Monday, October 26, 2015

Yoga




We had a mini yoga session one summer morning.  There were couples sitting out on their porch, sipping their coffee, cheering us on.  It's not an easy thing (yoga on a board, not sipping caffeine on a porch, that's easy), but we managed.  Sarah Anne is obviously a yoga master when it comes to paddle boarding.  And as you can see, I am not.  I did a few poses, but they weren't worthy of photo documentation.  

Saturday, October 24, 2015

This Has Nothing To Do With Kayaking

   Forgive the blunt title, but I don't know how else to say it. And I wanted to make it clear before you read this and say, "What the hell?"  This post is not going to be as linear as the others.  It's going to be more of a stream of consciousness, so excuse me because I'm basically going to be rambling. 

   I am starting to think that I am going to start using this blog for telling stories about things other than kayaking.  I mean, of course stories about the yak will still be told.. but, maybe I could talk about other things, too.  That would make this blog less of a brand and sort of become more of a movement and much more personal than it has been.  I know I have shown emotion in previous posts and written about terribly sad things and such, but I mean I could talk about the real stuff if I wanted to. 
   Maybe I should give you some context here.  Two years ago it was suggested to me that I could have depression.  I laughed at the idea because it was so obvious.  People who don't have depression don't spend their nights begging that spirit in the sky to take them away, and then wake up disappointed when they're still here.  So yeah, I was depressed.  
   I like to think that I am a rather content person.  I am not fidgety and I don't treat my phone like an IV.  I am more than willing to lie in the grass for hours and watch the clouds roll by.  I do not get bored and I love a companion's company.  I am perfectly capable of being able to just be.  And for a while I thought that meant that I was happy.  Because, shouldn't contentment and happiness be the same thing?  Maybe it is more important to be content than it is to be happy; or maybe you need one to have the other.  I don't know anymore.  
   The thing people have to understand about depression is that it is not an easy fix.  The key to pulling oneself out of the dark is not the same for everyone and it is not the same key every time.  You can get yourself to happy times, but that same trick won't do it for you the next time.  After time and time of doing this, you can imagine how the motivation can disappear.  I was in better days for a while, long enough for me to get the crazy idea that it could stay like that.  Then one day I found myself with my x-acto knife pressed against my leg.  The shear fact that I was doing it scared me and I called my friend at 2 o'clock in the morning to meet me in my car.  We sat there for hours saying things that I didn't even know were inside of me and I cried and cried until I truly couldn't cry anymore.  I had my head pressed against the window and I remember looking over at her and seeing that she was crying more than I was.  I smiled a weak smile at her and said, "Please don't cry.  It's going to be okay."  She cried even more and said, "You're not the one who should be saying that right now."  When I told her I didn't know what to do, she gave the simple answer: Do what you did last time.  Oh, simple and sweet friend.  If only it was that easy.
   Depression is scary because it can morph so easily.  It lies to you and there is nothing worse than having something inside you that makes you believe you're better off dead.  You can be in the clear one moment and then drowning in the darkness the next moment.  Something like that does not have a simple solution.  You can't take a pill and call it a day.  They have medicines, yes, but all they do is compress the feeling.  You can still say "I want to die," but when you try to act on it, it feels like someone or something is holding you back.  Maybe that's not the worst thing, but it isn't good when you actually need to show emotion.  Emotion isn't a bad thing when it's not trying to kill you.  The medicine also compresses happiness.  You can still say "This is so fun, I want to smile," but something is holding you back.  
   Depression is also scary because it can make you feel badly for feeling badly.  It makes you feel selfish and whiney.  I have a wonderful family who loves me, wonderful friends who make me laugh, a wonderful boyfriend who accepts me for the toddler I am, and a wonderful cat who is always happy to see me.  But that doesn't mean I am happy.  I appreciate all of the wonderful things my life has been blessed with, but I do not appreciate the demon inside of me that thinks all of those things would be happier without me.  Depression lies.  And it is ruthless.  And it will spin something beautiful into something gray and lifeless.  
   When I found myself crying in my car at 3 in the morning, I don't know if I was more upset over the things I was saying, or the fact that I was upset again.  After I spent so much time putting myself together again.  Imagine if the king's horses and men did put Humpty Dumpty back together again.  They spent years gluing him back together, piece by piece and shard by shard.  When they finally finished, they rejoiced and celebrated! Can you believe it? They accomplished an impossible task.  But then, someone tripped and poor Humpty Dumpty fell to his death once again.  The horses and men stood, looking at the chips by their feet with their mouths hung open.  The idea of spending all of that time again had no luster at all.  But would it be worth it?  Or should they just go home and call it a day?
   
   Maybe #BackOnTheYak could be a metaphor of sorts.  Kind of like the phrase: Back on the wagon.  I'll post updates: happy ones and sad ones.  The ultimate goal is to get back on the yak.  That could be the yak, literally, or a different one.  The yak being a place of original and pure happiness.  Because I'd really like to get back there.. 

