Gravity of the Heart

Much like falling from a chellenging climb, falling for another can often sneak up on you. The pull of gravity signifying the archaic tug that sends you tumbling. When roping up for a difficult climb, it is never my intent to fall. The prospect is always there, and you know that gravity is always lapping at your heels, and yet you defy science and common sense by moving up while clinging to slight imperfections on a stone face. Much like a painters brush stroking a blank canvas, your body dances delicately across that canvas made of stone. Constantly aware of the tangible possibility of a fall, yet you carry on, never without fear but constantly putting it aside, moving upward, focused and in tune with the energy around you. The gravity within our hearts posseses the same power, yet it isn’t often we have the chance to see it in such a raw state. My life on the mend, my mind clear and concise, my gaze focused and fixed, I have trodded along and become someone who I thouroughly enjoy. Along the way I have worked hard to build the walls around my heart. I have made sure to protect myself from the gravity of another heart pulling at mine. I have acknowledged the fear of letting another in, yet I have carried on and done (in my humble opinion) considerably well rebuilding my life, redefining relationships, and keeping it all in check. I’ve built considerable, logical, and tangible walls around my life, but especially around my heart. However absurd it may seem to some, it is/was a necessity for me. A requirement for survival, if you will. While these walls were insurmountable, they were walls which I could peak over, climb over, or look around whenever I saw fit. I could always retreat behind those walls if I felt like someone was getting too close. That, in and of itself, became a byproduct of what was happening around me. I needed a place to go and feel safe, and learn about myself, before I could open up to anyone. As time passed I found that safe haven became all too frequently where I found myself. I just couldn’t connect on a level that made me feel real again, or safe from the pain that could very well lie beyond those walls.



Being one who is fascinated with pugilism on a level beyond mere fists, I have seen the metaphor within this journey as it relates to fighting. Not just the similarity I find with climbing, gravity, and ascention. I see myself (post divorce) backed into a corner and fighting anything that got in the way of where I wanted to go, or anything, or anyone that incroached upon my safe place. I wouldn’t say that I put myself into seclusion or became a recluse. To the contrary I believe my journey has been one of personal satisifaction, grace, and self inquiry, while putting myself out there at the same time. I still bagan to worry as to whether I could open up to anyone again. The instinct to fight off anything unfamiliar, uncomfortable, or threatening is just something that I was born with. My life holds record to the fact that the “easy way” isn’t the path that I typically choose. Much like when I am training or fighting, I become enveloped in the moment. Transfixed on what it is I am facing, then and there, and constantly looking for the calmness within me that allows me to slip the punches of life, weave around my oponent, and strike when the timing is perfect. Timing and range awareness are two fundamentals of fighting that are continually being mastered. You become hyper aware as you settle into your rhythm. Your breathing becomes a metranome to the music around you. The sound of bodies clashing, fists smashing, and the breath of exhaustion that you hear as it emites from your lungs. You are the master of your own destiny. You either fight or you succumb to the litany of damage being sent your way.



So as women have come into my life, I have struggled with the gravitational pull of some fantastic individuals. I have pushed some away. Climbing back into my safety corridor, where I knew self relience was the way. I have backed myself into a corner and just as suddenly found that I just fight my way out. I see the connection coming, and in many cases a connection that had the potential to be something great, but the fear overwhelms me and all I can do is listen to that primordial instinct to get away. I climb myself high above the danger, yet always increasing the danger by going further. I fight and listen, tune into those familiar sounds and instincts. The deep seeded cellular instinct to fight off the danger, or flee (ascend) away from it. It’s become a rhythmic, instinctual, repetitive process. Meet someone, get to know them, like the process, but when they get too close push away and climb away. Repeat!!! It seems the pull, the longing for someone to tell it all to, is a far greater opponant than I had ever imagined. I think I’d have told you (even recently) that I have come to like being on my own. Being single and the master of my soul is a satisfaction that I appreciate.




Relatioinships are a strange new ground for a guy who spent half of his life with a woman that he truly thought he’d get old with someday. Strangely vast and multi layered. Ecclectic and diverse. Fantastic and fun filled, if you let them be, yet indescribably terrifying to a guy who NEVER knew love before his marriage, and ended said marriage overflowing with love. Relationships are like climbing in the sense that it’s an ever progression of movement. You have to get past the imperfections, move by move, to reach the top. You have to put forth the effort and hard work. Gravity will hold you down, but if you master the dance with gravity, you can ascend what had seemed impossible. You can also let go and come plummeting back to where you started. They are like climbing a big mountain. You can’t do it all in one push. You have to move forward in steps. Often going up to reconoiter what is ahead, then returning to a safer camp down lower. You have to make your climb in sections and eventually, if you are lucky and all goes well, you’ll reach the ultimate goal. Relationships are also much like fighting, and TOO OFTEN for some, they “are” fighting. Like facing an oponent who is trying to inflict harm, and impose his will, you have to pay attention and find a place within where you can do what you must to survive. When you get past the pain, shock, and terror of taking such unatural damage to your being, you can actually relax in that environment and find a way to move within that situation. To gain a place where you are in tune with the movements of your oponent. Not that relationships are about fighting, impossing your will, or inflicting damage, but even the most beautiful of relationships will see such moments. You learn to endure and survive what you think you cannot take. Once through these moments, and once you become more in tune, more self disciplined, you realize the unforseen beauty in the process. I think part of the process in relationships, fighting, and climbing, is fundamentally realizing that you can be, and often are, your own worst enemy. You have to learn to stop fighting what is natural. You must learn to survive if you want to get to that magical place you seek. You must learn to listen deeply to your instincts in order to accept the fact that you are going to get hit..and you will survive.



I have spent the last 16 months fighting, both figuratively and literally. At the same time I have faced battles with gravity. Climbing harder than I have in recent memory. I’ve let go of the fear of falling, at least in climbing. I’ve learned to listen to what is inside as I face an oponent in the gym. I’ve learned to accept my fate (it’s gonna hurt and I’m gonna take damage) while fighting. I’ve been unafraid to tie into a partner and do that delicate dance over stone. All the while I’ve been horrifically petrified of letting those same things (metaphorically) into my life when it comes to women. I’ve met some amazing ladies, and have had the privelage to really sit and get to know many, yet I find myself back within my walls time and again. I guess like the lesson in fighting – range is everything. Stay just far enough out of the “pocket” and you won’t get hit. Step within range only when YOU are ready. I’ve bided my time outside of range when it comes to relationships, however like climbing and/or fighting, everything can change in a moment. The gravity of your heart can bring you crashing into the life of someone who has stepped into your range.




