You work at a gym now.

From: Rock Guide/Camp Counselor

To: Front Desk Attendant at Gym

I don’t know if you know. But you work at a gym now. Yes. The ones that play the hip-hop/dance Pandora radio station.  You will know almost every song and lyric, in the whole Pandora station within 2 weeks of working there. The whole station. Not only will you know them, but in order to get through the day, you will have to learn how to like it. No, you don’t have to like Wrecking Ball or Radioactive but you will end up liking that song where the girl roars.

You’re surprised though. Because you once thought that your major and education would apply to every other job that you would get in the future – but you definitely didn’t know that was the truth. It is though. You’ll find that your rapport building techniques, de-escalation tactics, smile/charm and weird name remembering ability will bring you praise, fortune, and many wives – literally. Many hot middle age wives wearing yoga pants, they will try and get you to come bar tend at their 5 million$ house. Of course you will go, because you like them, and you want to show off your new bow-tie you got in Seattle on your road trip.

In your interview, they will ask you about your ability to handle the rich upper class – oh wait. (Okay, so this gym is in Vail, CO. The epitome of rich ski town get away for most millionaires in Texas and some other states.) So, they will ask you about your ability to handle members of the gym getting extremely frustrated, and in some cases yelling and screaming at you about minuscule insignificant problems. You will reply,

“At my old jobs, I was the senior staff member, or one of two, ultimately responsible for the physical and emotional well-being of a dozen children or college students at one given time, most of which had some type of Learning Disability. I operated in remote locations sometimes days from cell phone reception, and in adverse weather conditions with access to a limited amount of resources. While on these trips, I would regularly get less than 6 hours of sleep a night, and work anywhere from 3 to 18 consecutive days in a row. I’ve had kids have complete mental meltdowns, hurl rocks at me, attempt and sometimes succeed at manipulating the core of my very being, throw punches and in one instance human feces – in every instance I maintained composure, modeled correct behavior and implemented coping mechanisms for the situation.... I think I can handle an angry adult.”

They will ask if you were joking about the feces, just laugh, smile and move forward.
However, after your surprisingly well said response, they will have no further questions. You will be hired.

Members of the Gym will ask you if you have flip-flops for them to wear in the shower. When you apologize for not having them, they say, “Oh, MY, GOD. Are you KIDDING me?!” Before you have a chance to offer a solution, they storm off in rage.

Members will also ask you how to use the machines. You will point at the detailed diagram of an individual using the machine properly. When they still can’t figure it out, you will read the detailed description provided below explaining each step.

Also, some Hotel Guests will come down (they feel entitled to everything) with a beer in hand, headed straight for the treadmill. They proceed to run on the treadmill.. with the beer.

Most everyone will ask you, so where do you live? Where are you from? What did you do before this?  This is a difficult question to answer to people who have had every available luxury known to man at their fingertips for their whole lives. They may not understand Ceremony night or living in a truck (see The Houseless Chronicles).

Just smile and say, Asheville, NC.


Good luck future Jackson,
enjoy the steam shower,
and the citrus smelling cold towels,
and the plethora of yoga pants,

-Past Jackson

Here are some Inspirational Gym Quotes over some pictures:

The Houseless Chronicles, Part 1: Lucy, the Saturn Sedan

It’s a perplexing feeling to wake up knowing at some point you need to army-crawl out of your sleeping bag into the backseat of your car, wrestle your shoes on while your head hits the ceiling, and then open the door to greet both the sunshine of the day AND a family of four walking into Walmart. You smile and squint at them. Maybe you don’t squint, who knows. Either way, they know you’ve just woken up. And they also know, for whatever reason, you were just sleeping in the backseat of your car.

At first, this immediate humiliation every morning is awful. Comb the hair with the fingers, smile really big to wake up the face muscles, push the sleeping bag into trunk, put on the pants. No one will know. I am normal dude, living in normal house without wheels or headlights. This is just car. The sluggish thoughts in my morning brain remind me I chose this life. Be proud. Once, I even crawled all the way to the driver’s seat so I could exit my car looking as if I had just arrived. Don’t laugh, life is complicated.

But soon enough self-consciousness wears off and leaves you with a confidence many would describe as misguided. Or enlightened. Casual smiles are met with smirks or nods. Gasps are met with blank stares. Yes, this is me, spreading peanut butter onto my half-eaten one pound block of cheddar cheese for breakfast. Want to fight? Want to talk about it? What do you mean by "where are your shoes?"

