Installment #6

Time

In the past 2 months Alyssa and I have had the good fortune to attend the last two PCA competitions. I won't bore you with the details because the PCA has far better coverage on their website. I will insert a paragraph break so people who know me can more easily find their place when they stop laughing at the thought of me climbing at the PCA.

Done yet? No? Here's another.

Ok. It has come to my attention at these competitions that people out there are reading the stuff I write for this website. I find this very stressful. A month or two ago I contacted Climbing magazine to see if they would pay for me to babble on the pages of their rag. They never got back to me, so I assumed that I was safely anonymous. But at the PCA no less than TWO PEOPLE have told me that they read my column. This brings the known total (including my family who read it a month after I tell them to) to five. Five is way too many. I can't handle the celebrity. I'm going to cultivate a dependence on pain killers to stay blissfully unaware. I love my public.

The following is what I think, and what I think I know through the filter of 4 months of living the good life.

Things I think:

It's taken four months, but I think we're finally in the groove. Not that it hasn't been fun up until now, but living in a van is starting to feel normal. Of course we've spent a lot of time in California, and I guess out there living in a van is normal. A lot of people seem to be doing it.

Whatever the reason may be, life feels less stressful. I've quit worrying about what we're going to do when the money runs out (which it is doing), or how my ankle feels (pretty good actually), or what the dog has recently eaten (4 pairs of sunglasses [3 Smiths, 1 Oakleys], 1/2 lb of M&M's, 2 leashes, the brake light wiring [again], etc…). From time to time I find myself actually living in the moment. Living in the moment is fun. I recommend it.

People say that you can't have fun forever, that eventually the only lasting rewards come from fun coupled with responsibility, and I guess they're right. I couldn't do this forever. I know that. But I can't think of any better way to spend my life right now than out here doing exactly what we're doing. Maybe I'm missing an important piece of character, but having this vacation sure is a lot more fun than busting ass at work, saving every penny for four years to be able to do it was.

Every now and then I wonder what I'm going to do when we get back home (where ever that ends up being). How will I choose to go about making a decent living? And how much of my personality do I want wrapped up in what I do for sustenance? Do I need to feel that what I'm doing is a positive contribution to society, or can I work as a phone-sex operator and be happy? Do I need to achieve personal growth through my profession? Or can I get the growth I need outside of work? How much exactly does being a phone-sex operator pay?

I wonder if I'll know when it's time to quit traveling, or if things will just start to fall apart. I hope I can stay motivated and happy long enough to get some goals accomplished, because I wonder if I'll ever get the chance again. I hope we have enough money for me to find out. Maybe I've found out enough already and from now on it's just gravy.

I wonder if I'll ever be totally satisfied with my climbing resume or if the constant quest for improvement is an integral part of the process. I wonder if becoming content with my climbing ability would make climbing no fun for me anymore.

I wonder if I'll ever quit climbing.

I wonder what I would do if I did.

If I had spent the six months of our road trip learning to play piano instead how good would I be? I've always loved Jazz piano. What if I had spent that six months at Med-school? In a different life that might have been the choice I made after college. Would I be happy? What if I had spent six months studying the stock market and the best strategies for day trading? Would I be on my way to being rich? What if I had spent six months specifically rehab-ing my ankle? Would I be able to dunk again? What if I had practiced holding my breath? How long could I hold it for?

What if I could actually come up with another good way to spend six months besides rock climbing?

But I can't and I guess that's why I'm here in Joe's Valley instead of learning to play the piano without breathing. Like it or not that makes me a rock climber.

Things I know:

I was reading the Sunday Salt Lake Tribune today (let me interrupt myself to point out what an awful paper the Salt Lake Tribune is), and after the sports section there were two pages of obituaries. The SL Tribune has a much more detailed obituary section than most papers I've read. They obviously feel the need to expound on the virtues of the deceased. Maybe this is because Utah is a religious state (I think of it as Israel in the mountain west), maybe it's because there is no actual news going on in Utah and they have to fill up space. Whatever the reason, it has the depressing effect of trying to sum up a person's entire character, their entire life's work and contribution to society in print and on paper.