In a moment I found my life changed forever. Now everyone calm down! Just listen and read as often as you need to in order to get this. I’m not running off and getting married. I’ve found myself standing, once again, in territory that has scared me EVERY SINGLE time I have found myself there. Not just scared in the post marriage world, but pre marriage as well. I never was one to let people in close; it just happened that my ex was able to find a way around my walls. In a moment, unforseen, unexpected, and unlikely, someone has come along and slowly, methodically begun to tear those walls. Before I knew it I was standing before her exposed, raw, and real, yet scared. Not once has she allowed me to begin the rebuilding process of those walls. Watching as the shaking ensues, the backing away and putting up my fists (figuratively of course). She has stood there and just watched; waiting for me to calm down enough to see that she isn’t running away. She’s calmly touched my soul and shown me that it “IS” okay to allow someone so close. It’s okay to be in that pocket and be that close to someone. I’ve stood before her, scared and on the run, yet she has been unwavering in her composure and understanding. Suddenly I look around and gravity isn’t such a scary thing. The safety I feel in her presence is astounding. Like the belay of life, I feel safe. I still don’t kid myself into thinking things could not change in a moment, but the process, the journey, and the lessons are real and tangible. They are/were the missing pieces to the puzzle in this journey. I find my rhythmic feet, dancing the fighters dance; footwork of the pugilist, slowing their fighting pace, a new stance is felt. I don’t feel myself side stepping, slipping, bobbing and weaving. I am not looking for a way to defeat what is in front of me out of fear, or to back away “out of the pocket”. I see a beauty as magnificant as any I ever imagined. Will she stay? WHO KNOWS?! I will NOT, however, ignore the lessons and the feelings. The warmth in her smile and the patience that is every cell of her being is something that I must absorb and be willing to explore. The gravity in her heart is something that I must allow to pull me closer. I can climb away, and I can damn sure fight, but I find myself standing here and absorbing all that the experience has to offer. Ever determined to be reslilient and show the fortitude that I have thus far, yet I feel I can maintain that independence while exploring the soul of another. I feel the balance! The kindness I feel seems almost surreal and the laughter seemingly intangible to some, and yet I feel free. My crippled wings have found the air and I feel the need to fly. Tomorrow isn’t here yet so I refuse to worry if she’ll stay, for today she is here, she is real, and she is standing right here in front of me. Unwavering and unafraid of the mess before her, only accepting that we are all human and only looking to find someone else to walk along beside her on her journey. Walking side by side as long as the path lasts, or as long as the destination is a shared experience, never devaluing what it is, yet never over stating what it is. I only hope that I can give back what I receive…I only hope that others can find peace within another as I seem to have done. This could last forever, for a week, or until tomorrow. As I try to not worry about the future, I realize that today is yesterday’s tomorrow, so I look with a fleating glance aroudn the corner, over my walls, into a tomorrow that may or may not come, yet I know it is there but not what it shall hold. Laughter radiates in my soul, I see the empty canvas before me waiting for me to paint my world.

A Perfect Storm

Like passing thunderheads, laden with life giving moisture, energy, and beauty, so to are the people who seem to pass through my life. Like the fleating thuderstorms that tickle the tops of the Rocky Mountains, so to are those who seem to pass through my life. The relationships, friendships, acquantinces, etc, that seem to float into my life just seem to brush the top of my soul. Never penetrating, never staying, and I find myself unable to embrace that which seems to disipate before sufficient lucidity has evolved. I certainly want the closeness found in real, tangible relationships. I sometimes feel as though my past has left scar tissue on my heart. When these relationships approach, their beauty is evident and stunning all at once, yet I find myself donning my proverbial unbrella. Sheltering, protecting if you will, the damaged heart from the impending storm. I look in awe, in amazement at the bedazzling beauty of such a force as it slowly approaches. Slowly such relationships impart their beauty on all that I know, yet like the thunderous storms that blow over my home, they are gone before I have the chance to fully embrace all that they are, or I have retreated to safety to avoid the beauty within these storms. I cower beneath my umbrealla and hunker down in my own internal caves. I know not if this instinct is from the damage suffered in recent times, if it’s some primordial survival instinct come back now that my life is back to being lived as a “single man”, or if it is genuine fear of the storm and all of its elements. One can only wonder why it is we shelter ourselves from things that are truly so beautiful. Why do we duck and run when such a lifeforce of energy and life giving current comes our way?


Much like the monsoon rains here in the Southern Rockies, I have seen my fair share of potential relationships approach my world, only to fall apart before reaching their full potential. Initially I find myself looking on in awe. Wanting to see the light show, hear the thunder, feel the cleansing rain on my face, and feel the freedom giving wind upon my brow. I face these relationships with no umbrella, no rain gear, no tent, no shelter. Just me and the thunderous approach of something wonderful. Yet when it gets closer, when the gift of natural inclination is right upon me, I seem to whip out that umbrella and/or run for cover. Don’t get me wrong, I am far from a coward when it comes to getting to know someone and investing my time and energy “out there” in the thick of it. Feeling it all, experiencing it all, and getting soaked by all that any relationship has to offer. I just know that I have found myself in a place surrounded by impassable mountains. I have intentionally put my heart and soul in a place surrounded by an internal range of mountains, impenetrable and insurmountable. I guess it’s my happy place. A place where I know that the raw and bleeding heart can heal. A place where “this can’t happen to me again”. Maye to some that seems cowardly, but to me it is simple survival.


I’ve watched with unabashed wonder as some of these relationships have developed over the mountains of my heart. I see them coming, and bask in all that they bring. A few have had the potential to become natural disasters, and a few have been nothing but passing storms. I’ve been sheltered (thankfully) from those disasters and have made a concious effort to stay out in the “passing storms” long enough to soak in their lessons and glory. The one or two that have passed through, which have had the potential to be significant, lasting, meaningful, and memorable have thus far found me running for cover. Not wanting to acknowledge the significance of these “great ones” I tend to just go hide out in my mountians and let them pass. Never knowing if this one could be the “hundred year storm”. The one that will change it all. Change the face of the landscape of my heart. Like the monsoon rains, will this be the one to flood the valleys of my heart and wash away all the mud and silt flowing through? Could this be the one to bring the life giving rain to a shattered heart and dried up soul?


I keep telling myself that relationships are like storms. Packed full of excitement and energy, so full of beauty and vollatility, yet so natural and full of wonder. All in all they give life. Without them, we’d all just be dried up deserts, devoid of freshness and grace. I still can’t convince myself to stand out in these storms. I meet someone who I find intriguing, while not actively seeking, and I see the potential therein start to build. I stand and face the wind (if this person truly has my attention) and I watch as the energy builds. The discovery evolves, like the building of cumulonimbus, growing as all the necessary elements come together. Building into something so alive, so fluid, and so beautiful. It’s a rare thing to witness these things within our interactions with others. It’s imperative (in my opinion) that we don’t let these moments pass by like the clouds above. We need to stop and take note, and yet in the thick of it, I typically turn tail and run.