In normal life, you wake up in the same place most days. You go to the same coffee shop and see the same beautiful barista making the same beautiful cappuccino. Uncertainty can still exist, but it must be sought out. Not even running out of gas in North Philly is an adventure when you can just call your friend to come pick you up. And I won’t deny that it’s totally rad. Meeting friends for lunch on a whim is a pastime I cherish more than most things in my new, stationary life. Stability is cool. But there’s nothing like realizing the dream of drinking warm beer on the side of Highway 1 and watching the waves of the Pacific Ocean for the first time. Or backing into parking spaces in hotel parking lots to take a nap. It’s just so easy to find adventure when your whole life revolves around questions like “want to go to the beach?” or “how many hours is it from Joshua Tree to Moab?”

Good to be back.

Riley.

king of the castle king of the castle

Today, I want to be king of the castle. The ruler of all the land, worshiped and praised by all the towns-folk and nearby villagers. I want to be the silver back gorilla, with many wives, that would feed me the ripest of all bananas in the jungle. I don’t want this to just be happening today either, I changed my mind, I want this shit to be true – truer than true – this should be real life - but it only has to be true for a the amount of time you absolutely need, I guess I should clarify. You know why I want this all of a sudden? Well it all came about when my ex-girl, appeared in my home town (where she does not live – and I have not seen her in 6 months or so) at my step-dads reunion band concert. Lemme break it down.

So, my step dads reunion concert was kind of a big deal, so me and me ma went out to the concert. As we be straight chillin at the bar, aside from the main seating area, stage left, or stage right. Which ever one, I spot a familiar striped blue and red t-shirt in the front row. Since I've never seen this shirt anywhere aside from in 2 different states and on anyone aside from one special lady, I decided that it must currently be on top of my Ex. However, why would she be in my home town, at this concert nonetheless. I decide to firmly assert my disbelief and throw this inevitable reality out of my brain.  

You know what they say though, moms will be moms. A while later my ma starts frantically patting my shoulder, like a toddler trying to get your attention. She says in an excited soft loud whisper, the loud whisper that no one is meant to hear, but everyone hears anyways, she’s really good at that one, “Jackson, Jackson, Jackson! Look look look! That’s her right?” I split second glance over at where my mother is pointing and reply certainly, “nope. Definitely not.” She patts more assertively this time, “look yeah it is! It's her!” I look over one more time with undertones of insincere discovery in my voice, “look at that, it is isn't it.” My mom says, “and she’s with her new boyfriend, who lives in Saint Louis.”

I am so flattered at this point. She has decided to show up with her new boyfriend who lives in my hometown to this concert, where my middle school teachers, family friends and relatives are. There was something about this perceived intrusion on my territory, and seemingly my pride or ego or whatever it is when your ex brings their new partner into your life. To be fair, this wasn't just a bump in at the local Shnucks or Piggly Wiggly - although the implications of being the king of the local Pig Wig would be comical. Anyways, I realize the potential for a miracle to take place, and to become the king of this castle. This is when I discover the concept, and with Nick in Italy, of “King of The Castle”.

This is when, the band calls me up to the stage to do a song with them, where I am the lead singer – and my voice is angelic by the way. It would sound like a thousand angels are speaking sweet nothings into your ear, and it would feel like the vibrations of a million kitten purrs, or like kittens kneading dough on you. I would be playing the guitar at the same time, obviously, I might even have a harmonica solo. My teeth would be 10 shades whiter, and my eyes blue-er than ever.  After the song, which would be “cake walk”. The crowd would give me and the band a standing ovation. Mr. John Higgins would get on the mic, and in his deep majestic voice announce to the audience, “Ladies and Gentlemen, that was Jackson! We all know him, I don't even have to say his last name! Lets give him another round of applause. Also, btw, he just got a job working as a NOLS instructor, and is making dreams come true all across the country. He’s doing exceptional, border line immaculate. Lets give him another round because he’s so awesome.”

King of the castle. That’s what I’m talking about. Literally, just the ultimate winner in the room.

Non of that actually happened, but, that's what got me started on the concept, I wanted that to happen so frick'n bad. I wanted to be king of the castle more than anything. ANYTHING! Instead, I just had to be a good son, and hang out with my awesome mom. Which I guess is king enough for me. 

