November 11, 2019

“…my whole life has largely been one of surprises. I believe that any man’s life will be filled with constant, unexpected encouragements of this kind if he makes up his mind to do his level best each day of his life – that is, tries to make each day reach as nearly as possible the highwater mark of pure, unselfish, useful living.” -Booker T. Washington

Here I am. Home for a break. I haven’t been here since June, and although much is the same, it feels strange to not be moving – to be still, at rest. I have seen so much since I last left this place. The Pacific Northwest. Canada. Alaska. The Northern States and the Great Lakes. New England. Boston. New York. Philadelphia. Baltimore. Washington D.C. And, the remainder of the North Atlantic states. It has been a long haul, and I am exhausted. As I sit here now, I only have 14 parks left to visit. I have seen 49 of our 50 states since the beginning of the year. I have driven 70,000 miles. Flown and boated thousands more. But I am not done yet. There are still far flung parks to visit. Still time to see as much as I can before the end of the year. I am going to take advantage of this extra time I have accumulated. First, I will revisit some of the Texas parks that I didn’t get to properly visit earlier in the year. Then, I will return to the American Virgin Islands to see the three parks there that were closed during the government shutdown, when I was there in January. Finally, I will head out to the Pacific – to visit the Hawaiian parks, Guam, and American Samoa. Then I will return home to visit my final park on New Year’s Eve, number 419, Gateway Arch National Park here at my hometown of St. Louis.

Each day of this trip has taught me to be open to surprises. To accept the unexpected and embrace the serendipities as they come. Living a life of moments, not plans. An hourly existence, unmoored and unbound by gravity – in as much as any mortal can be. Now, I have no fear heading down that mountain road – the one that is washed out, covered in leaves, and hasn’t seen another tire in years. Could I get stuck? Maybe. Do I care? Not really. The experience outweighs the fear. I no longer worry about what could go wrong, but instead embrace what could go right. Now, I don’t think twice about hiking in the rain. Maybe I will wear my rain jacket. Maybe not. Nature is not always dry. The sky is not always clear and sunny. We are a part of it all. Shielding ourselves from the elements is ultimately futile anyway. The rain brings out the chroma and the contrast. It washes the Autumn leaves and darkens the tree trunks. It highlights the roads and rocks. It greens the mosses and lichens and puts a glisten on the mushrooms and spiderwebs. It fills the valley with impenetrable mist, then lifts it to reveal the hidden nature below. Now, I dwell less on the past and look more to the future. It has taken some effort to get to this place; and after faking it for a long time, I now know it is real. I have turned a corner and crossed that threshold from surviving to thriving again. My mind is washed clean of those encumbering thoughts, fears and anxieties. I know this now because, for the first time in years, my creative ideas are flowing again. Clumsy and jumbled, so far, but ideas nonetheless. Thriving. Optimism. Hopeful awareness. All is in place now to finish this journey.

I have an interesting life. Stepping back now, I see it clearly. Part luck, and part deliberate embrace of the unconventional. Partly an openness to surprises. Partly insatiable curiosity. Where does this road lead to? Each day is an opportunity to reach for that highwater mark. Each moment is a chance to live that useful life. These constant and unexpected encouragements come from within. Thriving on to the next new horizon.