Dreaming
|
|
|
|
There I stood in the brisk wind atop Mount Katahdin, tears welling up in my eyes. I was surrounded by friends, each of us overwhelmed with emotion as the champagne bottle passed from hand to hand. I looked in awe at the beauty of the Maine Wilderness which lay some 4,000 feet below me. Here on top, there were no trees, this was alpine zone, and the weather here was harsh, even on a good day. For the past five and a half months I had been known as Sheltowee. I had lived life freely, roaming through the eastern forests, slowly making my way through each of the fourteen states that comprise the most famous trail in the world. I had endured many hardships, including walking miles in the rain and snow, and dealing with the oppressive summer heat. At times I would have to walk a mile out of my way, just to get water, having given up the luxuries that go with “civilized” life. That summer along the Appalachian Trail, however, had been the most rewarding summer of my life. The hike was not easy, mentally or physically. I had lost nearly fifty pounds, the mountains working my thirty-six year old body harder than it had ever been worked before. But now I had reached the end, the glorious summit of Mount Katahdin. Here I sat at my desk in my small factory office, the smell of deodorant brewing just outside my door. I was again thinking back, not only to Katahdin, but to nearly every day I had spent that summer, the internal struggle between high and low continuously raging in my mind, months after I had returned from the journey. I could not get it out of my system. I longed to go back, even though deep down I knew—you can’t go back. Colgate-Palmolive had been a great employer for fourteen years, and I had no complaints with my job per say. But I longed for the freedom I had left behind on that mountain summit. I was weary of sitting in the busy New Jersey traffic, weary of sitting inside the factory day after day. I wanted—I needed adventure. I began doing research, gathering maps of hiking trails all across the country, linking them together and creating a route. It was crazy talk; it made no sense to give up a very secure job. It made no sense to give up the fourteen years in the company, to lose my retirement package and the financial security I now enjoyed. It made even less sense to me to exist, to live only for the purpose of going to work each day, and return home to rest up for another day at the office. I debated the dilemma and decided that while the cost of chasing dreams was very high—the cost being failure, for we will never achieve all we set out to do; the reward was even greater. The reward was life as opposed to mere existence and I was tired of existing, I wanted to live again. I called several friends and their support was incredible, letting me know that dreams are indeed made to chase, and if I could not get it out of my head, perhaps that is what I needed to be doing. I called my friend Dodger and told him I was considering a great adventure, to walk across America, to leave the beaten path and go see the country, each state one by one. I figured it would take six years and cover over twenty thousand miles. A few days later he called me back and asked if I would mind some company. I readily agreed and the decision to go was made. The day I resigned from work was difficult, and I had to hold back tears of emotion as I walked into my boss’s office to drop a bomb on his otherwise routine day. “Greg, I um—well I need to give you my two weeks notice.” “What, you’re kidding right, you’re not quitting.” “Yes Greg, I am really quitting, I …” “Who hired you, why?” “Nobody hired me; hell if I wanted to work I would stay here.” It was a shock to him, the company and to me; I had actually quit my job. Dodger traveled from his home in Oklahoma east to New Jersey to help me pack up my apartment. I had some old furniture that was not worth moving back to Ohio. I had planned to load it into my van, one piece at a time and take it to Goodwill. Dodger recommended just setting it out in the yard of the apartment complex, he was sure it would not last long. I was sure he was crazy, but decided to give it a shot. Early one Saturday morning we carried out the couch, and then returned to the second floor apartment to get a chair. Before we could return a guy was looking the couch over. He carried the stuff away as fast as I could bring it down. He asked if I needed any newspaper for packing, I assured him I would not need any, I was all set. About fifteen minutes later he returned, two boxes full of newspapers in his arms. “Here buddy, I know you’re going to need these, so I brought them over anyhow. Thanks a bunch for the furniture.” He left and I set in my empty apartment with Dodger and my friends Jeannie and Dawn, who had also come to help with the packing project. I laughed as I realized I had just traded all of my furniture to a stranger for a box of old newspapers. The four of us laughed heartily, rejoicing in the moment. The next morning Dodger and I headed for Ohio, all that I still owned crammed into my Dodge Caravan. We would spend a few days visiting with my mom before starting our great adventure. |
|
Last modified: 05/27/08 |