Darren R. Leo's Blog, page 4

2015 New Year’s resolutions…

My resolutions for this baby new year:

*Not call anyone a fucktard…day two and I already blew that one.

*Remember my apple password so I don’t have to reset it every time.  I’m thinking, “fuckyouapple.”

*Check my meds every two months.

*Not wake up dead…day two and I already nailed that one…twice!

*Sneeze.  Yup, already nailed it!

*Find that fucking sock even if I have to dismantle the dryer.

*Forget past mistakes and make entirely new ones.

*Totally and literally stop using hyperbole and use words correct.  (dammit!)

*Work out…well, think about working out…well, think about pizza.

Really, I hope to log about 400 miles with my pack on this year, finish the first draft of the new book, pimp the holy, god loving shit out of my novel (to be released in June) (by “holy, god loving shit” I mean I’ll go anywhere and do anything that isn’t excessively illegal or immoral…”excessively” is really just a guideline,) climb a few mountains, climb a particular mountain with a particular friend and hope he doesn’t die, fall down a couple spectacular rivers, be thankful every day for a BSW (that’s an easy one), learn to play three songs on my harmonica, finally perfect my foundry and crucible and make cool shit, learn to cut a bottle perfectly in half, write a few sentences good enough to make me go, “Oh yeah baby,” in a Barry White voice, grow a rock star garden, be happy (that’s the tough one), and I really want to find that fucking sock.

Happy lap around the sun

New Year’s Eve….when some get really drunk and grope strangers, others sequester themselves for meditative reflection on an arbitrary date, and most watch Seacrest suck at trying to be Dick Clark.  I’m not a big new year’s fan, but I respect everyone who wishes to celebrate almost any date for a noble reason.

Although the nobility is mostly lost in the celebrating, this arbitrary date of celebration is more worthy than most.  We aren’t celebrating the wrong birth date of an alleged savior by demonstrating all the traits he condemned.  We aren’t giving thanks by being ridiculous gluttons of consumption.  We aren’t celebrating the birth of a nation based on social values most of us get wrong.  We aren’t celebrating the incorrect date of the alleged rising of the prior mentioned alleged savior and still getting all the values wrong.  No, this celebratory date is all about individual definition.  That personal ambiguity gives it gravitas.

So, why do you celebrate new year’s?  Another circumnavigation of the sun without dying? A reflection on the successes and failures of the past round trip?  A joyous hopelessness and defiance of the universal forces that dictate our existence?  For most, I would guess it is a combination.  There is a tally and self judgment.    We have successes and failures.  We each prioritize their significance.  In that, I respect new year’s celebrations.  Each of us takes measure, has some drinks with friends or sits with a favorite blanket and says, “It is what it is.  I did pretty damn well, or I might have done better.  It’s all on me.  Here’s to another try.”  I find great hope in the human ability to continually come out swinging.

I think that is what new year celebrations are really all about…to come out swinging.  Regardless of our successes, our  limitations, and our failures, we strive.  We strive to get up, succeed, win, hit a home run, walk the earth, see a sunrise, comfort a loved one, find love, expand our limits, do great things, do little things, go further, learn, appreciate, survive, be loved, create, bond, empathize, sympathize, grow, explore, search, find, expand, question, lust, nest, and feel.  We strive.

That is something to celebrate.

Here’s a beautiful essay I came across on this ultimate night of this year:

Finding Your Way Home  I don’t know Dan, the author, but in full disclosure, he is publisher of a great literary journal in which  my work has appeared.

Here’s a beautiful song about striving:

I’m Darren.  I strive.  Some days I strive for distant stars and on some days I celebrate getting out of bed.  I wish you safe travels in all you strive for in this newest year.

Merry Christmas, yay for me!

I tend to navigate the holidays with a…. melancholy.  Really, I am pretty sullen and morose from early November through the New Year, but melancholy sounds more pleasant.  Things and people lost have occupied my thoughts in this season for years past.  There are many I still long for in their absence, but this year I focused on the presence (see what I did there?)

The BSW can judge, but I think I was filled with the frickin’ spirit this year.  I even coordinated caroling for the voices in my head (we do a mean cover of 12 Days of Christmas.)  I was surrounded by friends and family, and I focused on them instead of dwelling on the absences.  Most probably don’t know it, but people I choose to interact with are my support mechanism.  It is lead by a small, vocal, female force of nature.  I am fortunate and blessed.

