Jan 22, 06

The River

Last night we headed out to the Renedezvous to see Ken Peltier, a decent country singer from mainland Alaska. The sets were energetic, and it was great to get out and do some socializing, and some dancing. As usual, the Rendezvous was packed with a drunken, happy crowd. Our group of nine was contributing nicely to the drunken happiness.

It occurred to me how amazing it is that things can change so much in a year. In January 2005, Alaska wasn't even in my consciousness. Going dancing to a country-western band was probably even further from my mind. Now, as I sit here on this very cold morning watching the wind howl, contemplating how I am going to find the resolve to go for a run, I reflect on how I ended up in an existence in which my most immediate concerns are focused on how many layers of clothing I'm going to need to wear to keep from freezing. (I know, I know - this isn't "cold" - it's above zero. For the last five years I've been living in a place where it is 70 degrees 360 days a year).

Before moving here I spent a great deal of time last summer evaluating risks, facing fears and analyzing the consequences of ending up in Alaska. As it turns out, everything fell into place with such ease it was as if I had been executing to a brilliant, fool-proof plan. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. I landed in Kodiak and let events unfold naturally amidst the entropy that secretly steers our lives. My tendancy is to sit back and observe before I act, as I know that sometimes others aren't always on the same track that I am. Settling in to a new culture requires a respectful acceptance of change, an open mind and empathy for the way others live their lives. What I've found is that the power to direct life towards the goal of a more pleasing existence doesn't come from forcing it or willing it or simply hoping for it. Power comes from not being afraid, exhibiting patience and letting life happen instead of trying to control it. Then, once you see which way the river is flowing, it's safe to jump in, if you don't mind getting wet, or cold. At least that's how it works for me.

January 21, Kodiak

Jan 13, 06

A new Pet

I was telling a friend the other night about an earlier time in my life and my dog's life. It was the year I first got Tacoma, 1995 (got him on Thanksgiving day). I was finishing up my stint in Portland and I wanted a little adventure before I headed back to start my new life in Boulder. I was really into snowboarding back then - I was kind of obsessed as a matter of fact. So that winter Tacoma and I were snowboard bums. We pretty much travelled all over - Whistler-Blackcomb in Canada, Mt. Baker in Washington, Mt. Hood, Montana, Wyoming, then back to Colorado to Steamboat, Winter Park and Breckenridge. All this time, Tacoma and I lived out of the back of my ForeRunner. After snowboarding, I would find a warm laundromat to dry my gear and warm up. At night we snuggled up on the futon in the back of the truck under heavy blankets and sleeping bags as the wind and snow howled outside. I sipped vodka, smoked cigarettes and read snowboarding magazines as my hands and ears froze.

Those were truly some of the best days of my life. The dog was young, I was younger, I had no responsibilities, and life was mine for the taking. Being in the mountains with my snowboard and my dog was all that I wanted out of life. We did some foolhardy things. Hiking up Berthoud Pass to back-country in stupidly dangerous avalanche conditions, for example. We always survived.

So what has changed? Why can't it be like that again? I guess the main reason is Tacoma's advancing age. The gray whiskers aren't the only manifestation of his years on this earth. His hips and shoulders and elbows have slowed him to a fraction of his old self. He couldn't jump in and out of a truck a dozen times a day if his life depended on it. I'm happy to say, that physically, I could do it again, though I would worry a bit more about the difficulty of hopping out of the mainstream again at my advanced age - hopping back in might not be so easy the next time.

Truthfully, there comes a point when you have to look at the sum of your life as a whole and attempt to balance the crazy, spontaneous madness with practicality and pragmatism. I've been very fortunate to have done all I've done, but the time is near for me to do something different now. Instead of aching limbs and creaking bones, that's how I've aged.

Other than that, I'm commited to doing whatever I have to do to make my dog happy in the remaining years (hopefully a lot of them) of his life. Being in Kodiak is a new life for both of us. Loving every season of my life, and my dog's life is a mature, measured and reasonable goal. The dog and I have had some amazing adventures. Our next phase of life will be a bit slower, I suspect.

This weekend, we added a new family member: Jack the cat. I've never had a cat before, but then before Tacoma I'd never had a dog. If cat companionship turns out half as good as dog companionship, I've got it made. So far the dogs and the cat seem to be adjusting well, and I don't really mind the missed sleep as Jack prefers running around like a madman all night to sleeping. It's all about love.

Jan 01, 06

Life on Kodiak

I frequently change things in my life, just for the sake of changing. For example, I like to move. I get an exhilarating pleasure out of uprooting a completely comfortable and satisfying life to seek out something that is new. That's one of the main motivators that led me to Kodiak. We as humans develop routines, and we think that the routine is the substance of our lives. In reality, our lives can be anything. Challenge, difficulty, adventure and excitement are all chapters out of the same book. Once we have a taste of possibility, it is not easy to turn back. When an adventurous soul discovers the many different ways that a life can be lived, it's difficult to accept just one way of living.

In the four short months I've been on the island, I've surprised myself by having serious thoughts that I've made my last move.

Kodiak is an amazing mix of cultures, ideologies and lifestyles that intermingle in one of the most beautiful settings imaginable. The stories of the people who live here and the lives that are unfolding create a dynamic community that resonates with energy, optimism and a powerful sense of possibility. The unique personalities of individuals who have created a reality blessed with the true nature of experiencing life have made Kodiak a place to call home.

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