A Single Southern Guy in America

September 16, 2004

Choosing Paths

Pinnacle Mountain in Little Rock is one of my favorite places in the world. Now, I haven’t seen a lot of the world, but I have seen enough to know that such a place resonates with me. I’ve hiked every trail on it and blazed more than a few on my own—both alone and with friends and family. Still, it always has a surprise or two waiting for me. If I spent my life on that mountain, I could always find something new there.

A couple of months ago I went on another irregular trip to Pinnacle Mountain in my irregular effort to get back into shape. I achieved my goal of reaching the summit in a strenuous under 20 minutes. I sat on the top of that mountain looking down the Arkansas River valley. I thought about life, my life, what I was supposed to do, What I needed to do, what I wanted to do, what others wanted me to do. I caught my breath as I sat there pondering so many, many questions. This time I was there I watched as a number of younger guys chatted and then went down the more challenging East Summit Trail. I made a note to myself that it was about time I tackled the East Summit Trail soon.

A few days later I was back on the summit looking across the greater Little Rock area, thinking about the same things, pondering life, love and all things in between. I watched as a few ladies came up the East Summit. I won’t disclaim that the male in me said that “if they can come up it, I dang sure can go down it,” but I knew it was time to tackle the East Summit for the first time in years—up or down. I stood up on the top of Pinnacle Mountain, glanced around, and knew it was time to go, lest I ran out of sunlight.

Down I went the challenging trail of steep surfaces and boulders, passing folks coming up and offering words of encouragement. Slowly and carefully, I made my way down to the gentler slopes near the bottom. About two-thirds of the way down, the mountain flattened out a bit and the trail became easier. However, it became less well marked. I knew that I needed to get back to the West Side where my car was parked. The trail came to a split—one leading west and the other east and north. I chose the one that ought to have taken me home.

Unfortunately, after about a quarter of mile the trail ended in a log pile. Undaunted, I pressed on—presuming that the trail would pick up and I’d be quickly on my way home, instead of following on the correct trail. No trail picked up. I was out in the woods and draws of this mountain with nothing more than dry creeks and rockfalls to walk along towards my goal. However, I knew that as long as I kept walking towards the light of the setting sun, eventually, I would get to where I needed to be. Whenever I saw a dry creek, I knew that I could follow it down to the river that ran alongside the mountain near where I had parked. I wandered gentle readers. I stepped off into the holes of long ago fallen trees; I perched on wobbly rocks, and swatted the webs of spiders stretched between small trees and shrubs,

The entire time I followed the ever-darkening shadows of the woods as I edged west along this unblazed path. It was an alluring juxtaposition—I wasn’t lost, but I didn’t know where I was. I had an idea of where I was going because I knew that if I continued to follow the light of the sun setting behind the mountains west of where I now trudged, I would be able to go home. There were no paths or trails—I made my own way because I had a general and vague idea of where I was supposed to go.

At long last, I spotted the river down the mountain and adjusted my path to skirt it while staying up on the mountain until I recognized a part of the mountain where I could get back on the right trail. I made it back to the trail and as night fell, I arrived back at the park and reached my car so I could go home.

Last Monday, I was back at the mountain. I was frustrated, angry, hurt, and confused. My goal is always to make it to the top in 20 minutes or less. I had set a personal best a week or so ago of just under seventeen minutes. As I walked to the trailhead, I was fully aware that if I let myself feed on all of the boiling emotions I was feeling at the moment that I would obliterate my best. I also knew that in doing so two things would happen. One is that I wouldn’t be able to match that time in a while. The other is that if I had gone as hard as I wanted to, I would hurt myself. As much as I hate to admit it, your humble SSG is getting old and the old joints cannot take as much as they used to endure. Reaching the trailhead, I insisted, no, demanded to myself that I would slow down, go strong, but steady, and to not overexert myself. I still made it under eighteen minutes.

I sat on top of the mountain for a long time. A million thoughts ran through my mind. Thoughts of being wronged, thoughts of the bizarre happening to me, thoughts of not hurting others, and finally thoughts of not hurting myself. I caught my breath and headed back down the mountain. Six years ago I would run up and down the mountain. I had not really run down the mountain in at least that long. As I came down the steep, unrunnable parts near the summit another gentleman came behind me. After an initial reaction to not be passed, I stepped aside and let him pass, realizing that I needed to again to slow down. He moved on swiftly as we reached what I call the “Rockfall Staircase.” Soon, he had 200 yards or more on me.

Upon reaching the end of the “Staircase,” something gripped me and said, “Run. Run and get it out of you. Run.” I started jogging down the trail. It’s a fairly well developed trail from that point on to the bottom. Still, there are branches off of the main trail when a person running down a trail can move faster than taking the established, proper trail. They were faster, but they were not the appropriate trail. I looked for these as I came down in the ever-approaching twilight. I began to run faster and faster—moving to the end as fast I could. I ran faster not because of the reward of being to the end and going home but because I wanted and needed it. It felt good…at the moment. All of the issues that were bothering me disappeared as I scanned copiously for the dangers of a rock sticking up here or a root to trip me there.

