“You’ve come far, Pilgrim,” the old mountain man said to Jeremiah Johnson.
“Feels like far,” Robert Redford (Johnson) replied.
This week is a slight digression from our study of character traits conducive to recovery from PTSD and other past stress. Or, maybe not. August will focus upon the twelfth and last trait: Vision.
Have we come far? Well, we didn’t do it in a day.
Journey is a term originally referring to the work done in a day or how far we could go in one day. Just for today.
In the jungle of Vietnam, we could walk about one click an hour. One kilometer. So a day’s travel might be five or ten kilometers or five miles give or take a couple.
It is roughly twenty-two miles across the Grand Canyon, and people can do that in a day. Not me, but other people. My plan is to do it in four days.
Twenty miles was a journey for a wagon train.
Yesterday I drove nearly three hundred miles, but I have done many more in a single day. Today I hope to fly a couple of thousand. Quite a journey.
Our culture has twisted the meaning of journey far from the original meaning of marche du jour.
As I wait to go to the airport, I am pondering just today, this hour, this moment–while I think about the future.
Much of my life is wasted weighting events of yesterday or waiting for events of tomorrow rather than savoring my walk today.
My parents were married during the Depression, living on squirrels Dad hunted, day old bread they sold door to door, and what they could grow in a garden. “Those were the good old days,” Dad told Mom fifty years later.
“I think we’re livin’ in the good old days,” (Merle Haggard). I hope we don’t miss it.
Psychologically, we can never experience more than a moment, a fraction of one second. Everything else is memory, an illusion created by the mind to record the experience of a moment. Yesterdays are all illusions. Yes, they happened, just not quite like we remember.
Tomorrow is illusion. Yes, it may happen the way we imagine, more or less, but maybe not.
Today is all we have. Let’s make it momentous, grander than the tomorrow we dreamed, yesterday, grander than the memory we create. Let’s live in the good days.
We made a lot of tracks, you and me, some deep, some barely noticeable. Some we regret.
Tomorrow we will make more tracks, God willing.
Have you ever watched a track being made? Have you ever taken note of the Earth beneath your feet as you made a track?
I participated in a blindfold swamp walk in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey. We were led in a group, one person behind another, along a string through the swamp as were blindfolded. It was fun and comfortable, slipping into holes, feeling my way around roots, finding footing. After some time, we were stopped and told to remove our blindfolds. Quickening the pace, I took three steps and cut my foot. I forget to feel my track being made.
Momentous is another word our culture has twisted, originally meaning of one moment. Well, maybe that is not twisted. Maybe making note of a single moment is huge.
A funny thing happens when you face the probability of dying soon. You find each present moment precious, momentous.
One morning this week I went to my spot along the stream valley and noticed the activity of Chickadees. One flitted in a tag alder but three feet from my face, eyeball to eyeball, leaving a visual track in my mind.
Today, will you take a few moments to notice your breathing? Will you admire another part of life sharing this moment with you? Will you take a slow, deliberate walk and feel your tracks being made?