Next time you unexpectedly see an ex, or are being challenged in life in any way at all, try and develop the concept. Just see how far you can be the ruler in the kingdom – even if just for a short while - specifically just for a short while. You can't be ruler forever.
Roll Tide 

-Jackson

PS. Wait.. Maybe you can be ruler the kingdom forever.. is that what Paulo Coelho meant in his book? I think that's more, conquer your own kingdom. I'm talking about the kingdom outside of your control.. For instance, the Piggly Wiggly.

pray for me now in the hour of my death, which i hope is soon. amen.

There are too many of them. Just, too many. Standing there, pretentiously, unmoved by the power of time – they are praised and idolized by so many, especially in this time when their colors are most vibrant. The hugest peacocks I have ever seen. Ruffling their feathers to impress me. ME? WHY ME! They are so monumental, even an archetypical symbol for life and growth, who can compete with that? Who hates the symbol for life? Well. It is the opposite of what you might think, I think. But I do. I only do when one of them says to another, “hey there, you sexy thang.” I only hate them when they start to make love. Sweet, sweet once-a-year love. With a frequency like that, you must only expect this mammoth to mammoth intercourse-fest to be so overbearing that it would be famous across the nation. In fact it is, so famous, that we have named a whole season after its obscene beauty.

Spring.

There are so many of them, and this for me, is overwhelming. Because. I can feel their sex. They are the roommate, on the top bunk, having sex on top of me. They are sexing me in my eyes. Their sex is in my nose. So inconsiderate. Pretentious assholes. Like they can just sex anywhere they want – but the truth is. They can. And they do. And they are.  I have a super power. I have the super power of heightened sense and sensitivity to tiny things like tree sperm.  

I am a sad, sad, little man. 

-Jackson

My ever-evolving senior letter.

Dear Faculty and Staff of Warren Wilson College,

Today was a bad day. It rained. I forgot my raincoat at home. My socks were wet. My best friend’s girlfriend kept flirting with me. I had hat hair. You know, the kind of day that crumbles in your fingers each time you try to grasp its horns. I was sitting there at work, muttering about this and that, when a nice girl sat down next to me. She was a prospective student, visiting from Maine. Her name was Laura, I think. Her hair was short and her voice was sweet. My quiet, cheerless expression must have piqued her interest, because without hesitation, she asked me if I was in the freshman class.

            “Nope. I’m a senior.” I spoke with slow intention.

Out of nowhere, Laura exclaimed, “Did you enjoy your time at Warren Wilson?” I laughed nervously, mostly to buy myself some more time to think of simple, concise words. What was I supposed to say to that? “Yes” isn’t the whole story and “No” just isn’t true. I tried to come up with a story, a plan, or a place that could possibly communicate the intricacies of college. Should I tell her about my life-changing professors? Or maybe about the time I hung my friend’s bikes from a tree by the pedestrian bridge? Perhaps she wants to know how many times I’ve climbed the hickory tree on top of Dogwood since first filing the FAFSA before my freshman year?

With a chuckle under my breath, I told her that was a complicated question. “Wilson is a fun place, you’d like it… I think.”

But she was on to something important: How we convey the complexity of our past reflects not only our basic level of fulfillment, but also our desire to try to take it all back and start again. Depending on whom I’m talking to, I recount my time at Warren Wilson in different contexts. If it is a best friend, I speak of three sections, each corresponding to a connection I made with someone important in my life. If it is an employer, I speak of the time I first learned how to be a leader my sophomore year. But, for the purpose of the growth the college, or the department, or whatever needs to be grown, I speak of two contrasting sections. The first two years of my college career, I was getting the education I was sold as a prospective student. It was fun, but to be honest, it wasn’t mine. Then after two years, I gave myself an ultimatum: Find a way to learn what I want to learn, or move to a place where this is possible. And, as you probably imagined, I figured it out at Warren Wilson.

I had 30 hours of service after my sophomore year because no one was pushing me to find what inspired me to give back. My work crew was irrelevant to any job I would ever have in the future because no one was reinforcing the idea that the work program is the biggest asset to building your resume. The classes I was enrolled in were not enriching because I thought taking classes I enjoyed and taking challenging classes were mutually exclusive. I think a lot of students at Warren Wilson don’t realize the extent of their education’s flexibility. The Triad is only the framework, while it is up to the student to merge the three branches into an education. When I made these connections, I found my energy for growth suddenly renewed. The Triad was no longer a force-fed requirement; it was a resource I could manipulate.

