That Iron String

"...I'd hurt a lot of people lately, myself worst of all. What I needed now were the few things left that didn't hurt: the woods and the mountains opening out before me, the unfolding story of moving through them toward an end."

- Robert Alden Rubin, "On The Beaten Path: An Appalachian Pilgrimage"

On the drive back from a Memorial Day camping trip on New Hampshire's astoundingly beautiful Lake Umbagog, my friend Joe and I took a detour down Maine 26 to visit a particular pie stand Joe hits up every year.

It was a gloriously sunny day, and this beautiful stretch of road near Grafton Notch boasted crowded roadside stands bursting with homemade vittles, flea markets that were more like sprawling junkyards, hippie food co-ops, and BBQ trailers. It was a good end to a great getaway.

On a whim, we stopped by an interesting-looking outdoors shop called True North Adventurewear. Amidst a superb selection of backpacking gear that I couldn't afford, I found "On The Beaten Path." Time to again feed my fascination (obsession?) with thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail.

I've needed a lot of time away this summer. I love the city, but the woods, the lakes, the mountains have been calling me in a way that I've never felt. And now that I have a vehicle, I vowed to get out of the city as often as possible. I also wanted to be sure to go to different places, and not fall into the routine, as I so often do, of returning to the same place again and again because I like it, and it's comfortable. I need adventure, and I need to practice taking chances, and seeing those chances through.

When I read that quote from Robert Rubin's book, I was sitting at a picnic table near Salisbury Beach, in the very early morning quiet. I sipped on coffee and felt the new day's sun begin to warm the back of my neck. And when I read it, it struck me so fully that it nearly brought me to tears. That's it. That's exactly it.

So. In August I'm going to do a multi-day hike up in Vermont, on the Long Trail. It's about 50 miles, and apparently showcases the most scenic part of the trail that predates even the AT. And if I do wind up taking the leap and hiking The Trail, the only thing that could stop me (aside from some fairly serious injury) would be my own fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of my own weakness. And damned if I'm going to let that happen. It's time to put those fears to bed.

Oh, and the pie was delicious.

All the alone time

I think I need more time alone that I've ever let myself realize.

When I was a kid, I had no problem being alone. At 6 or 7 years of age I'd sit in the backyard, at a little plastic table under the apple tree, and have breakfast by myself. My mom would come out and check on me, and would ask if I'd like company. According to her, I'd always say "No, thanks."

As a 12 or 13 year old I'd go out into the woods alone and pretend to be a survivalist. Occasionally a friend would come along, but usually I'd go solo and I preferred it that way. I'd sit in my room when my parents would have parties and write on my mom's old electric typewriter, short stories and poetry. I'd watch SNL and sketch the actors. I'd draw and read comics.

But, I always had people there if, and when, I needed them. My mother was always around, and was always willing to spend time with me, and we did a great deal. My sisters and I usually just fought, but they were there.



As I've gotten older the prospect of being alone has gotten a bit uncomfortable. You're not really supposed to want to be alone, after all, what are you, some sort of recluse? Especially in this age, when our most inconsequential thoughts are obsessively shared through a hydra of social networking, the idea of solitude is alien. The silence can be deafening.

But hopefully, when we're done being alone, we can have someone to go to. I guess that's what scares me more than anything: my aloneness could be irreversible.

We surround ourselves with people and things, to distract ourselves from ourselves. We go to work, have social obligations, hundreds of interactions a day. We work these muscles constantly, and as technology speeds up so must our exercise. And when the lights go out, the TV and the computer go off, and we lay and stare at a black ceiling and try to sleep, we feel sore.

So with that, I'm off. I'm going to put on my pack and walk, alone, through the city. But I'll make sure that I let my friends and family know that when I'm back, I'll be so glad they're there.

You have to admit, it's getting better...

On my first day of "Intro to Screenwriting" at Brookline High School (an adult continuing ed program), I saw this on several of the doors of the classrooms.

I guess it's probably not an unusual sight for the kids that attend this school, but to an old fogey like me, it got me thinking.

I went to a pretty conservative all-boys Catholic prep school in the South. There was one kid, Andrew I think his name was, who talked with a slight lisp. This was enough to make this social life a complete nightmare. Constant teasing, bullying and outright threats. If he hadn't been a pretty tall guy and had a few friends, he probably would have gotten hurt. There was some seriously ugly antigay bigotry (and anti-Semitism now that I think of it) at that school.

At the end of my Senior year, there was some sort of function in the auditorium. A few of the popular kids made speeches, relating stories about the years we all spent together. One recounted a "story" - a total fabrication - that involved walking in on two guys who were allegedly getting it on in a bathroom stall. He named names. As the entire place erupted with jeers, obscene shouts, and laughter, I remember looking over at the accused. They were pretty dorky, but hey, weren't we all, and didn't have many friends apart from each other. I was always nice to both of them, even hung out outside of school occasionally. I'll never forget the horrified look on their faces at they sank into their seats; everyone knew it wasn't true, and the hate directed at them that day made me seriously question the value of humanity. I think I knew then that I'd never attend a high school reunion, and never have.

So when I saw this sticker, it made me really glad to know that will likely never happen in this school. Some kids are assholes and always will be, so others that don't fit in will always catch the brunt of their insecurities and ignorance.

But, there was an institutionalized, accepted, and almost encouraged bigotry in my high school, fed by tradition, testosterone, and religion. Not a good combo. The principal eventually had to call order in the auditorium that day, but the damage had been done, and as far as I know the perpetrators never suffered any real consequences and the victims likely never received an apology.

So, even though this is just a sticker on a pane of glass, it represents a sea change. As a high schooler I couldn't even conceive of this kind of tolerance. So anyone who complains we need to return to some sort of past value system, or that we live in an age of "moral decline" needs to consider the quote by John Cage: "I can't understand why people are frightened of new ideas. I'm frightened of the old ones."