I can feel the energy of these things building. I can stand out there as vulnerable as possible. Fists clenched, eyes open, heart exposed, but time and again my reaction is the same. Cover!!! Find protection within and stay there. This too shall pass. After all, the perfect storm of my life, or what I thought was so, has passed and is but a distant memory. So why risk it all again to go through that? It’s a funny question coming from one who has spent the better half of his life living on the edge. Risking “real” storms at altitude, on some rock face, or in my youth chasing the storms that created the perfect swell. Yet the courage to face this fear has thus far eluded me. Again and again, I push the potential relationship away. I know that a broken heart needs time to heal, yet I am about as resilient as they come. I know down to the core of my soul that I do not want to walk this earth alone, yet I tend to not give the slightest chance to anyone.


I had recently resolved to spend my days in the comfort of the valley’s surrounding me. I have continually repeated my mantra, allowed the internal dialogue that says “all things are impermanent so why risk it”. It’s a battle with the elements that I know not how to win. I know that the things that are constant, real, and tangible in my life are the things that are here now. My kids, my climbing, and my fighting. These are the things that make up my world. For better or worse, these are the tools in my quiver that have allowed me to keep on keepin on. I tell myself continuously that to rely on none but ourselves is the only way that I can avoid the disaster that can push you to the brink of destruction. I am slowly evolving in this process. While hanging onto these thoughts and beliefs, I know that I have let some pretty spectacular people pass right through my life. I cowered under the shelter of my own cowardice. Mr. Risk Taker has cowered selfishly below the protection of the walls around his heart. I know I cannot continue to live in this internal isolation. I also hear the voices all around who (very commically) state that “you’re just not ready”. To ANYONE uttering such nonsense, I can only say – what makes you the expert. We are all different. Every heart is hurt in this life, and every heart heals, and yet none do so at the same speed. I find it laughable and always want to ask for (from the experts) the date when I’ll be ready. If I had that date I could just get on with my own selfish endeavors until that day comes. I could focus more on training, fighting, and being the best dad possible. No one seems to have the rebutal to that question when I ask.


All this being said – I HAVE begun to peak my head out a little more with each passing day. Like the prairie dog of the plains, I peak out and look around from time to time. I know I can always run back to my “happy place” but I had just recently climbed the walls of my heart, ascended the stunning peaks that surround my soul, just to get some fresh air. Then it happened!!! I felt that wind in my face. The fresh, life giving kind. The wind that grabs your attention and commands you to breathe it in deeper. I dared to glance over those peaks. Tentatively, timidly, and with focused caution. What I see on the horizon is a different kind of storm. What I see approaching is effortless and something I find myself defensless to. The advancing rumble isn’t deafening and scary, rather melodic and soothing. The flashes of light aren’t blinding, but just seem to light up all around. The building energy doesn’t have me grabbing my gear and running. I’m paralyzed by the purity in it. Unlike any previous deluge this one has stripped me of all my defenses. Is it going to pass right over head? Is it going to disipate and fall apart before it’s energy and cleansing, life giving, gift is poured down upon my face? Who knows? All I know is that this one feels different. This one isn’t scary and threatening. This one has the beauty of the hundred year storm. This one has me wondering if I can stand in its path and soak in all that is offered. I don’t feel the tingling in my feet telling me to run. I am not subconsiously retracing my steps up to this point, planning my retreat. I find myself captivated, mesmerized, and in awe at the shear simplicity of it. If it passes me by, if it falls to pieces before it reaches its thunderous crescendo, I will only stand here in wonderment, and face the demons within. Feeling the raindrops on my face. Watching, feeling all it has to offer. I find myself not looking for a cave to hide in. My only thought beyond the approaching storm is my internal dialogue, wondering why is this one so different, and the immediate response that comes from WAY DOWN..saying…”who cares, just enjoy it”. If the valleys below me flood, I guess like Noah I can build an Ark and sail away. I see the beauty as it pours in all around me, in all that I do, and I work to disipate the fear within. I know that my safety is within, self reliant and self sufficient, yet I also know that it takes both sunshine, and rain to make a rainbow. Without the storms of this life our souls would be but a baren landscape devoid of life. Without the courage to stand before the power of nature, and natural selection, the brevity of this life would be much to frightening to face. There comes a time when we all must crawl from the sanctuary within and put ourselves out there. Many times, on many climbs, many routes, and during many storms I have had to rely on the compass within…sometimes you just have to point it north and let it guide you. Sometimes you have to come out from under that umbrella. Maybe this is my time, maybe it’s not, but I won’t find out if I stay within the safety of the mountains around my heart. I will try harder to not let the storms of my life float by anymore. I will look into them as one would look to lucid dreams for understanding beyond what is typical. Within those lucid dreams, maybe I shall find my perfect storm.

Orchestra of Pain

**Life is not a journey to the grave with intentions of arriving safely in a pretty well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out and loudly proclaiming ... WOW! What a ride!”


**Our nature consists in motion; complete rest is death.
Blaise Pascal




These are two of my favorite quotes. The first one has a comfortable, laminated home at my desk. They both remind me to keep on going. To push through difficult situations, including pain, to a place of greatness. To the place(s) I envision in my mind. I often times feel that my life, especially over the last two years, has been an orchestra of pain both in the physical sense and emotionally as well. A perfect storm of pain laden with that magical feeling that lets us know we are alive. It is a sensation and feeling that we all live with, yet so many feel it in it’s most minor form and immediately stop and run to the doctor, medicate, or just stop what they were doing, or ignore the source within their heart that causes the emotional pain. I have come to realize that if you listen intently to your body, your heart, and your soul, you can continue forward even with pain that some would deam unmanageable. You can become the conducter of that orchestra and thus turn it all into a symphonic melody, a hormony of sensations, if you will. Now I’ll throw this disclaimer out there for those of you shaking your head – I am by no means a masochist who enjoys pain, I simply have found a way to live with that pain and listen to it..to take those sensations and continue to move forward, to dance a delicate dance between pain so intense you cannot funtion, and a world free from pain. That world exists, and I know it is out there, but to live in that world would mean that I stop doing some of the things that I love. With my broken heel I was told that my life would always be lived in some form of pain which I’d have to medicate, or adjust all other aspects of my life to play in unison with that pain. I was lead to believe that in some way the pain would lead my life and/or dominate a large portion therein.


Add to this mix the intense life altering pain of losing someone you loved so dearly and I’ll bet you can imagine the cocophony of destruction you wake with daily. The physical pain became an afterthought to the intense heartache as I watched my life drift from the comfort of the world I had come to cherish. It’s hard to describe the differences in the two pains, but eventually your heart heals much faster than your body. I will always have a place in my heart where I hold the memories and smile upon them frequently. I will always have the scars from the surgeries, and the ensuing pain to remind me that I am alive. My journey is not yet over. I feel the metal in my body as it grinds against bone. The searing pain as my feet pound the concrete feels unbearable at times, yet I cannot stop. I feel a freedome in the pain, knowing I am doing what is supposed to be impossible, or unbearable. I shoulder the burden as I climb pitch after pitch, ever increasing in diffuculty. Sometimes I think I hear God on the sidelines chearing me on…pushing me beyond what I thought possible yesterday and redefining those possibilities for tomorrow. When I am fighting and I stare across at my opponent, knowing he is there to inflict pain, knowing I WILL get hit again and again, I feel something inside me telling me to keep going. I have been hit so hard that I swear I could feel my brain shift upon its stem and smack the side of my skull. The ensuing headache and dizziness only stands to confirm this, yet I cannot stop. Each instance of pushing past the stopping point builds upon a foundation redefined over the last two years. I know my limits were nowhere near what I had previously thought.


