
After getting punched by a dirt road yesterday, I seem to have awoken to this shining day not much worse for wear. Roads appear to be, overall, inert, passive, and mostly helpful, but you never know when you might suddenly find yourself road wrestling. All you can do is hope for the best. I suggest you think twice before sending someone that famous Irish blessing about the road rising to meet you. It might not work out like you want it to. My poor judgment yesterday seems to have left me not too damaged.
A couple of nights ago I dreamed about a man who was in my life back in 1981/82. It might have been meant to be a great love story, but the timing was wrong. In a vague way, I was looking for something. I didn’t really know what, but it wasn’t love. I thought I was looking for the world, for adventure, for a reason for my life. He, having had the world and having had adventure, in which he’d found the reason for his life, was looking for a wife and family.
Then, too, like most of the men who’ve been in my life, he was pretty inarticulate. Of course, at the time, I thought I was articulate, but I wasn’t. I was at least as inarticulate as any of them. We groped toward each other, but I think we knew (partly from the words we actually managed to exchange) that we were ships passing in the night. He was a wonderful man, really everything I could have wanted if I’d wanted a life partner. But I felt that my horrible first marriage had stolen 6 years of my life. I was focused on what I’d missed out on, even without knowing what that was. And, I was always ambivalent (to say the least) about having children.
It seemed that the dream was about making amends. Sometimes we hurt people inadvertently in our rush to get on with our lives. Because the dream was filled with a very broken house we’d bought (??? don’t ask me. It was a dream) and various other dream-driven quotidian crises, the opportunity to talk never arose. I woke up thinking I should tell him things.
But what? I thought about that yesterday. I doubt I’m going to hunt him down for the purpose of telling him whatever things my dream told me I should, but I realized how much I got from knowing him. At the time we met, I was recently divorced, an escape from an abusive marriage that left me afraid of men. I was also nearing the end of a relationship with a gay guy who was also my best friend and, possibly, my life’s great love. My life was interesting, but it didn’t feel real; it didn’t feel like it belonged to me. Something about it was off but I had no idea what. I was lost. I was struggling to make my life right, but I didn’t know how.
I’d heard of this man — he was a college friend of my boss — and even read one of his letters, sent from India. In the letter he wrote about how he’d finished his expedition up Annapurna II on which he was a support climber. He was wandering through northern India and probably on his way back to the US soon. He sent my boss a breathtaking photo (he was a professional photographer and filmmaker) of a snowy high mountain trail with a single line of footprints. It evoked a dream I’d had and, for that reason, was kind of eerie.
A few months later he showed up in the office. No man had ever affected me like he did. From our first meeting, I’d have followed him anywhere. He was beautiful, graceful as a cat, soft-spoken. We began a correspondence and, months later, I went to visit him in Albuquerque. It was a strange visit — but during that trip, he showed me photos and books of the places he’d traveled, snowy mountains, long walks, trails, far away towns filled with faces that usually looked out at me from National Geographic Magazine. He was in the process of applying for med school and when I asked him why, he actually thought about the question then, answered, “Inspiration, I guess.”
I doubt it was his intention, but he confirmed and intensified my wanderlust, turning it from mere yearning into determination. He’d also decided from the (innumerable) letters I’d written him (a pile that he called “the archive”) that I was a writer. He was the first person (other than my dad) who said to me, “You’re a writer.” When I left his house the next day (yeah) after we had gone to the balloon festival, I was a lot less lost. I knew I was a writer, and, the next morning I immediately sat down and began writing seriously. I also knew that without mountains and trails, some kind of exploration, my life was empty.
Not all that long ago a former student (10 years younger and a friend) wrote me some long, passionate, love letters. Where they came from I had no idea. I found them confusing, but lately I’ve realized that he means that our time together (hiking, talking) inspired him to do most of the things he’s done in his life. He, too, is a world-class mountaineer. He’s written three books about his life and adventures. I’ve read bits and pieces of them (it’s difficult reading Italian). He put the credit for all his adventures on me, on the things we did together long ago, on the fact that we’re still in contact. Then I came to understand that what he meant was not “I love you,” but “You inspired me.” I wonder if our lives are not a chain of that, if we’re lucky, we are inspired by others and inspire others in turn?
More about the man who inspired me here: https://marthakennedy.blog/2018/02/09/minimalism/
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/11/09/rdp-saturday-punch/
Finding inspiration in others…very well said!
❤ Thank you.
My pleasure.
Lovely post! Thank you for sharing. It seems I have not been one of the lucky ones.
Thank you. Lucky in what way?
The last sentence in the post—I can’t think of ever being inspired in the way you have described.
You’re right — that was lucky. I think ultimately it saved my soul — and also my life. ❤
Nice
Finding inspiration in others can be so true can’t it? Especially in unexpected ways and means and people. You’ve lived an incredible life, Martha!
All it took to get an incredible life was poor judgment! 😉
Did you tumble? I wasn’t sure when you mentioned the road…
I fell forward and got dragged by Bear, but I let go. I have some bruises and sore spots, but I’m OK. 🙂 I learned my lesson, too. One dog at a time.
Well your pretty tiny and bear’s pretty strong. That’s what happened to me. Loki saw something spun around which in turn spun me, I let go of him as I fell. Bruised myself up pretty badly still have troubles with my left knee. My arm socket popped and my wrists hurt but everything else except for a few bruises and the one knee are ok now. I won’t be taking him for walks any more not until he’s fully trained to disregard everything but my command. It hurt, really hurt so I quite understand.
I’m pretty bruised up I realized 24 hours later. My hand shoulder hip knee — no one is getting a walk until all that is healed up. I’m also not walking them together again. 😰
Yeah that sounds like a plan. I’m not walking Loki any more, I can’t risk it.
I’m sure Loki understands. ❤
I love this idea that we are inspired by others and offer the same in return, even if unknowingly. I always appreciate how your posts make me think more deeply, Martha!
Thank you. 🙂 ❤
This is cogent and delicious writing: Inspiration from other people => I think of blogging 😲 You are, indeed, a writer, Martha. Keep up the FINE work.
Thank you.
How wonderful to be able to inspire people. That’s a true gift. Great post, Martha. 🙂
Isn’t that the most wonderful thing: mutual inspiration. That makes me smile.
How wonderful when someone acknowledges that you inspired their life in such a profound way.
Although our lives are very different, much of this post resonated with me.
He didn’t say “inspired”, but putting the very odd puzzle pieces together, that’s what I understood. ❤
I got that you pieced that together and he didn’t actually say “inspired”. The alternative is, if I’m not mistaken, he is passionately in love with you, which you would have also inspired. 😊💕
I hadn’t thought of that — well, whichever and/or both he’s 7000 miles away so I don’t think I’m in imminent danger 😉 ❤
🤣 I love your humor.
Yeah but I’m not joking. We might love each other, but I think we’re both scared. 🙂
Aww, Martha! Matters of the heart can be scary. They can also bring so much joy. 💕