I now make a fraction…a fraction of a fraction, of what I earned on the corporate hamster wheel.  One of my favorite traditions back when I was paid a lot of money was to go to a store like Savers in the pre Christmas rush.  I would wander the aisles until I found someone shopping for Christmas presents.  My rationale was someone shopping for presents at Savers is struggling but really trying to do something kind for another.  I would then cut in front of them at the checkout counter, give the clerk a $100 bill, and ask to pay for everything for the people behind me until it ran out.  Then, I would quickly leave.  Although it hopefully brought some joy to someone, it was entirely selfish.  It made me really happy to do it.

I tell this story because there is a point, and I imitated it this year.  I no longer have $100 bills to drop, but we all have something we can share in some way.  This year, perhaps due to my time selling tents, I would pick up chocolate bars or impulse buy trinkets while waiting to pay for my purchases.  When my transaction was complete, I would give the chocolate to the clerk and thank them for what they do.  It usually brought a smile, a sincere thank you, and a brief pause from the chaos that is their job this time of year.  And it made me happy.

My first point is this was a substantial improvement for me compared to the last several years.  I once again was able to consider others and not be completely awash in my own grief.  That is significant.

The greater point is it takes very little of our time or our resources to make a positive difference to some fellow traveler on this journey of life.  As I mentioned before, I am extremely fortunate for the people who care for and look out for me.  Not all are so lucky.  We are all usually a little more kind and thoughtful during the holiday season.  I’ve written before about this.  Try to carry that kindness forward.

The holidays are not the riskiest time for those with mental illness.  It is post holidays, in the dark, cold days of winter, that we are most at risk.  Pay attention.  Watch for signs.  Discover that being kind is even better for you than those to whom you exhibit it.

I’m Darren, I’m mentally ill, and I had a great Christmas.

Songs for a BSW…

Something many don’t know is that Lori has an incredible voice.  One of my most favorite things is when she sings.  These are some songs I love mostly because of how she sings them…

Sinead O’Connor “The Last Day of our Acquaintance”

Girlyman “Everything’s Easy”

Counting Crows “Mrs. Potter’s Lullaby”  This is my most favorite when she sings.

On the very rare occasion that she sings in public, it is pretty and well done.  When I sneak upstairs and hear her, singing all alone, it is throaty with depth and emotion.  Among the many things I love about my beautiful, sunny woman is the gorgeous, heartfelt expressions of songs that she hides behind her New England practicality.

I love to hear her sing.  I love her so much.

Blue Ridge Laughing – walking around in America

I just returned from an 85 mile trek through the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia.  Although I missed the peak of fall foliage, I was still rewarded with some spectacles of yellow and orange.  I also saw the other statue of liberty.

There were some interesting experiences and encounters.  However, those are going in the new book.  I learned from our advisory board (a group of publishers and agents) in grad school (these peeps) that they will not consider anything previously published anywhere, ever…even in an obscure blog.  So, you’ll have to wait until I write the book, hopefully sell it, and it gets published.  Then, you can read all about hostile crows, night hiking, pallet manufacturing, a guy named Bubba, gangs of cows, and the kindness of strangers.  How’s that for a long range tease?

For now, here’s some pics and some gear reviews.

  This sign was randomly in a field far from any structure.

 Shhh, stealth camp (not in the old barn.  I just thought that was cool.)

 With no intention, I still ended up visiting my white blazed friend, the A.T.

I tried one new piece of gear and some new food this trip.  I recently got a Black Diamond Cold Forge jacket.  Combining down and primaloft, it is light, very compressible, won’t become a useless brick if wet, and it is warm!  With evening temps dropping into the low 30’s at higher altitudes, I used this as in camp insulation, and it made the dinner prep, moonrise watching part of the day very comfy.  It also makes a nice pillow.

I don’t typically eat a lot of freeze dried “backpacker” food, but I am a fan of Mountain House meals when I do.  This trip I tested Backpacker’s Pantry and AlpineAire meals.