These moments, the ability to push past the unthinkable, these have shaped me and given me a drive that I never imagined. For most of my life I have had a fairly average amount of self discipline and self belief. Years ago I met a woman who took that belief in me and fed it a continual dose of steroids. I began to believe! Not just in the impossible, but in myself. I took that encouragement and invested it, banked it if you will, in my heart. I dreamed like never before and felt a peace like I never imagined. I still have that gift and it is one that no one will ever take away from me. I still hear the voice telling me that she believes in me. Telling me to run faster, fight harder, and never stop chasing my dreams. My training partners and I run through downtown Durango. It’s a course that takes us from the door of the Dojo, around town, and back. I feel that runner’s high at times and I feel like I am floating across the asphalt, whole, unencumbered, uninjured, and free. Sometimes my little mind imagines her there pushing me on. I know now that the voice is my own, and no one will shout that encouragement the way I heard it in the past. It is all within now. All me, and I am the only one for whom I can rely on for that extra push. That is a whole new level of desire that I never imagined. Something inside can push you beyond your limits, beyond the pain, and into a place where you are floating in a vortex of adrenaline and euphoria.
In between these moments I am ravaged with pain that sometimes feels unbearable and I find myself drawing from deep inside to just get through the minutes, hours, days of agony. My shoulders burn and my foot rages in an inferno of pain. The orchestra begins as the pain migrates like birds in flight. It moves from the foot, to the knee, to the hip, and then to the back. My shoulders and neck then feel the melodic sensations of this orchestra. If I stop for long enough, it feels like my soul is feeling the acute ramifications of a life lived in constant motion. Yoga helps me to relieve most of the tension in my body and helps me to become more centered and focused along the way. Meditation allows me to look the pain in the eye and accept it as something that is there, yet just a “thing” that I “can” get through. There are still very few days where I don’t feel the pain (physical and emotional) of a life lived pushing my limits. Over the last year I have pushed harder and harder, hoping to find a place or a time where I can be free of the pain. A place where the anguish of the heart gives way to peace and forgiveness. I realize I am human and that sometimes the pain is telling me something that I need to hear. So I listen. I quiet my mind and listen to what my body and heart is telling me. Sometimes I don’t want to hear it, but I must listen.


I have recently begun to fall more and more in love with running. I love the feeling of running as the sun goes down, into the wind, along the Animas River Trail, and the soothing sound of the river as I run along its banks. I don’t want to give that up. I want to push my limits again. The pain can become intense and almost insurmountable at times. I massage my legs, my foot, my shins, and my calves, my thighs…all searing with pain from all that I do. There is something magical about the power of touch. The absolute, unequivacal ability for the touch of a hand to take it all away. It was something that she used to call “touch therapy”. It is something that I can still feel from time to time even though it too is gone, like the voice on the sidelines telling me to “go”. I have found a friend who is a massage therapist here in Durango. She isn’t your typical therapist/friend. She “believes” in the power of touch. She cultivates her understanding and training continually to help people like me who refuse to stop and let life pass us by. On her table I find a solice and peace that is unmatched by anything else I can presently do to get away from that pain for a moment. It’s as if she can sense right where the pain is and slowly, methodically, address the pain and slowly work with the pain to disipate it and help it find its way from my body. Sound weird? I thought so at first, but it keeps happening. This last week my body was wrecked with tension and pain. Par for course. Just part of my life and I wasn’t about to slow it down. So Christine spent an hour and a half giving me an Ashi/Thai massage. Go google that one! She uses her feet and hands to chase those demons from my body and to take me to a place of peacful bliss that I look forward to more and more. I spent that 1.5 hours not only relaxed mentally, and physiclly, but spiritually I feel as though my soul is as tranquil as it has ever been. I think the essence of the body is that it is like water, no matter how you shape it, twist it, try to contain it or stir it up, it always settles back to where it is supposed to be. When you won’t leave it be, it continually gets stirred around and becomes turbulant. It is possible for any of us to find that place where all is calm and in tune…settled. I find that place on the table of a friend whose hands have the power to ease the storm(s) within. Tranquility at it’s finest. After my last session I felt my kicks were infused with a little extra snap and power. My run yesterday was peaceful!!! I didn’t feel the pains and aches that I normally do.


I am sure that my cycle of pain is far from over. I refuse to stop and sit by as life passes me by. The voices telling me to stop are ever present but they can sit on the sidelines of life, not me. The meds the doctor’s dish out for pain are useless and always find their way into the trash. I can run from the pain in this life, or I can deal with it. I can embrace it and let it go. I can seek the help of someone who’s touch can set me free, if only momentarily. I will always look for ways to push my limits and I will always live close to “the edge”. I feel the view is much better there and I know that my heart beats with an urgency and freedom only when I am looking over that edge into a world that many step back from. With the spirit I feel in my heart, the voice telling me to “go”, I know I can push through the cycles of pain. Someone once told me that I was someone and that they believed in me. NO ONE can ever take that from me and no amount of pain will let me stop looking for that sensation of beating the odds. I have people in my corner who encourage me and one whose touch sets me free. As I run this evening, I look forward to the wind in my face, the sun setting on my shoulders, and the freedom to redefine what is possible. When the pain comes again, and I cannot escape, I will put that pain into the hands of one who can help it find its way from my body; one whos hands can bring light into my soul, and turn a chorus of pain into a beautiful orchestra of bliss.

The Richest Poor Man

What is it to be poor? What does it look like? What does it feel, or look like to TRULY be hungry. Is it the quiet gentle soul minding his own business as he pushes his shopping cart stuffed with his worldly belongings past you on the street? Is it the person holding a sign on the corner asking for help, swallowing every ounce of pride to stand out there in total humiliation as the world drives by and rolls up their windows while passing judgment on what “that homeless guy would do should I give him money”? Is it the face of a hungry child who lives in a car in some abandoned lot looking through their bedroom window of an old beat up car? Or is poverty the masses I look out at every weekend through my bedroom window as they line up at the soup kitchen a mere 60 yards from my condo? I’d bet that my friend Jeremy knows what poverty is as he works at the homeless shelter a scant 30 yards from the soup kitchen. Poverty and pain; richness and joy, how often do we see these words used in combination with one another? Is it fair to say that most of us have associated one with the other? Have you ever done anything to help change that pain to even the briefest moment of joy for someone else? Do you find yourself switching lanes when you come up to a red light where one of those “pan handlers” is standing, frantically rolling up your window and resolutely promising not to “look over there”? Have you ever been poor? Have you ever been in need? Do you know what it feels like to wonder if you will have a place to live tomorrow, or if you’ll be able to make the truck payment next month? What about that electric bill and those groceries? The attorney(s) who call and want the money that you owe still for their heroic battle to keep your kids in your life for HALF of what it was before…have you ever felt that pain? Have you ever sat at a business lunch with a VERY important associate and not heard one word they said because all you can do is feel guilty for eating such an amazing lunch when you don’t even know what you’ll feed your kids that night? Staring at your plate and just losing all apatite and knowing the right thing to do was go get a “to go” box and bring what is left home.



