Much of my free time, and a decent chunk of my weekly socializing, had been spent in the climbing gym. I’d visit a gym three or four times each week, with each visiting lasting 2.5 – 4 hours. During these excursions, I’d speak with some people beyond mere formalities and hellos, wave and share passing banter with others, merely recognize a shared presence with others, and generally appreciate seeing regular faces. My climbingproduced much exertion and also managed to engage me mentally, as I contemplated routes, focused on divorcing irrationality from anxiety, and fell into a routine, and routines can be rather fulfilling as well as soothing.
Similarly, during the various peak climbing seasons, I’d travel to various nearby crags every few weekends, and would plot a vacation or two around a distant climbing locale: Wyoming, Greece, Nevada, Mexico, Kentucky, among others have been destinations of the past. This year, I had been looking toward Canada, and perhaps Montana. That any such airplane jump across the country will occur this summer looks to be improbable. Perhaps the autumn will provide an opportunity to explore a now location, though at this point, in this regard, I’m not optimistic.
While this fate does not please me, I’m ok with it. It’s a one-off year, at this point. I suspect by 2021 that we’ll have something sorted out that will either enable life to return somewhat to its prior flows or I’ll be concerned with much more pressing matters than focusing on this particular hobby. As always, I remain grateful for my health, as it is, and am glad that my friends and I can continue to spend hours together, even if it’s conducted virtually for the most part.
Even though I cannot conduct myself as I’d prefer, ample opportunities to train and tease out challenges are ever present. The striking thing about life is that there never seems to be enough time. Only as a child, and as a college student, did it seem like time barely proceeded. Hours upon hours could be spent laughing in rooms with friends, staring at walls lost in contemplating, wandering about, and simply basking in the passing moments without being all that concerned, if even aware, that they were moving along. Perhaps other kids did not experience this ease, for I recognize that I was fortunate in many ways, but I hope that this is something we all experience and thus to which we can each relate. I’m not religious, though the loss that is leaving the garden is something that can apply to myriads of concepts, and, in regard to any such permutations, anyone can grasp.
Eventually we cram our lives with activities and responsibilities, and suddenly the days are full, cascading into each other, though perhaps ramming is a better word, or perhaps even coinciding. I don’t know how to word things, I’m barely lucky enough to notice things, let alone define them, but I am aware that there’s so much to do and there never seems to be adequate time to close the gap between desires and outcomes. Maybe later in life this calculus will alter. The accounting between to what we aspire and what we must accomplish to achieve that aspiration might simplify, the distances in-between destinations might lesson. I have no idea, and I suspect that the answer varies per person, just as there are surely people who become lost in time even if they’re surrounded by dominoes of possibilities should they but bother to flick their finger outward to start the race toward knocking back goals.
I don’t know much about nearly anything, but I do know that there are so many things I wish to do and all of them are meaningless yet that I wish to do them provides meaning. That I embed purpose into them means that purpose spills out when I crack into them. I cannot climb, but I can run. I cannot climb, but I can do core exercises, I can do pull ups, I can do all sorts of activities to keep with my training. I cannot play games with friends in person, but each week some friends will join me in virtual sessions, and in some ways these sessions feel even fuller than they had before given that we’re together despite the madness and everything, for me, feels less competitive, life has become more communal.
By imbuing the days with goals and meanings—whether targeting X number of pull ups or pushups during the week or making plans on various days or even delighting in a book or a solo game—negativities sort of fade, even if they rise up and threaten my sanity for a moment, they can be quashed. Hell, I can even pause to marvel at the absurdity of our language, a system that allows for “pushups” as a compound yet demands “pull ups” remains separated, and that these moments still entertain and intrigue me reminds me that we recognize the rhythms to which we dance, even if I can never spell the word rhythms correctly without the aid of spellcheck, sometimes butchering the word so badly that I must turn to Google for assistance rather than Word’s spellcheck, because, well, it’s Microsoft and that statement often serves as explanation enough for something not being quite up to expectations.
For we create meaning, and even if it’s not provided by numerous trips to the climbing gym that distract from the days at hand, and even if I cannot see various people in person, I can still cook wonderful meals for myself, catch up with friends (even with people whom it’s been ages since I’ve contacted), and generally push back that darkness that’s out there, the ever-rising death tolls and the morons who espouse statements and philosophies and ignorance, among the other fountains of delusions. Sure, many of these things are not as fun as a climbing trip; but, fuck damn, when this bullshit ends you better believe that I’ll be stronger, and I don’t mean physically, though I’m damn well trying to maintain my fitness, but that I know how easily this ridiculously self-serving and astoundingly fun activity can be ripped from me you better believe that I’ll be sure to enjoy it even more than I had prior to COVID-19 descended into our lands.
My girlfriend and I entered the elevator. An older woman stood in the corner. Not old, but simply older than us. She was petite, and shared a slightly nod, not a smile, but still she transmitted that she recognized our existence. We smiled back, saying a hello. Down the elevator went toward the basement. The lobby snagged us. A woman stood before us as the doors slid open. We had backed up to allow her entrance. She stared, somewhat agape, obviously uncomfortable.