I think the threat of becoming apathetic and uninspired is always present. I felt it two years into my degree. I felt it after every heartbreak I endured during my time here. I felt it even as my professors felt it themselves. Fighting this condition with every ounce of passion is my top priority, as it should be for everyone. One must seek out the new, refreshing parts of one’s life to combat indifference. There is no excuse for not being genuinely excited to get out of bed every single day. I hold this lesson closer than any lesson an over-priced textbook has ever taught me.

Today, while I sat at work wearing soggy shoes, I bit my tongue in the face of this apathy. I stopped being the embodiment of this rainy day. I decided it wasn’t my place to skew what could end up being the most pivotal decision in that wonderful potential student’s life. I truly hope Laura thinks highly enough of any place at all to be able to commit herself to grow there. Surely there are unfavorable things to say about Warren Wilson, but there are unfavorable things to say about any place. There’s no point in being ungrateful for an experience you’ve already had.

The flexibility I had the pleasure of discovering in this school is a quality not found every day. If Laura were to ask me the same question tomorrow about how I enjoyed my four years at Warren Wilson, I wouldn’t chuckle under my breathe and skirt around the question as I did today. I would laugh heartily at the fond memories I have made along the way. I would tell of how I had the ability to mold my education into the curriculum I thought would make me a better person. I would gush about the warming feeling of a Dogwood morning in spring. I would describe the feeling of energy I felt when I realized just how much control I could have.

I have grown so much in the past four years, and for lack of a hand to shake, I express my sincere gratitude to Warren Wilson College for showing me that I direct my own life, for better or for worse.

Warmly,

Riley West

My awesome sister is moving to Paris. She's going to eat baguette and drink tasty, tasty wine. Congratulations, Kira!

jackson's hole

My dad is so awesome.

As a young child, the unadulterated essence of my very being could not be stopped from shinning through the densest clouds on a rainy day. I lived my life through a continuous state of discovery beaming joy into and from each new experience. See, I, being an only child, had few friends and no real partner in crime, if you will, to share my sweet discoveries with. However, I did have a mom and a dad. While my mom is unquestionably the coolest thing since the other side of the pillow, this story is about a weird brotherhood between father and son.

I wonder still to this day if he just saw a brotherly void that needed to be filled, or if he in fact just has deep set in his soul a child still needing to discover and make believe cave adventures underneath every bed, kitchen counter, and couch in an our apartment at night. I have decided that it is a hybrid mix of both these things. And so, the vast majority of my time as a young boy was spent adventuring into mysterious, seemingly untouched, pristine voids within the earth’s crusts. Some call these things bottomless pits conducive to Closter phobia. We, however, call these things caves. 

My dad at this point in his career was doing some type of scientific research on the bat population in Missouri. As I recall, it was monitoring the air quality in caves and correlating that to the decline in bat population. So, I would go to “work” with him, and explore these never ending mud covered mazes in a complete absence of light. There was no better thing – putting on an old pair of overalls and waterproof booties, slapping my helmet and headlamp on, and venturing into the unknown.

These caves didn’t have side walks running down the main corridor, or electrical wires running like graffiti on the walls to taint 200 million year old stalagmites with colored lights.  These caves were faultless immaculate creations hundreds of millions of years in the making. Hidden by darkness, never basking in a single spec of sunlight, defended by nothing but natural inaccessibility spawned by mother earth. The growth of these caves can be stunted by a single insignificant fingerprint of human oil, and me — I — was crawling through layers upon layers of mud-cake admiring the magical fantasy like fields of upside down opaque soda straw formations closer than so many others. And who was behind me? My dad.

We were walking through the monotonous hills of Missouri one day, the humidity ever present in the air. When I spotted a small dark spot through the trees, hiding in the leaves. Of course as I exclaimed, DAD LOOK! He was already ready for the new adventure at hand - knowing the importance of embracing every new sidetrack in our lives. We walked up to the dark spot, and as we got closer, we saw its sneeky vastness. I stuck my head down by this hole, which had to be no bigger than 2 feet in diameter, and I felt the air blowing out and sucking in - pushing an old earthy smell into my nose. Knowing absolutely nothing about this 'hole', we decided to go in. My dad could hardly fit through. We crawled, army person style, forever. Finally itching our way towards a point where we could duck walk. This cave opened up into a HUGE cavern - and kept going long enough to daunt us. 

We got back to the park ranger office and asked about this cave, and he knew nothing about it. Turns out the cave wasn't on any map or in any records. I rightfully named the cave, "Jackson's Hole."

We would go, and go, and go – never hesitating to grasp each new opportunity with gusto and greatness. We adventured into each cave as a team, and an inseparable bond was formed between father and son. 

-Jackson