I think that to some people this is the only permanent way to be remembered. Certainly Presidents and World Leaders go to great lengths to cement their place in the history books. At the end of a Presidents term all the talk is of their "legacy", of their quest to get their column inches and make sure their names are remembered for all time. The unspoken belief is that the more that others write about you after you die, the better, the more meaningful your life was.

Today I read about a man known as "The Rudster," Rudy Stein. The Rudster was named the best softball player in Denver in the late '30's and early '40's. He also played semi-pro baseball and basketball all over the world. He went on "basketball tours" with his son in Fiji, Tahiti, and New Zealand among other places.

The obituary also says that he was a "Journeyman Machinist." In the picture there is a man wearing a plaid dress jacket. His hair is slicked back and greased hard enough to make him a character in West Side Story. His grin… No grin isn't a big enough word for what is on this man's face. Hell, I don't know a word to describe the size of the smile on this man's face, but let me say that Bob Barker would be proud. He is smiling so hard he has creases in his forehead.

There is a story in his face. A story in his picture. It's a story that isn't told by his accomplishments, or the awards he got, or the places he went. It's a story that can't be summed up in one obituary, and could never be captured on paper.

I think that if I had a chance to ask Rudy Stein what he was in his life, what he got done with his life's work that he would not say, "I was a Journeyman Machinist."

Then again, maybe a guy willing to wear a plaid sport coat, a gallon of hair grease, and a Cheshire cat grin could give a shit what I thought and would say he was a Journeyman Machinist just to see if I was smart enough to call bullshit and demand to hear the whole story.

And what if he asked me the same question? I mean what if Rudy Stein was quick enough to really pick up on the details? You know what most people do after they ask what you do and you tell them you're a Rock Climber. It doesn't register. They don't understand, it's not one of the multiple choice answers they have ready to go in their brain. It doesn't fit right, and so it goes in the "Other" category. Like one of those surveys you see on the news. 46% said yes, 52% said no, and 2% said "other." Like the survey person asked them, "Should the US go to war with Iraq?" and the 2% people said, "Umm, other." So the person who asked you about you makes the obligatory Everest remark and changes the subject. But what if Rudy Stein was different?

What if when I said, "I'm a Rock Climber." He said, "What does that feel like?" As often as I've heard cliches about the question, nobody has ever asked me, "Why do you rock climb?" I think it's a fair question. But what if he took it to an even more personal level, a level where if I explained properly, he'd know why without ever having to ask? What if instead of asking why? He asked, "What does it feel like to Rock Climb?" This is the question of a savvy person. A world traveler. The kind of question that only someone who could understand would ever bother asking.

Because if you know how it feels, then you know why.

And if Rudy Stein was keen enough to ask what does it feel like to rock climb? I'd give him an honest answer. I'd tell him rock climbing is the only way that I know of to stop time.

I'd tell him that in the desperate moment, with my feet pasted on the best footholds I can find, razor sharp crimps tearing at my fingertips, and the whole of my being zeroed in on the next hold… That in that desperate moment I am more than I was the moment before. I'd tell him that at that one moment, time stops. Time stops and I have a choice. I can take the moment. Take it and make myself better than I was. Or I can let it pass because more often than not self-improvement hurts like a bitch. But whichever choice I make, I have stopped time and looked into myself. I know what I am made of.

And if I am right, if indeed the human animal is deeper and more complex than can be contained in print and on paper, then Rudy Stein would understand. He would know that rock climbing is just my way of doing what thousands of lucky passionate people have done before me. I think that when an artist is in the throws of creation, time stops. I think that when a musician is in the depths of their talent, bringing the whole of their focus into a piece of music, time stops. I know from experience that when a person brings all of their training and energy to bear to save the life of another, time stops. I know that when they fail time stops, and when they succeed time stops too. I think that we can only know ourselves and really be alive when we can stop time. We are bound to and governed by time. But it does not define our character, and we can only know ourselves outside of its definition. Therefore, when I have the time, I go rock climbing to stop time and enjoy being alive.