Last Wednesday afternoon, I walked onto a dock on Lake Logan and jumped in. The water held the first chill of the impending winter cold, and yet still felt soothing like it did when I immersed myself in the heavenly soak earlier in the summer. I knew, when I launched myself into the lake, that this would probably be my last swim there this year, sadly and, more so, sentimentally.
Emerging from the watery depths, I grabbed for my towel, dried off and sat in the old camping chair, drops of water dripping down my neck from my hair that hasn’t been cut since spring. Throw on the scratched sunglasses and lean back into the chair; let the last of day’s sunshine wash over your body before it quickly ducks behind the mountain ridge cradling my position. Images of the past year float through my mind like fireflies on an otherwise quiet evening. Images of friends and loved ones, of backroads and lost highways.
Skip ahead to Saturday afternoon. An old buddy of mine was getting married in Sylva. It was the first wedding I’ve been invited to in several years. I remember my 20s and 30s and having at least a half-dozen weddings each year. Now? In all honesty, the only time I ever really see anyone or run into familiar faces from days long gone, it’s usually a funeral. Once you get beyond age 40, this seems to be the case. No matter, I’m just happy to see folks.
With over 200 people attending the nuptials, they had to have a shuttle service go from a nearby public parking lot in town to a mountaintop homestead owned by two longtime, beloved friends of mine, who have created such a picturesque life together with their young daughter. Bear hugs and hearty handshakes with those cherished kind souls of my life’s trajectory.
Crack a cold Labatt Blue Light (I brought my own beverages) and wander into the tranquil, serene ceremony. More hellos and “How yah been?” with these figures who have remained a constant in this haphazard journey of mine. Being on the road constantly and in a perpetual state of motion, I don’t get to circle back and rekindle friendships as much as I’d like. Luckily, I’ve befriended those who you can catch-up right where you left off immediately.
It had been a while since I’d been up to the homestead. I’ve been friends with the owners almost the entire 15 years I’ve called Western North Carolina home. I was there when they started dating, got serious and moved in together, bought a house, got married, and had a child. And now, here we are, all these years later, the grey hairs on our heads and in our beards well-earned, the wrinkles of time and place kissing our faces in awe of all we’ve seen and felt.
Underneath a large maple tree, the newlyweds exchanged their vows, the late afternoon sunshine finally appearing after a morning of drizzle, cold temperatures, and low clouds. The groom had tears rolling down his cheeks while proclaiming his love for his bride. A lump in my throat thinking of the sheer beauty of the moment, and how, someday, I, too hope to also experience that firsthand.
Cheers and joyful shouts as they walked back down the aisle, everyone standing up and smiling at this freshly minted image now forever chiseled into the walls of our collective memories. Onward to the reception, filled with jovial toast, kids and dogs running amuck, endless streams of conversation flowing from every direction. Photos taken to commemorate the occasion. That feeling of oneness in a group of floating dots all trying their best.
As the sun began to fall behind the Blue Ridge Mountains, the air cooling down immediately and my fingers getting cold, it was time to head back to my humble abode in downtown Waynesville. I decided to “Irish goodbye” and simply wander out the side entrance of the reception and head back down the hill to the parking lot a quarter-mile away. A quiet, contemplative walk along Skyland Drive, the only sound being the scuffing of my boots on the pavement, the only thought in my mind being one of optimism for the future.
Unlocking the front door of my apartment, I was greeted by silence and darkness. Flipping on the lights, I took note of the abstract paintings on the walls, the mid-century modern couch, and writing desk facing the living room window overlooking a bustling Walnut Street. Everything was just like I left it hours ago, just like I did months ago when I set out on an extended road trip across America and Canada in search of the way, the sound.
I’m 41 now. I don’t know what lies around the corner, just beyond the horizon. The road to the here and now has been bountiful and bumpy, rocky and righteous, splendid and sorrowful, cathartic and chaotic, meaningful and mayhem, dreamy and distraught, lackluster and melodic. And yet, I’m here for all of it, come hell or high water. Heading into the impending holiday season, I wonder where I’ll observe the Thanksgiving turkey get served, or where I’ll admire the freshly cut Christmas tree with glorious lights wrapped around it. I wonder what it all mea; I always do.
I wonder what real love looks like at this chapter of my life, the kind of connection that goes the distance to old age. I wonder what real friendship looks like, as well, where the loneliness of middle age sets in and you begin to question some of the choices you’ve made that have brought you to this juncture. No regrets, truly. Full speed ahead, I say. I’m game for it all. Growing older is a privilege, so long as you have your mobility and wits about you. I wonder what this job looks like moving forward, and the gratitude within to be able to make a living in the written word.
Visions of this past summer, of cruising the Icefields Parkway between Banff and Jasper national parks in Alberta, of campfires in Montana and fancy French restaurants in the Old Port of Montreal, of sunset jogs along the ocean in Jacksonville Beach, Florida, and of fresh lobster rolls on the coast of Maine, the smell of pine trees in the depths of the Adirondack Mountains, and even the standstill traffic of Washington, D.C. at rush hour where I still found fulfillment as I gazed across the highway at the stoic and steadfast Washington Monument.
Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all .