The litanies of questions I ask in the preceding paragraph are ones that I have always tried to be aware of from my pre-teen years until now. I spent some time in those years “running”. Running from reality, the law, my parents, and any sense of authority. I’ve slept in abandoned cars and in a park a few times as my parents frantically looked for me. I knew then (or so I thought) what it meant to be cold and hungry…alone. I am thankful for the experiences from that time in my life as they have never left my memory and those nights trying to find a place to sleep have fueled the fire that I have inside to NEVER GIVE UP. I am far from perfect, far from being the most altruistic person I know, yet I am the first to dart across lanes of traffic, or slow down and jockey over to time the red light just right in order to reach down into my cup holder and hand that stranger who shares that common thread of “pain”…a handful of hope from my ash tray. Whether it be fifty cents or a couple of dollars, I do it to this day. I am no saint, nor am I anything but a human with a little compassion, but I write this blog at a time in my life where (as a wonderful person recently told me) “my past makes sense”. You see, on paper and to the majority of this tiny little mountain resort town, I seem to be doing pretty good. Steady job. Great pay, nice truck, beautiful kids, survived a horrid divorce…..stop right there. We’ll come back to that “survived” part. So my past makes sense because I have always been that guy who’d stop and sit with a homeless person and just talk to them. Never condescending or contrite, just as if you or I were sitting there talking. I know now that my past prepared me for my future. I feel as though I have always had a heart for those who have less than “us”. Maybe it was God preparing me for the war I’d face over the last year. Maybe He was building my armor and strengthening my defenses…who knows. I do know this – poverty to most people is the rationalization that one is “poor” because he/she “has not”. I think that is a pretty fair assessment as I believe if you pass through the differing classes among us that poverty line shifts. My kids and I say our prayers almost every single night when they are here. On our knees, by the bed, and to this very day my kids (both of them) always ask God to “be with those who are homeless and hungry or have less than us”. It brings tears to my eyes EVERYTIME I hear that. I’m drifting here so let’s get back to why I asked these questions in my very public blog…I ask you to sit and think about what it means to be poor, what it means to be hungry, and what it means to feel the pain of a society who will not help. I ask you these things because they are things that I hold near and dear to my heart. It is something that I literally see when I look out my bedroom window in this little resort town that most people envision (and rightfully so to an extent) as a place closer to heaven and more beautiful than most of us have the opportunity to live. I ask you these things because for the first time in my life I know. I know what it feels like. I live it every day, and it is by far one of the most humbling experiences of my life as well as one of the most humiliating things I have ever had to admit. To most it could come as a shock..but it is what it is.



So back to where I “survived” a divorce. I hear that so often and it always makes me angry. Of course I survived..it’s what I do..it’s how I roll. But assuring the survival of the bonds I have with my children is a battle that NO ONE is prepared for. To have your humanity and dignity stripped away over this process is something that I wish not upon my worst enemy. Stop and grasp that for a minute – humanity and dignity. A very basic human need amongst us all right? What about those standing on the street holding the sign? Those sleeping under a bridge on a cold winter night? They too have it stripped on a daily basis and I know how it feels. I made it through the divorce, and more importantly I can say to hell with the divorce…I made it through the loss of not only my humanity and dignity..but even more potent, I survived the loss of my soul mate. Now that I am two days post the one year mark, I find myself thinking daily of how my life has improved. That’s what I said – improved. I have found, once again, what I had lost slowly over the years. I have learned to appreciate every dollar that I have and to find a way to make it stretch. I have an indescribable gratitude for every breath that passes through these lungs. I have learned that the simple things are the greatest things. I have watched a darkened sky become filled with friends who have reached out and helped me find my way. My sky is brighter everyday as these stars continually come into my life. So I didn’t “survive” a divorce, I merely survive daily and grow daily; for now the reality is there of being a single father, provider, and example to two of the bravest kids I have ever met. I will never forget the feeling of signing the final divorce papers knowing that one walked “free” while the other took on insurmountable (so they think) debt. Shovel on a helping of having to still pay “the other half” when you took the bills and walked away instead of fight, as well as the fact that you still pay that one due to their lack of ambition, attorney’s fees to no end…okay I’ll stop there but you get the picture. I didn’t survive, I’m surviving, and I will continue to do so.


The months have ticked by and I become happier every day. I become more appreciative to all that I have and as bizarre as it sounds I become more appreciative of all that I “don’t have” as well. My life has become simpler than it has ever been. You see, I am not just saying I am “poor”, I am. That was me sitting across from a business associate. It was me who could barely stomach the simple act of eating when I knew not how I’d feed my kids and pay all of the bills. My past may have gotten me this far, but I assure you that nothing prepared me for this, or did it? To TRULY wonder how I would survive from day to day. Without a car I could not take my kids to school each day, and therefore someone might pounce on that opportunity to try and take them from me (again). If I have no home of my own, ditto. No electricity? Ditto. No phone? Ditto. No job…you get it. So while I may still have a roof over my head (due to the kindness of a man who’s heart is bigger than all of these problems combined –thanks Ed), I wonder daily what is around the corner. I have been working nonstop for 6 months straight, to the point of total delirium in fact, because it would be easy to just give up..but would you? Or would you look out that bedroom window and find the will to keep fighting?



I look out that window on weekends and I see the shelter and the soup kitchen. I see the faces and the little hands holding big hands as they walk in. I always look at their hands, the kids I mean, and it just always seems like they are held by bigger hands. You can see in the body language, that even without food, a home, etc; the instinct of that parent is to never give up. Even if it means walking into a soup kitchen, and into the judgmental eyes of many. I’ve stood at my window and cried knowing that I am so close to those two places, not just geographically, but financially. I thank God every day for my job, another chance, another opportunity to fight this beast, because that could very well be me standing in that line. I went for a run on the river trail the other day and soaked up the sun and just let it all go for a bit. As I continued on I couldn’t help but let the numbers run through my head..I have this much..I have to pay this..wait I have to pay that..truck, rent, child support, electric, again and again the numbers dance through my head. And then it happened. I was running back towards my house and there is a park nearby and in that park, in the greenest spring grass, amongst all the Durangoans chasing the spring sunshine, a Frisbee, or hacky sack, there lay a homeless man. One I have seen many times. I had come to my stopping place where I stretch out then walk home to cool off, but this time I stretched a bit longer. In my self pity as I ran, I had forgotten all of the lessons that I described above, but here in the grass was a man for whom mom’s were very politely whisking their kids away from. A man who humbled my heart because I was worrying about how I’d buy groceries and there lay a man who probably hadn’t eaten in days. All along…he was making angels in the grass, and laughing. That’s right, snow angels..in the grass..on a spring day..with no snow. I BS you not. Just to get it out there, no he isn’t crazy and I feel that is a fair assessment as I have talked to the man.



