I think many people, I included, are creatures of habit. Over the years we develop our routines compile our village of comfortable characters and plant our feet in the soil of everyday life. Occasionally we may take a vacation or try a new restaurant, but for the most part we just keep to our own little corner of the world. With Covid I find it’s become even more mundane. Everyday is just a wash and repeat of the day before. We all have established our campsites on the island of life and never venture too far into the unknown. Some are on a mountain, others the beach and some are nestled in the jungle little self sufficient villages, our tribe. Each day we do the necessary like fueling our campfires and replenishing our stash of coconuts. Most have built a decent shelter, have a clean water supply and know how to fish, gather or hunt. We really never leave the familiarity of the camp because we have all our basic needs met. We know how to live here. We gather the wood, haul the water and weave baskets from bamboo and vines as time ticks on. We creatively make use of any items that wash up on shore to fill a need or desire. Like that plastic container that we use as a bucket or that random piece of tarp fastened to the roof of our hut, to protect us from the rain. Everything has a purpose even if its not being used as intended. Sure it’s not the 4 seasons, but it’s home. It’s familiar, it’s what we know, but are we really living or just surviving?
I going to age myself here as I think back to Gilligan’s Island. They group was stranded on a deserted island and by all means had made themselves extremely comfortable, considering. Yet they never stopped trying to get off the island. I mean honestly, I’ve been ok at my campsite and there are things about it that I like. But there are also things about it that are lacking. I don’t have all the amenities I desire or luxuries of some other camps like indoor plumbing, electricity or a hot shower. I mean I can live without those things, I have for many years, but do I want to? I don’t even think it’s want… of course I don’t WANT to. The question really becomes am I willing to leave the safety of my camp to find them? We all have the choice to leave our campsite at any time. We aren’t prisoners. Sadly, there are some people who never realize this. They are born and will die in the same spot never realizing they had a choice. There are also those on the other side of the coin. They don’t care to leave their camp, they lack nothing of their needs or desires. They are lounging on an overstuffed lazy boy recliner eating freshly cooked lobster in their air conditioned 3 bedroom ranch. Watching one of 500 channels on their 75 inch flat screen with their 2.3 kids, dog and happily married spouse. With high speed internet, peace within, plenty of cash and uber eats….. why would they leave?
Up until recently, I thought I was pretty comfortable at camp. I mean sure, I was drinking homemade hooch out of rubber boot and living on a diet of grubs and small rodents, but I wasn’t dead. On occasion, after 3 days of eating rats or pounding boots of fermented fruit to pass the time & numb the desires. I would suddenly remember I could leave. A spark of hope would ignite motivation and without a second thought I’d make my way down the trail. A few minutes into this spontaneous jaunt, the heat of the sun overhead would make itself known. The rocks of the trail burning my bare feet like hot coals. I’f continue to walk, mumbling to myself that there must be something better. I’d start to get thirsty and of course I brought no water. That’s when doubt would begin to speak. “Will you even make it? Hell, Don you even know where IT is.” The internal dialogue would continue questioning my actions. Drops of motivation escaping with each step, replaced by a cocktail of self doubt and fear. “You have no idea where you’re going, what you will encounter on the way or even if you’ll survive.” I take a few more steps, “Seriously, this is crazy. Camp is not that bad.” and a few more, “Is this really worth it? Do you really think there is a better place? What if you get lost and can’t find your way back? Are you willing to die in the middle of nowhere trying to get to a place that you’re not even sure exists? Come on now, turn around, let’s go back it’s getting dark.” Typically about this time I have reached the bridge that I’ve never cross. Depleted of all motivation and total gripped by the elixir of fear, visions of sitting by my campfire boot in hand cross my mind, it’s comforting. I never remember the meals of rat, gripping loneliness, lack of comforts or unmet desires. Fear blinds me from the bad memories. I never cross that bridge. It’s a point from which I have returned in defeat on a regular cadence for as long as I can remember. I have always chose what I know over what could be. The memory of the boot filled with fermented fruit always calls me home. It’s a familiar tune that soothes my angst and with that I turn back. The stones have cooled, the sun is going down and I find my self humming that familiar tune. The walk home always seems shorter then the walk there. I add wood to the fire and quench my thirst with the very poison that called me back. I settle in, numb, as the memories of the days fruitless task melts away. “Maybe tomorrow” I say, “camps not that bad.”
Lola Trying 