This week, we dig out this absurd response I wrote for a job application. Pardon my repetition, but the adaptation made me laugh. Perhaps I didn't really want this job after all:
There are many
important moments in a person’s life experience. Please tell us a story about
one moment or experience that has affected your life and how it has helped you
become the person you are today.
While I could write endlessly with
the same amount of unrelenting enthusiasm I have about every single day spent
in the outdoors, there is one recent day that stands out among the rest. This
day wasn’t particularly unique, traumatic, or indicative of my future. It was a
pretty generic Saturday in mid-October, aside from the remarkably good weather.
Life for me was somewhat stressful with the impending reality of graduating
college and becoming an adult in the traditional sense of the word.
In an attempt to decompress for a
few hours, I made vague plans to go rock climbing with my climbing partner
Jackson, much like every single day we’re in each other’s company. We had just
gotten back from a perfect day of climbing that Friday evening, and as a result
our motivation for another alpine start the next morning was significantly
diminished. I knew that getting out of bed would bring a frigid tile floor
under my feet and a severe lack of coffee in my stomach. And in fact, we must
have had an unusually strong ability to telepathically communicate that
morning, because we both slept until 10:30. Needless to say, we were not off to
a good start for a day with weather as good as it was.
But, against all odds, we managed
to not only drink coffee and eat a bagel, but also completely rack up and pack
the car full of climbing gear. Celebratory high fives were exchanged as we
peeled out of the dorm parking lot with a revived feeling of anticipation. Our
objective was the Nose, a classic four-pitch line on Looking Glass Rock known
to me for its amazing position among the Blue Ridge Mountains and proximity to
my dorm room. The Nose is an often-guided climb because of its distinct cruxes,
amazing views, and distinguishing “eye-brow” features. I’ve probably taken at
least thirty groups there in the last six months just to climb the first pitch.
It is probably still the best route I have ever climbed, and I savor the
movement every single time I climb it, like bites from the sweetest strawberry
imaginable.
We arrived at the base of the climb
around 1 in the afternoon, giddy with excitement. Almost instantly we were
flowing up the balance-intensive slab like we were seasoned North Carolina
trad-masters. The transitions were quick and effortless and the 5.8 cruxes felt
like walking. At every belay, we laughed with delight at the ease in which we
were progressing. It seemed like just the day before we were fumbling with
tangled ropes and dropped carabiners. I think I even heard Jackson cry, “DUDE!
YES!” after cruising the notoriously delicate crux on his first try. Forgive my
ineloquence, but we were stoked. We were the human manifestations of stoke, and
it felt really, really good.
We got to the top of the climb in
about an hour and half, a respectable time for such a late start. Immediately
after exchanging some summit hugs, we sat down to eat the apples we were saving
for the top. Without exaggerating, it was in this precise moment that I became
the person I am today. Jackson and I sat down on top of Looking Glass and ate
those apples in a blissful silence I had never felt before. It was a silence
neither of us felt the need to break. There was not a single distraction from
the reflections and realizations in our minds. It was so odd how just four or
so hours before, I was sitting in my room wondering if it was going to be
another boring Saturday spent milling around, snacking, and looking at pictures
of other people rock climbing.
During my freshman year of college, my composition teacher
gave me a letter given to him by a long-time friend and writer. At the time, it
did not hold much weight or significance to me. I cast it aside, filing it away
with all my other papers I’ve thought twice about throwing out from my years in
school. But this past fall, I picked it up with a renewed interest and reshaped
perspective. This letter is written to Seth, a recent college graduate, who
harbors an assortment of uncertainties. Seth had been letting these
uncertainties control his life and impede his true passion: writing. The author
reassures Seth that life throws wrenches in the gears of every day, but things
work out for the best. There’s no point, according to the author, in trying to
teach yourself to write well. It just happens as a result of continuing to
follow your passions. The author goes on to tell nostalgic stories of earlier
years to provide some context for the wisdom being imparted. The whole letter
is beautiful, and I treasure it every day. But the last line is one that struck
me more than any other piece of writing ever has before: “One must get out of
bed every morning and prepare for the great celebration of one’s own
imagination, even if it doesn’t happen that day.”
In truth, the day Jackson and I
climbed the Nose was a remarkably similar day to many others I’ve had while
rock climbing: the sun was out, we had fun, I brought enough food and water,
and I didn’t hurt myself. But that is exactly not the point. I realized on that
Saturday in October that I had been living my life just as Seth had been living
his. I was letting my uncertainties for the future impact the present moment. I
wasn’t using my dreams as a template for every single day. It took getting out
of bed on the most unlikely of mornings and climbing 400 feet up a cliff just
to eat an apple for me to realize just how great a life I’ve got. If I can
imagine the perfect day, there is no reason to sit around without at least
trying to pursue its possibility. This particular afternoon in October will
always be the experience I look back on as a pivotal moment in my growth as a
friend, leader, and human.
Here's a mixtape. It's about as bizarre as this job application. I recommend playing it in the car, on your next road trip, when the sun shines a bit too bright in your eyes. Or maybe just in the morning, during your first - and certainly not last - cup of coffee. Mom, I think you might like some of it, but maybe not.
https://www.dropbox.com/s/j9sozycdzk28vh6/On%20the%20road.zip
Riley.
I still like that essay, even if you don't. Liking the mixtape as well... Bruce of course, but Colorado Girl, Highway Halo and Plane Crash (Gabe!) (And even though I heard King of the Road way too many times back in the day, you even have me reconsidering that song, too.)
ReplyDelete