Suddenly I just felt like all of my worries, while pertinent, just didn’t matter right then. I just sat on the picnic table fiddling with my shoes and watching. I love to watch..to people watch, and this was a real gem. I watched a little toddler slip away from his mommy and run right over to him and plop down in the grass next to him and make his own little innocent angels. The man just laughed. Even better was to see mini angel’s mom come over and not whisk him away. Instead she sat in the grass and yup..plopped down on her back and made an angel. I’ll never forget it as long as I live. For a moment an angel came along and took it all from my mind. I had to be to work so I just hurried along and smiled the whole way home. In the heart of a homeless man I saw peace and an angel. I survive with moments like these in my heart. Maybe I am out there looking for them. Maybe they find me, but I know that I am where I am today because of the love of friends who wouldn’t let me quit. I am here today because of the love of my mom and dad, my brother and his wife, a friend who came back from long ago, and a multitude of friends who picked me up again and again.



So it is that I came to this writing about being poor. About having “less than”. I feel pity for those who pity those of us with less cluttered lives. Sure I have bills and worries still, but something fantastic happens to you when you get to a place like this. You survive, and even more so, you “know” what it is to have survived. You get through it and along the way you gain SO MUCH MORE than the material things you lost. You gain love, appreciation, humility, humbleness, and a sense that life, when taken to the bare essentials, is just that – LIFE, glorious and uncluttered. My past makes sense now and it has led me to where I am today. I look in the mirror and I can say that for the first time in 17 or so years, I like where I am and I LOVE who I am. I feel in my soul that my relationship with my kids has flourished and the opportunity for us three to grow from this is astounding. I don’t know what I’ll feed them next week when they are here, but I KNOW that I’ll not let them down and I will figure it out. I know that the brightest of stars have been placed in my sky so that I may see when things get dark. I know that nothing lasts forever, but a little kindness and humility..a little joy can last longer than all else. I wonder every single day if it will be “the” day that someone will try and take my kids again, so I spend every moment with them in total gratitude. With all of these lessons in my heart I realize that we may have to eat Ramen Noodles, but as far as life goes…we are feasting on Steak and Lobster…. I may “have not” what most people would call riches, but I assure you that because of people like my friends, my family, and a very special friend who recently came into my life, I have hope…and that makes me the richest poor man you will ever know. Within poverty one can truly find joy.


*As a “post script” I want to thank every single reader, friend, family member, church member, training partner, climbing partner, stranger, and most of all the angel in the park for giving me hope and showing me what humanity is made of. I had someone proof this posting and immediately asked what they could do to help me…YOU CAN REMEMBER – that is “what you can do”. The next time you see someone down and out, reach out your hand. Take chances on strangers..hop in your truck and drive a thousand miles to meet one, or see family just because it is those relationships that make you rich. Do that for the Meyer family and you carry on the memory of what we have learned. Take a meal to someone who is hungry, what about those old blankets in your closet? Clothes that don’t fit? That is “what you can do to help us”. If nothing else, stop tonight with you family and be thankful for what you DO have. And don’t worry about us..I never give up!
With everlasting love and hope ~ The Meyer Family

Life is a Highway

Bouncing in the back seat of the red Vega, along a stretch of mountainous highway, Credence Clearwater Revival blaring from the speakers, we drove through clouds laden with moisture and cool with a refreshing and purifying sensation. I remember my dad rocking out to the tunes and my brother and I arguing in the back seat. We were unrestrained because back in the 70’s that’s how it was. It was a stretch of road high in the Alaska backcountry and we were heading to fish one of the many rivers that my dad loved to take us to. I believe we were headed to the Russian river, but I cannot be sure. The images dance around my head and I find myself smiling and feeling grateful for that little spark of memory from so long ago. I remember the windows being cracked and just the cool mist penetrating the world inside our little bubble. The laughter is deafening. We were so alive and so happy. We were in the mountains where we blonged. We were with our dad and nothing was better than that. At one point the clouds abated and we momentarily pierced the clouds into a pocket of radiant, warm light. Then back into the clouds. This stretch of highway is full of tunnels that take you through what the men who built the road WOULD NOT accept as “inpenetrable mountains”. When you can’t get around it, over it, or under it, you gotta just blast right through it. Sometimes I think that I must have been one of these highway builders in a past life…if I believed in past lives.


Driving through the tunnels was always a sudden blast of energy from the back seat. My brother and I would scream and bounce higher. My dad would blare the horn and flash his lights. We’d continue through the darkness, towards the light at the end of the tunnel where we’d countinue our journey to our campsite. This scenario would be repeated again and again, never would my dad grow tired of the two wound up kids in the back seat. I understand that now and cherish similar moments with my kids. I thrive on the energy my kid’s posses. Life would go on and we would move to Hawaii where the roads passed directly through more mountains. Next we’d move to California where much was the same. I still get a kick out of driving through the tunnel at Wolf Creek Pass just east of Pagosa Springs. I’m kind of a dork when it happens. I’m an adult now (or so they say) but I can instantly be transported back to that Alaskan highway so many years ago. I still honk the horn when I pass through tunnels.


Along the highway of life, I have been faced with many dark, scary tunnels. Some have carried me through a realm which I thought inpenetrable, some have been short, some long, some winding, yet the term “tunnel” would suggest (and require) that there is an end. Another side. I have often tried in vain to climb over the mountains ahead of me. I have realized that sometimes you have to stay on the road and go through a dark tunnel in order to get to the other side. Sometimes when you get to the other side you come out of the clouds and into a pocket of light, and still sometimes you are faced with another tunnel. My life over the last year and a half has been full of peaks, valleys, and tunnels. Darkness and light. Metaphorically speaking, it is easy to compare my life changing injury and my life changing loss of my wife to a journey through a valley full of mountains and cloudy mist. The times between these monumental life changing events have been full of so much happiness and joy. The laughter from the back seat, the honking of the horn, the splashes of light as you emerge from dark moments, are all so much more relevant and meaningful than the struggles that I have passed through.