On the plus side, both have high caloric content (after a 20 mile trek, you want all the calories you can get.)  Umm, that is the end of the positives.  The pantry meal had 51% of the RDA of sodium per serving.  I eat a whole two serving meal so I received over 100% of my daily sodium from one ridiculously salty bag of pasta.  I drank over a liter of water just to choke it down.  The foil packaging is also heavy and bulky.  The AlpineAire meal, conversely, is relatively low in sodium and has much more packable packaging.  It is also like eating soggy Styrofoam, nearly devoid of flavor.

I will stick to my own pasta and hearty soup concoctions.  When I do splurge on a backpacker meal, I’ll also stick to Mountain House.

Stay tuned this week for a special guest appearance in the thoughtvomit.  I interviewed my friend and lobster freeing partner in crime, Kelly Stone Gamble for the imminent release of her novel They Call Me Crazy.  Check out her website here.  And buy this book.  To quote veggietales, “I laughed.  I cried.  It moved me, Bob.”

And finally, here’s the greatest band in the history of the known universe performing one of my favorite songs.

What scares you out there in the wild?

While selling tents today, we got on the subject of what one would be absolutely terrified to see upon rounding a corner of a trail.

My first response was a clown because, well, clowns are frickin’ creepy to begin with, and could you imagine finding one out in the wilderness?  Somebody else said a hairless bear.  I had to google it, and it is a thing.  Yes, that would initially skeeve me out because it looks like the zombie dogs from I Am Legend, but then I’d go, “Huh.  A hairless, zombie like bear.  Let me take a selfie.”

I’ve seen a grizzly in the wild.  It was some distance away, but it was still a little disconcerting when it lifted its nose and looked exactly my direction.  I’ve had a mountain lion run through my camp.  I’ve heard wolves and coyotes howling close by in the dark.  I’ve been this close (I’m holding my hands a foot apart) from a bull elk.

All of those encounters were more exhilarating than terrifying.  Was there possible danger of evisceration and a clear understanding of my true position on the food chain?  Perhaps.  As with most things in life, being in the wilderness is about managing risk and understanding probability.  I don’t carry a gun or even bear spray, but I also don’t sleep with my food.  I don’t try to pet cute baby bears.  In fact, it is a good rule to not try to pet any creature in the wild.  I don’t make camp near a water source.  I pay attention to sights and sounds and smells.  If all the birds in the forest go silent, you should go, “oh shit.”  Don’t stick your head in a hole to see what is down there.

My point is common sense goes a long way anywhere that risk is increased from that in your living room, whether it is a foreign country, a big city, a glacier, a desert, or a forest trail.  The only times I’ve been afraid on a trail, it involved two legged animals.  They did happen to be mostly hairless.  Another good rule is if you’re going into the wilderness, go far enough that it isn’t easy for people to get there.  In that way, you’ll avoid most rowdy locals.  Cases of beer are heavy, and they don’t want to carry them very far.  Most maniacal, chainsaw wielding psychopaths will show up at a remote cabin, according to the horror films I’ve seen, but they won’t hike in twelve miles.  Chainsaws are also heavy.

My gist is that I’m not really afraid in the wilderness.  There are dangers and risks, but they should not be unknown.  Virtually nothing in the North American wild actively wants to eat you, except mosquitoes.  Our greatest risk, anywhere on the planet, remains ourselves and our fellow humans, and clowns.

I read Bill Bryson’s A Walk In the Woods before I hiked the AT.  In it, he discusses the dangers and describes the incident when two female hikers went missing from Darlington shelter and were never found.  I rarely stayed in shelters….that whole avoiding people thing.  Even more rare was when I was alone in one.  I happened to stay at Darlington shelter and didn’t recall that event until I was unpacked and settled in.  Of course, that night nobody else hiked in.

As the darkness began to press in, I peered into the gloom listening to cracks and creaks and rustles.  They were the same noises I heard every night.  The darkness was the same that falls on every forest.  It gets really dark in a forest.  Still, I was on edge simply because of an event that had happened there.  So, I put on my headphones and played Abba’s Dancing Queen and danced and sang in the dark.  It’s hard to be too afraid when disco’ing in the woods.  If there had been a homicidal maniac lurking in the dark, I would have totally out crazied him.  He’d have gone, “Shit!  That guy is nuts.  I need to get out of here.”

What scares you out there in the wild?  I mean, besides clowns.