Wednesday, October 21, 2015

Georgia's Small Animals

   I'm going to be honest with you.  When I make a decision to travel somewhere, about 35% of that decision is based on if the location has a desirable kayaking spot.  In May, when I traveled to Austin, Texas, sure I wanted to see my family and go back to my Texas roots, but a part of it was because I thought we could all go kayaking under the Congress Avenue bridge (the kayaking didn't work out, but that's fine. It was still the best and Austin is now one of my favorite cities).  In June I traveled with my mom and my sister to Washington D.C. for my cousin's graduation.  I love America, I love my family, I love traveling.  But hey, how cool would it be to go kayaking down the Potomac River? That trip didn't work out either, looking back I easily could have grabbed Graham and headed down there one morning but oh well.  Maybe next time.  In July, I flew over to Atlanta, Georgia, to visit my father and his girlfriend.  A few days before I'm scheduled to get there, my dad calls me and asks me to research the Chattahoochee River.  I don't think too much of it.  Yes, I would love to go kayaking but if we don't get to it, it's no skin off my nose.  So I look into it anyway, the prices were a little high for my liking.  I let my father know, he doesn't think it's an issue.  "I've never done it before," he says, "It'll be fun.  Plus, it will be great for your blog."  I laugh and say okay.

   So I fly over to Atlanta, take a train to my dad's house, and we drive over to the river to rent the boats.  When we arrive, I become a tad disheartened.  The only kayaks that are available are sit-ins, and the majority of them don't have back rests.  Not to mention that there are plenty of people already out on this river.  There are huge groups of college kids celebrating the beginning of summer by tying together 20 inner-tubes.  The river is larger than what I had in mind, not to mention the strong current...

   Maybe I was just exhausted and over-rot from my extremely full day of travel, but kayaking down that river had to be one of the worst experiences of my life.  There was a moment, maybe longer than a moment, when I swore off kayaking from my life.  I threw my paddle down and said, "Never again."  My father was far ahead of me and I was struggling.  No matter how hard I pushed forward, I was going nowhere.  The current was too strong and everyone around me was too loud.  I go kayaking for the experience with nature.  I go for the feeling that I am getting an inside look at a special niche in the Earth that can only be accessed by kayaking there.  I go for the feeling of being completely immersed and overwhelmed by a sense of contentment and serenity.  I achieved none of these things on this kayaking trip.  A drunk abhorrence hung over the entire river, and I wanted no part of it.

   After a while, my father was becoming sick of my distaste and discomfort so he decided to lead me to a side stream that connected to the river.  It was narrower, smoother, and had a lovely canopy of trees; reminding me of home.  This was more like it.
   As we're paddling, I notice something moving in the water about six feet away.  Naturally, my first thought is that it's an alligator.  But it wasn't big enough and it was making more of a splashy movement.  Is it a snake? Maybe...
   "Dad," I say, "What is that?  A snake?"
   He paddles a little closer, but the creature starts heading right towards us.  We both stare at it, trying to get a better look at whatever this was.
   It seemed to click for the both of us at the same time.  I see the animal's little head poking above the water level and my dad and I both say, almost in unison, "A chipmunk!"
   His big brown eyes were flashing at Dad as if to say, "Please get out of my way.  I can't go back there, something wants to eat me."  His little paws were paddling along and he seemed to be using his tail to keep his balance.  Never in my life had I ever seen a chipmunk swim.  I didn't even know they could swim.  My dad was laughing and said, "That't the coolest thing I've ever seen.  Jillianne, I know it was rough earlier, but that made the whole trip worth it."

   As we go a little further, the river starts to get narrower and rocks start showing up in my path.  At a certain point, we reach a small set of rapids.  Water is rushing over the rocks and my dad is trying to find a way through.  "We could get out of the kayaks and pulls them through and keep going?" He suggested.  I paddle up to the rocks and sit to listen to the sound of the running water before saying, "I don't know, we could probably just turn around.  It's getting late anyway."
   "True.  Let's just sit for a minute," he smiles and says.
   He takes a sip of his water, looks around, and says to me, "Okay, when you get home, you have to tell your mother this."
   I laugh and say, "Why?"
   "I want you to say "Mom, Dad took me to this river and it was level five rapids! Mom, I was so scared" and then tell me what she says."
   I throw my head back laughing and say, "Yes, because this is so threatening.."

   So this kayaking trip wasn't what I thought it was going to be.  It wasn't the best experience I've ever had, but it certainly wasn't the worst.  I got to spend time with my father, I saw a chipmunk SWIMMING (seriously though, how cool is that?), and I got to kayak in a completely new place.  Even though that trip was extremely... humbling, I am still a kayaker.