The gentleman who had passed me was in sight and within closing distance. Despite several close calls from flying down the mountain, I became intent on catching him. I ran faster and faster down the mountain. My knees pumped furiously as I negotiated sudden or rough drops and turns. I was smoking down the mountain on the side (not intended) paths and the main path. I caught up with him with perhaps 500 yards left to the end of the trail. My instinct said to pass him—to win the undeclared race. My mind thought better fortunately. I slowed down and matched my pace with his to the end of the trail.

When we reached the bottom, I said to him, “It’s little tricky after it gets dark, huh?” He replied, “Yeah, you almost have to go by memory.” I got back to my Jeep in the parking lot and began my stretches. The very knee and ankle I had hoped not to hurt more than they already were throbbed. I had gone too hard and fast. In my drive to flush out the pain I had felt from something other than my body, I had hurt them a little more. I stretched and stretched for over a half-hour. A couple I had zoomed past on my way down the mountain came down and got in their car while I stretched my hurting limbs. I had stretched all I could for the moment and took a routeless run down a grassy field and back. As I returned, they pulled away.

I stood next to my car for a moment, realizing I had not resolved anything that was bothering me, but still feeling more than a spot better. Still, I knew that I needed help in feeling better about all those things that were troubling me. Fortunately, I had a friend that was going to meet later to chat catch up and more importantly (for me) she was going to listen to me vent on a number of things. I got in my car and pointed it towards home and a shower.

As I approached the intersection that marked the approximate beginning of metropolitan Little Rock; the real world; I caught up with the couple who had left as I came back from my routeless jog. They went left and I went straight. I went home, and got clean.

Today I had lunch with one of my closest friends. I was in her wedding and we have shared more than a few dark secrets with one another. In fact, she is one of the very few who knows of the skeleton buried deepest in my closet (I’m not sure whether to be happy that I had to remind her of that skeleton or that she had forgot it…almost). She invited me to a Bible study kind of deal her church was having tonight. A look at the basics of Christianity. Her email said, “about the basics of Christianity and have fun doing so!” My reply was “The basics? Oh well, a refresher course can't hurt every now and then.”

I realized quickly that the basics discussed were something that we all ought to have every now and again. In particular, the event appealed to me in the sense that it was the thinking person’s version of Christianity. After the main part of the event, we all broke into small groups and I joined my friend and her husband’s small group session where we discussed what had been shared so far and whatever else came out. I was more than a little amazed and frustrated that a young guy like me would know more about what the Word says than several of the more mature folks in our group. Heck, one of the gentlemen in our group had been indicted by Ken Starr!?!. I came home and visited with mom about the experience, and she noted that the denomination (different from my ‘beloved’ Southern Baptists) had not until recently put much value in Bible study. My advanced knowledge was easily explained away. In any case, I quickly knew that despite my ‘advanced’ knowledge, there were people in our group who had a much closer and dedicated walk with God than I do.

So what does a SSG do after such an event and the discussion with the spiritual inspiration of his life (Mom)? Well, of course, he goes into introspective, deep thinking mode, especially where it deals with him. And, most especially where it deals with where he is and has recently been.

On this blog, there is the moniker, “The epic ramblings of a young professional in the South in his Quixote-like quest to find ''the One.'' It is an apt one. It is a hook that is more apt than I knew until tonight. My ‘quest’ may as well been the journeys of a routeless adventurer seeking things that are already clearly mapped out for him—if he’d just follow the damn map!

Truth be told, I have wandered around on this Quixote-like quest, just like the Don. Directionless, guideless, and without consulting an everlasting compass. There is a map and there is a compass and there are many guides. I have ignored all three. Recently, I have rediscovered the guides—their compasses have amazed me. Recently, I have returned to the map and kicked myself because the way is so clear, even when other paths seem so alluring. It has become painfully and (Thank God for my sense of humor) laughably clear to me that I have been wandering around, trying to find my way back home by following the light of day. The Quixote-like quest has been all over the map even though I’ve had the map all along; if only I had bothered to consult it.

Whenever a person starts out on an expedition, they need help. It doesn’t matter if they’ve been down the trail before or not. If it has been a while, and there are folks that have made it down the trail satisfactorily, it is always wise to seek their counsel. There are trails I have been down that I can clearly say are not the ones to go down, but the trail I want to be on has been blazed by so many people. I am blessed and lucky to have friends that are on that trail and on that trail who are not only willing, but also excited to show me that way. I’ve got some great and true friends who have not only been down that trail, but continue to adventure down that trail honorably. They are gracious enough to share their experience with me.

Finally, I’m getting close to the trail I need to be on. In all of the crazy trails I have been on in the past, I have met those who were trying to get back on the same path. With at least one of those people, it has been an incredible experience to walk that path together—if only for a little while. Still, we must all take our own path. If your companion for the time chooses to take a path that you know is not the way to the reward, you have to move on along the path you know leads to the place you need to be. I’m moving along the path I know leads where I want to be—even if I’m not moving as fast as I would like. Still, I know when I get there it will be more than worth it. And the reward is greater than what I can imagine.

Posted by Adam H at September 16, 2004 03:58 AM ~ Link Cosmos | Trackbacks (0)

Comments

What an awesome post! We all need reminding from time to time that there is a path already laid out for us if we will just listen to our Guide. Hang in there, man. I believe God has good things in store for you. :)

Posted by: Christy at September 16, 2004 09:11 AM

Beautiful post.

Posted by: Melissa at September 17, 2004 01:52 AM