The Pace of Nature

Wisconsin to California in four days. I figured I’d take my time on the trip, enjoying myself along the way by camping and hiking. Driving by myself was a little less than fun at first, but I made fun of it as best I could… like taking my own picture while driving down the highway.

Taking my own picture

The first leg was a little less than exciting, driving across Wisconsin, Illinois, Iowa, and Nebraska.

Corn...

Passing into Colorado made things a lot more interesting. My poor little 4-cylinder Mazda lost its zip pretty quickly as I ascended through and beyond Denver, but aside from the hurt pride, it didn’t affect me too much. I just spent more time in the right lane than I am used to…

Just outside of Denver, CO

I decided to make a climb while I was in the Rockies, so I stopped off of I-70 and headed up Herman Gulch to the Citadel.

Herman Gulch Trailhead

I climbed up to the Alpine line in a fairly short time, which was not the wisest thing, considering I made it from sea level in Nebraska that morning to above 7,000 feet at the parking lot, and another 3,000 feet ascent in just a few hours of hiking.

The ascent

Herman Gulch

The quick ascent led to a really intense case of altitude sickness, which took most of the fun out of hiking pretty quickly. Once I made camp at the alpine line I took a short break before heading for the summit. I decided that if I had come this far, I’d better at least give it a try to make it to the top.

My hammock campsite

Alpine line- no trees above this line

Nearby Summit

Once I got my headache down to a mild throbbing, I headed for the top. I had only about 600 more feet from the campsite to the summit, so I moved pretty quickly up to the snowline.

Snow in July

The Citadel

Moving on from the Rockies, I headed across the high alpine desert of western Colorado, and entered into the wide open spaces of Utah. Passing this closely to Moab and not stopping was just out of the question for me, so I took the small detour down into Arches National Park and bummed around in the desert for the rest of the day.

Red Rocks

My car in the desert

Hiking in Moab

After some hiking around the shrub brushes, I headed up to see Delicate Arch. It was a spectacular hike up the cliffs to the top, and a wonderful view of some beautiful canyons once I was up there. I only had a few minutes before tourists crowded the place and refused to leave. I got a few good pictures while I had the chance.

Upper canyon above Delicate Arch

Delicate Arch

Me and the Delicate Arch

I headed further west the next day and stopped in Las Vegas for the night. Vegas at night was beautiful, but Vegas alone was rather boring and anti-climactic.  I didn’t even bother to take any pictures.

The next day was my last day of travel, which turned out to be the most boring, and most stressful day. Heading into California increased two things immediately: the first being the price of gas, and the second being the speed of traffic! Weathering the alternating gridlock and chaotic road rage-filled lane changing traffic, I eventually made my way toward that long sought illusive goal of the coast.

The Pacific

It was an eventful and enjoyable four days of travel, but I was happy to be done with it.

Surfer at Sunset Cliffs, San Diego

So now I call San Diego my home for the next three months, enjoying the beautiful sunsets and wonderful weather that it is famous for.

The End

So I’ve been bumming around on the intercoastal waterways of coastal North Carolina a lot lately. Haven’t had as much time as I would like, but I have made it a point to grab the camera whenever I do. The mount I added a few weeks ago has worked great, and makes grabbing pictures like these even easier.

Here’s a quick look at the last few excursions on the water.

Inlet

There are several rivers that shoot up from the ocean down here. I like to paddle around until I find little inlets like this one, then see where they take me. So far I have run across several snakes, an alligator, four sea otters, and multiple Osprey flying above.

Blocked

My boat is 16 feet long and designed to be on the open ocean for weeks at a time. It does surprisingly well on the small winding streams like this one. Unfortunately, even such as agile boat as this has its limitations.

Sunset

I love staying out on the water until after the sun has set. It is such a different environment. Fish jump like crazy, birds seem less concerned with me and allow me to get much closer. The water calms down and turns glassy. It is wonderful.

Uninhabited island

Down around the outer banks there are tons of little channel islands that make up the intercoastal waterway. They are always fascinating to me, since they barely rise out of the water and are often covered in various forms of wildlife. I stopped on this one briefly to look around a few days ago and found deer! I didn’t know deer could swim…

Sandy Beach

I have learned a few lessons from my trips out here. For instance, beaching a kayak can be a difficult maneuver that requires some practice. The first time I tried to come ashore I ended up rolling the kayak completely on its side right as a ferry full of tourists were steaming by… quite embarassing.