The memories of traveling down life’s highway can be seen metaphorically from many different angles. Some of us out there see life as a journey full of mountains, oceans, rivers, etc. Still others see life as just the period between birth and death. I’ll stick to option A. I have passed through many mountains in my life which I thought inpenetrable. I’ve tried to find my way over, around, and often under these challenges, yet it is often that going straight through them is best. Sure it’s dark and dank, but you can crack the window, turn up the stereo, and blast your horn. You can fill your vehicle with laughter and joy. You can embrace those friends who have made the journey with you. When you do get through on tunnel you can rest assured that the approaching light is stupendously refreshing. You can bathe in its glory and soak up its radiance. I love these journeys for what they are. I am unafraid because I know that along the way there are others who are along for the ride. Tantamount to Tom Wolfe’s “Electric Koolaid Acid Test”, you can load up your metaphorical bus with a bunch of friends and head on down the highway of life. Who you have on that bus is critical. Who stays? Who gets dropped off? Only you decide. As those in Wolfe’s book traveled aboard “Furthur”, they reached what they considered personal and collective revelations. Granted they were on LSD, but notwishtstanding the use of mind altering drugs, you can see your own journey as revelations to life. I guess its all how you look at it really. I truly enjoyed my life with my wife. I can say right here and right now that it was wonderful. She was my best friend and all a man could ever hope to have. She was the energy that pulsed through my veins and always pushed me onward. She was the fuel for my journey. My kids came along and turned my super unleaded, super charged, vehicle for life into a rocket ship. Do I miss her? Does it hurt? I was asked that question JUST TODAY (again). The only (and instantaneous) answer that I know is – “ONLY WHEN I BREATHE”.


So – she has departed from my “Furthur”. Like a hitch hiker dropped of at their destination. You close the door, kick up the tunes, and carry on as best you can. There are countless roads, many turns, some bumps, and plenty of tunnels to pass through. I try not to look in the rearview mirrors much. I don’t want to see her standing there, fading into the distance. I don’t really want to look way out ahead either. Granted, I have to look ahead to a certain extent, but what matters is what’s inside this little bus. I feel the vibe of my kids bouncing around, and my ever growing circle of friends pushing me on. Is there a destination? I would think that there are many along the way, but the journey is what matters the most. I can only hope that the two incredible kids in my life can look back one day and have similar memories of their dad. I hope that they too can broaden their understanding of life’s little road blocks. My desire is that they will learn that they shall encounter bumps in the road of life, but they MUST keep going at all cost. Their destination may change here and there, but unless you keep going forward, you only get stuck where you presently are. I dream that they will someday spread their wings and head off on adventures more glorious than what I hope to show them. I hope that they learn what it means to be a true friend. I believe they have seen first hand what that means over the last year. My son recently told me “dad you have the bestest friends in the world. Where did they all come from”? How do you explain to him that these friends are the ones who have CONTINUALLY pushed me on? How do I truly make him understand that to be such a friend is indeed what life is all about?


I have watched my “readership” grow. I have gottne countless comments, emails, Facebook messages, etc about my blog, my journey, my dreams, and my life. How could I ever thank those of you out there who reached out as I aimlessly passed through one of the darkest, longest tunnels I could imagine? How could I ever repay your kindness? I’ll tell you how! I can repay my debt by being the same kind of friend that many of you have been. Whether we have met face to face, or only through the exchange of emails, you know who you are. I hope to return what you have given directly into your hands. I pray that I am on this earth long enough to show the dignity and honor that many have shown me and my children. Like Atlas, you held our world high upon your shoulders when it became too much for us to bear. You WERE NOT the fair weathered friends who only called, came around, or checked in when it was convenient for them, turning away when it became to much to see. There are so many of you that it would be rediculous to point out each and every one of you by name. I’d be afraid to insult those I forgot. There is the best man from my wedding, my mom and dad, the California nurse, the climbing partners, sparring partners, running partners. There are the Patricks Crossing people, the husband and wife with the Golden Retrievers, the husband and wife named after my favorite vegitarian breakfast sausage, my brother and his wife, teachers, firemen, pastors (with a pint), co-workers, occupational therapists, laborers, a Cortez nurse, and the King who finally found a Queen. Wow – you are from all walks of life. From Houston, Corpus, Cali, Oklahoma (Hi Donna), Texas, Jersey, Washington, Oregon, Maine (are you in Maine now Jacki?), etc, etc, etc. I have shared a beer with many, tears with a few, and a rope with those who really understand me, and a punch in the face by a few. You are all out there. All along the road. At some point you were all on my bus, and some of you still are. I guess I could only hope that along my journey, I have the opportunity to return the favor. I hope that I can inspire someone, somewhere, in some small way, to never give up. To hold on to those nearest you and to always have hope. I have no clue where my journey will take me or where I’ll find a bend in the road. I do know, however, that I can always count on all of you to share in the adventure. I am grateful to you one and all. That gratitude cannot be expressed deeply enough. You are the vehicle that has carried me on. You are the light at the end of my tunnel. You are my friends, and you are “our” family.

Soul Focus

This past weekend I was fortunate enough to attend the 15th Annual Ouray Ice Festival. This was probably the 7th or 8th festival which I personally attended, and one that fell at an odd time in my life. I wrestled for weeks with the decision to go or not to go. To not go would mean I would work extra, save money, and maintain my little routine. To go would mean getting back in the saddle so to speak. It would mean 3 days to just climb and be around like minded souls. I could try and forget the past year and a half of my life abruptly interupted by a horrendous injury and then my divorce (an eternal injury). I could be with a group of friends who care about me and many of whom were right there in the firey pit of hell as I made this journey, or I could stay home and just go about my daily routine.

I had not been climbing much over the months prior to this wekeend, making the concious choice to stay grounded after several close calls over the last year. As I waded through the myriad of emotions that came with the loss of my wife, I found that I was suddenly willing to risk more. Less afraid of a loss that came prematurely and suddenly, unwanted and unkind. I have always been extremely cognizent of my climbing and the inherent risks. When I would find myself pushing the limits of my abilities all that I had to do to avoid the ever growing pull of gravity was to think of my wife and the terror of her answering the door to a sherrif or answering the phone to the voice of a friend telling her that I was gone. Of course I’ve always put that same fear first and foremost into thoughts of my children, but I just knew that I did not want to put that burden on my wife, who would in turn have to tell our children that dad was not coming home. So I’d get a gravity/reality check and “slow my roll”. Many would claim that it “held me back”. I beg to differ; it merely held me to a higher level of responsibility. The last year has been significantly different in this aspect. My wife was gone and slowly I was upping my game. I was re-learning to live again, to risk again, and to love again. My emotions were raw and real and I was unafraid after the loss I had just suffered. After all, what could be worse than losing all you cared about? So yes I pushed harder and it eventually caught up to me on one warm summer evening in September. I had decided to go climbing on the day that I had met my wife 16 years prior. While soloing (climbing unroped with no protection) a casual route that I had climbed before and felt entirely comfortable on, I slipped just above the crux move. The crux move, in climbing terminology, refers to the hardest move on a particular route. While this move was considred the crux move of this climb, it was well below the level I was climbing at. I slipped at the crux, lost my footing, and hung unroped from three fingers before quickly making a bumbling, desperate move back down to a small ledge. All of this happned approximately one hundred feet off of the ground.

