I’m sitting in the middle of Montana, by the Boulder river, listening to the sweet sounds of rushing water as it pours over rocks and through crevices, winding it’s way to God only knows where, not concerned about the destination, enjoying the journey. I get to the witness the half a second of it’s wild ride as it crosses in front of my camp sight. To the feel it’s cool, refreshing, and when splashed upon my face, somehow gives me a feeling of renewed hope- as if to wash away all the cares and concerns I brought with me, reminding me there’s more to life than the city.
The big scare of our trip is the potential of a bear sighting- not telephones, nor emails, no crises of man. Just nature. “You might want to sit by the fire a while, since you helped cook breakfast- Bears can smell the scent of food in your clothes.” Wow! Right now, if that’s my only concern, I feel great. A concern that can be diminished by a few moments of pure bliss sitting by camp fire smoke. Life is good.
Our very noble and honorary men of the trip are going to gallantly try to teach the women to fly fish. Have you ever taught a woman anything? It’s entertaining to say the least. The women are all trying to put their rods together, throwing out phrases like “This is an elk caddis, size 16”. . . A slight pause as the other girls stand in awe at her ability to pick up the wording so quickly- then a confession, “I only know this because I’m reading the tag”. Smiles creep across faces of the remaining girls as they silently cheer assured they are not complete dummies.
And so it begins, “There are four phases of a fly line, the first stage. . .” Sweet words holding hopes of relaxation and contentment.
I drove 12 hours to get here. “Get where?” I ask myself as I sit in a state of almost delirium at the calmness in which I find myself. Where my thoughts don’t finish and the openness of my self monologue is beautiful- random, tangential, no rhyme or reason, no order or purpose- just scattered thoughts. At work, back home, in a place where time is of the essence, where urgency is in every action, efficiency lurking around each corner, the “shoulds” sound off every half a second: you should be doing this, should be doing that, that should’ve been done yesterday. Today, all I can think is “Really? Why?”.
I wasn’t concerned about the destination in my purpose for coming- I came for the journey. For the unexpected moments of hilariousness that only come when you’ve been sitting in a car for inordinate amounts of time. For the smell of fresh coffee, bacon, and campfire that gently wake you from your sweet slumber. For the sound of only rushing water, no cars, sirens, or airplanes. For the stories shared around a campfire late at night. For the walls of your soul that tend to become soft, perhaps even begin to crumble when nature and laughter have their way with you. For the reminder of why we are here and what really matters.
I was in desperate need of a big dose of perspective. My heart believed everything I was doing had great purpose, that it required my all, and that leaving it, even for a moment was not okay.
What on earth was I thinking?
Have you ever buried yourself into a task or mission so blindly you forgot why you desired it to begin with? Why do we do that to ourselves? I could list all the reasons in the world, but they don’t seem to matter or hold any weight right here in this moment. . . For in this moment, one of the girls just caught her first fish. Elated, she gleefully shows it off to our group, with a smile that resembles the pureness of a five year old- innocent, ecstatic, and oh so proud. Every thing else has simply faded into the background.
What a precious moment.
