a question we've had over us forever, if even in different forms. My fourth-grade art teacher asked us to draw a self-portrait of "what we want to be when we grow up." A few people seemed to have known their answer from an early age; I was not one of those "lucky" few. I painted myself as a "professional lacrosse player" because I was particularly enjoying running around a field in a plaid kilt, catching and cradling a lacrosse ball...and then also because my best friend had already taken "professional track runner." Other things I wanted to become: a Disney princess, an astronaut, an explorer (your guess is as good as mine), a spy, a dentist, a rock-climber, an author, an English teacher, and an architect.

Then the question became, "what do you want to go to school for?", which morphed into "how are you going to use your degree?" To my parents' dismay, I thought I wanted to go to school for an English degree. Then, for a short lived period, I wanted to transfer to A-school to become an architect. I ended up choosing a major that seemed more "practical" at the time: an interdisciplinary environmental degree focused on environmental policy. There was also a lot of science and economics, with a little philosophy and literature thrown in. I thought I might get into environmental law, work for the EPA or the DOI, or some kind of environmental business/technology company. Turns out, policy wasn't for me.

I got more out of my Leadership minor, where inspiring leaders from all different walks visited our class and gave us some pretty awesome insights, including their own stories. We studied people like Yvon Chouinard of Patagonia, Rachel Carson, and polar explorer Ernest Shackleton. A few of our speakers included a female army general, a pair of engineers behind Edison2 (an electric car), and a representative of a the Grameen Foundation, a pretty sweet microfinance company. My favorite speaker, though, was Mark Lorenzoni, manager of the beloved C'ville landmark and my own place of employment, Ragged Mountain Running shop. What we learned was so applicable to the groups we were a part of outside of the classroom. I think I often learned more from listening to these guys than from slogging it out for hours at the library. It was cool to apply, rather than only philosophize.
But, back to the heart of this meandering thought. Navigating that time after school can be rough.
I did not have it together after my original plan of becoming a Coast Guard Officer, something I'd hung my hopes upon, fell through. That lost, purposeless feeling, along with a number of other emotions and problems, made me to feel I was adrift in a Cat 5 hurricane. A loss of independence, leaving the support system I'd spent 4 years creating, and being away from the lively and vivacious Charlottesville were part of what shook me to my core. (You can read about my OCS rejection here, if you fancy: "Sunset Run, Rejection Run." )
I flailed around a bit. Actually a lot! My adventures in D.C. will have to be a post of their own because they're hilarious, in retrospect.

_________

These are my thoughts on how to make it through the storm. Don't take them as advice, as they are just observations. I'm no sage, that's for damn sure.


No one can make the decisions for you. Indecision is agonizing. We all reach our decisions in unique ways, and I find this a fascinating facet of human motivation. Some chase security, wealth, and comfort. Some are rational and logical. Attachments to significant others or strong family ties often make decisions for us. Sometimes decisions are based on fear. A handful of people will repeatedly do what they're "supposed" to do, while a few others will follow a greater purpose and intuition. In reality, all these factors affect us at different times and with different decisions. In the end, the decision to take responsibility of your decisions is the most liberating.

Think in 6 month time periods. Someone gave me this piece of wisdom when I was having a rough time. Six months, in the grande scheme, is nothing. As long as you're making efforts, it will get better. It doesn't rain forever, but take shelter under an umbrella for a bit if you need to, taking a few moments to enjoy the hard-found beauty of storm while you're at it.

Have fun after school. Really!!! This is a wild and new freedom that most of us haven't had in years. It's intimidating, even. My biggest regret is not using more of this time to continue traveling. I freaked out about my bank account after my original plan didn't work. In reality, I could have gone a bit longer with traveling cross country to different national parks/cities, visiting and staying with friends.

We are freshman at life. By the end of our 4 years at school, a lot of us were badasses. We definitely thought we "had our shit together." Unfortunately, it doesn't really matter so much afterwards. The only thing we can do is take what we learned from our experiences, and apply it to these new beginnings.

Great success follows great risk. Fact of life. Nike apparel is cheaply-made and overpriced (in my humble opinion), but they got it right with their cheesy but memorable "Just DO it" slogan. If that means moving to a new place and struggling to make ends meet for awhile, so be it. It takes a lot of courage to believe you'll figure it out.

Be humble and genuine, or get stuck. If we continuously put on an interview persona and show people what we think they want to see, we end up just where that takes us: a dead end or an ill fitting spot. Therefore, authenticity is paramount. Also, if you did manage to land a new position, it's a silly idea to pretend like you know what you're doing. You don't.

Pick out the passions and pursue them. The money will follow later.

Reality is gritty. Thinking and dreaming in the ideals is lovely. Those with an imagination go far, but reality can bite you too. If your head and heart are in the clouds, like mine often are, come back sometime! Those thoughts ought to eventually turn into actions, and you'll have to face the details when they do.

"Well done is better than well said." - Benjamin Franklin
If the door shuts, look for the open window. Cliché, sure. But so true. And yes, rejection hurts every time.

There's going to be an awkward stage. Freshmen are awkward. We have a lot to learn. We're going to fall on our face a few times and embarrass ourselves with our lack of competence in our beginning careers. However, when you do trip (figuratively, or literally in my case), just be sure to fall forward.

                    

No job choice will be perfect. You don't just choose a job, you choose a lifestyle. Not long ago, I'd make lists of things I wanted in my career: to help people, to work with kids, to work with/on/under the ocean, to have a chance to advance and grow, to travel, to be outside, to teach, to live in a sweet area, to write, to be able to use creativity, and to be surrounded by cool and like-minded people. No job can or will meet all the criteria. Recognize this, and we can stop looking for perfection.

Also, life outside of work can fill in the gaps. Nobody said we can't have oddball interests that don't line up with our chosen career path.

You can hop off the train at anytime. Perhaps you've given it a fair shot and allowed ample time for adjustment and stumbling, but it still stinks. Get off the train! It might be an easy transition. Maybe you'll be able to ease to a stop at the station and walk to your next position. However, it probably won't be that easy. Occasionally, you might have to leap off into the unknown to get where you want to go. It could hurt a bit. It usually does.

Yet, I know we'll brush off and be fine. It's calm that follows a storm.

I'll be here as a sounding board for my friends, always. My job now is certainly not wonderful, but I at least feel pretty confident and surefooted that I'm on a path that's right for me.

Adios, amigos.

Off the Pier at Station Rockland - 2014