something about changing clothes in a public restroom…


And from aboard the train…

Right now I am having this great fantasy of being a traveling advocate for First Descents.  I will be riding trains (fast ones, please, with wireless), planes, unfolding my laptop, putting down yet another round of thoughts about FD and what it has done for me.  Clearly I will need some snazzy luggage, and some cool, wrinkle-free travel clothes, so that when I arrive at my destination and have to change in the bathroom before a speaking engagement, I’ll look pressed and good as new.  And ready to rock.

Not quite sure what this 24 hours in the DC area is going to hold.  In many ways, it doesn’t matter; at least I know that it will be good, that it will have that certain FD flavor that just can’t help but happen when any number of us are met in one place.  It makes me think of my old improv teacher, and her observation that “people are like chemicals,” and that, sometimes, incredible reactions can happen, depending on how the chemicals are mixed.  We from Jackson had that added, secret ingredient – cancer – but there is no denying that there was a chemical reaction that happened for all of us, that the climate and atmospheric pressure, the direction of the wind, all contributed to the beautiful explosion of life and love.

Is it possible that I am still high from all of this?  Is this going to wear off at some point? Will I one day experience a truly “bad mood?”  Will the winter doldrums eventually overtake this spirit that Jackson generated, and which continues to roil inside of me?  It propels me out of bed each morning.  It energizes me when I deal with the frustrations and disappointments of my professional life.  It is quite simply driving.  Toward what?

I told a few people in Denver that I would do anything for First Descents.  As I step back and look at what I am doing right now, it seems plain that that is true.  I actually cancelled a planned visit with my nephew – totally unprecedented –  to spend a few hours with the crew in DC.  How could I resist Huggles’ and Stepmom’s pleading emails?  How could I pass up an opportunity – how will I ever? – to do something for this group?  I owe them everything.

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