It is nearing 7 p.m. on Memorial Day. I am alone camping in a state park. All the holiday weekend campers have gone and it is quiet. I am the last and will depart tomorrow. The heat of the day is leaving. Birds are chirping. The wind is rustling through the vividly green leaves and I hear the crackling of wood from the campfire I have built as I write.
Somewhere along the way, someone told me that campfires make you warm twice – when they are burning and when you remember them. I think back on past campfires, as a child in summer camp, sitting with friends and lovers, and as a parent with my children.
There are little moments, like toasting a marshmallow. Oh how I was tempted to buy a bag tonight, but I knew I would devour the entire bag if I did. And there are times remembered of sitting around solving all the problems of the world. And simply sharing the moment. There are events, like camping and canoe trips, which come to mind. And there are the memories of songs, stories and tall tales as well. All of them hold a special place in my heart.
I am filled with temptation to rip into my soon-to-be ex – to let the world know “my” side of the story. But I will not do so. Things between us are bitter enough and it simply is not worth the time and effort to do so. There is nothing wrong with things being left unsaid, especially since they are no one’s business anyway. And so what I will write will be about the good things on this adventure of mine. I have taken many photographs. They warm my memories and help me to remember the small things. I will share them in chapters to come.
A gentle rain has come in from the East. It is enough to force me to retreat into the tent to protect my computer, but it cannot even begin to reduce the heat of the embers in my campfire as I watch it. In the West, the sun is setting among the trees. My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of distant thunder. It reminds me that there are still challenges from my old life that lie in wait. I am truly saddened that there is so much anger. This started out as a voyage to change the perspectives from the past in order to deal with the challenges of the present. I never meant to inflict harm, and I really believe I didn’t. The anger my wife feels is, I fear, self-inflicted. But while I care about her pain, I cannot do anything to resolve it. She owns it and must deal with it in her own way. It is a role she is well rehearsed in.
The rain has stopped and the birds are continuing their evening song. I hope the clouds go away. Night out here has little ambient light and the stars are glorious. My first night of camping, I watched in awe as they once again revealed their true glory. After looking at them without the glow of civilization interfering, I wonder how one can even begin to question the existence of God.
Dealing with God – perhaps more with religion and religious people – has been a major factor in this journey. There is a beautiful country music song that is very popular today. It is about a singer who tells God he is down on his knees because there is nowhere left to go. He begs and pleads for just one more chance for his relationship with his wife. He asks for help to make him the man he wants to be.
Right now, I am very unsure about what kind of man I want to be. I know that it has nothing to deal with meeting the expectations of others. There have been some who expect me to do things which fit into their notion of “right” yet use vile words in an attempt to rouse me into their agenda. My friend, Larry, spoke of the concept of “thinking outside the box” and yet we create the parameters of the box itself. The fundamentalist Christian concept of a never-give-up marriage has driven me for many years. Countless professionals have told me the marriage is toxic and to leave it. Yet until recently, it has not been an option. It has been a matter of sheer willpower to keep it going. But alas, keeping it going and keeping it meaningful are two different things. Living together in a house is not the same as loving together in a home. One can find love in the most humble of dwellings, and never see it in the largest palace.
Some of these religious people cannot comprehend the marriage is over. They tell me to go back, but I am not welcome there. In my mind, there is little I have done wrong. I struggle with what new life I am to have, and what new person I am to become. I am enjoying the current vagabond status. I can go anywhere I choose, and see anyone who wants to see me. And last night I thought about living alone in one place, without friends and isolated. It would drive me to suicide. Yet I lived with intense loneliness for well over a decade. I was afraid to express my feelings unless they were of such intensity they screamed to be heard despite the consequences. To submerge one’s self to conform to my perception of what was expected by my mate was driven by the fear of ridicule, condemnation and worthlessness.
And then came the miracle of 2010. I began to discover I had a past, and a life that was far different from my present. As I made contact with people from many decades ago, I learned their perceptions of me then are far different than mine are. I learned that many of the things I do today are based on lies of the past. The thought of being less than good enough was replaced by people who validated my feelings. It is a heady and intense emotion. To feel worth when one was filled with worthlessness and despair is a metamorphous worthy of the caterpillar and the butterfly.
Events that are no one’s business but within my family led to thoughts of somehow making things different. I felt a desperate need to examine the past in order to resolve the problems of the present. In addition, there was a desire for a last adventure. A “bucket” trip to go on before I died. I thought I was fairly close to death. I have a number of medical issues and they were running much of the way I lived. I was becoming weaker by just giving into them. I wanted to live, not lay in bed waiting for something to happen. I hadn’t seen my best friend for more than a decade, and never met his grown children. I had read a book about traveling from my area to the Florida Keys. I dreamed of being able to put a foot into the Atlantic Ocean and then putting the other into the Gulf of Mexico a few moments later. I wanted to see Key Deer, small dog-size deer that are perfectly proportioned and exist on only one island. I wanted to see sunset at Mallory Square in Key West, a tradition begun by some of America’s greatest writers.
And I did. And I did even more than I ever imagined. I drove through the Shenandoah Valley, one of the most beautiful places on the face of the earth. I met and had my picture taken with a real Apollo astronaut at the Kennedy Space Center. I watched the sunset on the incredibly blue-green waters of the Gulf and was inspired by the sun kissing the sea. I paid for the dinner of a complete stranger and was the one who reaped the true reward. I visited the house my parents bought and replaced the memory of my drunken mother saying “tell your father I’m leaving him” with the beauty of my home, the good times like fishing, playing with trains, the childhood friends, the peace of fires in the fireplace and much more.
But the people were the most meaningful part. From near and far, the support and love I received has been wonderful. I had dinner with my prom date from more than four decades ago. How cool is that? I did see my old friend and met his children. I had time with high school and junior high school friends who I hadn’t seen in an eternity. And as things became difficult as my wife stalked me, they gave me support despite themselves being harassed. Others did not do so. And while I was sorry they came to what I considered the wrong conclusions about me, I accepted it. And then there was the kindness of complete strangers. There was the woman at my old home who invited me in to see my old room and tour the house. I was a complete stranger to her and in our current society I could have been someone horrible.
There were also the librarians at the Morristown library. Morristown is my home town. They were able to find yearbooks from a half-century ago and permitted me to photograph pages and spend hours enjoying the memories. Incredibly, only a week later, there was an electrical-gas explosion right in the area I was using. Some of the treasures I touched may never again be seen. To make matters worse, asbestos was discovered after the explosion. It could take years to rebuild this once-beautiful Victorian era building and restore its treasures.
There is now little glow left in the embers of my campfire. The sun has disappeared and the shadows of twilight fill the forest now. The song of the birds has given way to the hum of insects. The fatigue of being on the road for more than a month is setting in. It is time to close this chapter and prepare for the night and hopefully the stars.