This was a beautiful summer evening in Durango and the sunset as I sat there consumes my memory of that night to this day. I was shaking and crying. They were not tears of fear. They were tears for all I had lost and for the complete lack of fear that I had just come close to losing the ultimate gift..my life. My kid’s lives would have been altered once again, but this time to a point of no return. At that time I had no idea that in a matter of a few months I would be fighting for my God given right to just be their dad and spend equal amounts of time with them. That didn’t matter at this moment. I watched as cars silently passed by far below. Distant to the point of silence, yet so close. The sun slowly dipped behind the La Plata Mountains. The last bits of light stretching its luminous arms across the valley before me. A gentle alpenglow illuminating the town I came to love and call home. The pastures below were full of livestock completely oblivious to my battle with gravity. I remember watching a cyclist pass by and seeing his small headlamp piercing the dusk like a pinhole in the ensuing darkness. I was alone. More alone, in more ways, than I had ever been in this lifetime. I wasn’t scared, just lonely and cold. The dryness in my throat was tantamount to swallowing an entire bale of cotton. High above the valley, above the Animas River, unable to hear its flowing pulse, I sat and contemplated what had just happened. My head was burried in my knees as I sat upon this ledge and stared at the encroaching darkness. The last bits of pastel light exploding in the sky. My cheeks were soaked and caked in dirt and tears. I felt numb but unafraid. I was tired but I felt so alive. I was free. It was just me and the canvas before me. The wind was my companion and this small rock ledge my island. No one could take anything else away from me for this was my fortress. Suddenly I felt the life that had been taken away from me replaced by a sense of peace and gaiety. I sat for another hour composing my mind and freeing my soul. Letting it all go. Allowing my galloping pulse to slow to a normal rythhm. Then I slowly downclimbed to where I had left my rope, packed my gear, hiked to my truck and sat there and cracked open a beer. To say that it was the best tasting beer of my life would be a gross dishonor to the experience!

The months that followed saw me climbing less and less, focusing more on my other passion- fighting! Everyday was filled with a constant state of motion and emotion. To stop would only allow the deamons of my life to creep back into my mind. I had hired an attorney and that was his job, not mine. I was invited on small climbing trips, day trips, after work trips, and every other type of climbing trip there was. My friends had my back, and I knew that. Friends who I had been less than attentive to in the past were suddenly there in my face. Unwilling and unable to watch me spiral down. Unwilling to let me fall from the edge of my fortress, unwilling to watch me go it alone…solo. Yet I knew that I needed to keep my feet on the ground for awhile. My mind wandered, over the months, to a good friend who had lost his fight with gravity in November of 2006. It was a Saturday and he had JUST finalized a divorce that mimmicked mine in so many ways. He fought long and hard for what most would consider “fair” and equitable results. He was in Mexico climbing with friends, celebrating if you will, when he decided to solo a climb that had wrapped its fingers around his heart and mind. The climb was WELL within his abilities. This time he would not come home. The next day (Sunday) we got the news that they had found his body. His ex-wife no sooner left the funeral service and she was packed and on her way out of the state. Jimmy’s family has almost no contact with his little girl to this day.

I knew that I needed to be here for my kids. I knew that life had just BEGUN for me. The world before me was scary, yet full of excitement. I just needed to stay grounded, stay alive, feel alive. I needed to focus on the fighting, not just with my fists, but fighting the battles that lay before me. Ultimately it all worked out. December 9th 2009 is a day I will never forget. I was given my wings on that fateful day. Up to that point all that I could see was loss, yet on this day I was given the wings to fly to wherever I wanted to be. I felt like Michael the archangel. Ready to do battle, exalted and triumphant. I had been battle tested over the course of the preceding 8 months and I was ready to face all that stood in my way of a life full of happiness. I was now the master of my own destiny and the captain of my own soul. My mind and my heart were slowly turning back to the source which had fuled my soul for so many years- climbing and the ever present dance with gravity. The thoughts and memories of climbing needed to be sorted. I needed to put the good memories in the forefront of my mind. I needed to acknowledge some past memories that involved a past life, yet involved climbing, and let them go, for those memories were no longer good. Climbing was MY life and MY source and no one could take that from me. I would not allow my wings to be clipped by the ruthless intent of insanity.

Slowly my focus shifted. I will always have the dual love for both lives. Climbing and Fighting. I needed the balance of both in my life yet I felt the pull at my heels. The taunting of gravity constantly egging me on, whispering in my ear “come let’s dance”. I couldn’t ignore it, and I dare not avoid its embrace. It is who I am. Dancing this dance far above the ground, sometimes above the clouds. Delicate and timeless, once you taste it’s sweetness you cannot ignore its pull. I knew the Ice Fest was coming but was I ready to truly commit to this partner? Would I have the clarity to dance with the grace and spirit that is required? Mere days before we were to depart I began the bargaining within my mind. “Stay and work, save the money”. “Go and spread your wings”. Day in and day out I struggled. Most decisions that I make are made clearly, logically, and typically quickly, yet I could not decide to take the leap and get back in the saddle that I had so missed.

Ultimately I decided to go, with a little encouragement from those friends who stood by me all this time, Doug, Cody, Neal, Linda, Marcus and Tambri. The overwhelming sense of “you need this” was continually repeated. So off we went. Skipping the mundane details I’ll just say that the journey back (within those three days in Ouray) proved very surreal. The first time I was lowered (or rappelled – I don’t remember which) into that dark chasm carved by the Uncompahgre River, I didn’t get what I expected. I thought I would just be overjoyed and bursting with enthusiasm. Suddenly I was about eighty feet below everyone else. I was cold, alone, and it was very surreal, bathed in shadows. Down this far you get no sun. The noises above are muffled by the flow of the river. Everything echoes. The past year of my life echoed in my mind. Yet I climbed. Move by move, ice crunching under the thud of my cramponed boots. My ice tools pierced the hard ice and allowed my ascent. Shards of ice peppered my face. Slowly, gently I ascended. I truly felt the wings upon my back spread like those of an eagle. Freedom! The one word, the one thought, the one feeling that rode the wave of adrenaline from bottom to top. FREEDOM! No one can take that from us. You can enslave a man. You can beat him, insult him, and tear him down, but as long as he maintains hope, he has freedom. The hope for a better tomorrow continues to fuel my spirit and give me the drive to keep putting one boot in front of the other. The sounds, taste, and smells from this weekend will forever be etched in my heart. The friends who shared these days are friends for eternity. The laughs we shared (even at my expense- sharpie man) continually reverberate in my mind. My focus has returned and my eyes are fixed. The sole focus in my life is to find moments of happiness, back to back, as often as I can. More so – my sole focus is to cherish each day that I have with two kids who are the focus of my soul. Until you have something so precious ripped from your grasp – you cannot fathom the ensuing hell, yet with hope and a good set of wings, you can beat the odds and come back to a world full of light. I will surely face many more difficulties in this life, and some I shall lose, but I will never give up my freedom, never give up my wings.