Not the type of beach you want to land on

Worse yet, I have found that choosing the right landing is crucial, as you can see from this picture. I wanted to come ashore to see what looked like an old abandoned tree house out in the middle of nowhere. The minute I stepped foot out of the kayak, however, I sank all the way up to my knee in thick, nasty smelling mud! Imagine yourself with one foot still in a kayak while the other foot is submerged two feet in mud, and you are stuck straddling between… not fun.

Sea Grass

I have enjoyed floating around these waterways quite a bit. My only complaint, other than the ocassional ancient vacuum cleaner sticking out of the side of the steam bed, is that I had to wait so long before I could really enjoy this part of North Carolina. I guess you could say I have saved the best for last?

I took the kayak out for a spin this afternoon to test out a few modifications I made over the weekend. I’m planning a rather elaborate trip this weekend, so I also wanted to practice a few things with this kayak and make sure that I feel comfortable and prepared.

Dead swamp tree on the side of the New River

It turned out to be an eventful afternoon on the water. After paddling down the channel a bit, I decided to investigate a small inlet. Meandering slowly down the small river was very peaceful, but also a tad bit claustrophobic, especially when I peered into the tall grass and saw a rather large snake peering back at me. Before I could get into position well enough to grab my camera I heard a noise up ahead, then a splash. I looked up just in time to see the tail of an Alligator slide under the water! I considered moving further up the river for a moment, but then thought better of it. I left the Alligator to himself and headed for home instead.

The camera mount worked like a charm. I bumped it a few times with the paddle, but overall I think it’s going to work just fine. I took a few videos with different camera angles; one looking forward in the direction of travel, one looking at me while I paddle, and one looking to the side as I paddled. They all worked great.

I have to finalize some details about the trip this weekend, including where to keep the Motrin for all the aching muscles I’m going to have. Other than that, I am looking forward to a little time out on the water to explore the southern coast of the Outer Banks.

New River, Jacksonville, NC

In preparation for springtime, and for the fact that I am about to move to a state nicknamed “Vacationland”, I have been updating my outdoor supplies. Last year I decided to scrap my internal frame backpack, along with about 30 other items, at a yard sale. This was mostly because hiking around where I live is either one of two things: a walk on a sidewalk through the woods, or a walk through a brier-filled swamp. So, I figured I’d make some money (and some room in my garage) and lighten my inventory somewhat.

Now that I am about to go back to an area where hiking and camping is actually possible, I am super excited. In preparation, I bought a new rucksack. I decided to go with the external frame this time around for a multitude of reasons. If you are familiar with hiking at all, you have probably read about the internal/external frame debate ad nauseum already, so I will abstain from arguing one way or the other. (Personally, I find the external frame far superior in terms of comfort, weight distribution, functionality, and versatility.)

The pack I bought is amazing, but it didn’t come with a rain cover. Some might argue the necessity of a rain cover for their pack, citing that a tent or tarp would do just fine. The only trouble with that is that you cannot very easily pull out your tent or tarp and cover your gear while continuing to hike in the rain. For this you need a rain cover that can quickly fit over your gear and allow you to continue on the hike despite the foul weather.

Eager to get back into homemade fabricating again, I decided to sew one myself rather than buy one.

If you would like to try this, you will need the following:

• Fabric (preferably ripstop nylon)- Measure for at least 1 foot clearance on all sides of your pack
• Bungee cord- Measure the circumference of your pack, and make the bungee just a bit smaller
• Sewing machine and basic sewing skills
• A lot of patience, and some Tylenol for the aching joints you’ll have when you are done

Pack on top of pre-cut nylon

The first step was to cut my nylon to the size I wanted. I used a pretty thick 440 ripstop nylon with a waterproof coating on one side as the fabric of choice. I cannot remember where I bought it, but I have TONS of it left over from my homemade hammock and other projects I tackled several years ago. For the bungee I used 1/16″ bungee, which I also bought years ago and have TONS of. I measured out the bungee cord (which you can barely see lying around my pack in the picture) to be just smaller than the frame. The idea is that the bungee will have to stretch just a bit to fit over the frame, and thereby provide enough tension to keep the fabric covering the pack. The fabric has to be a decent size larger than the pack to allow for size differences in gear loads, and also for extra items that might be hanging off the frame (like an iso mat, tent, etc). Once I measured and was comfortable with the size, I cut the piece, rounding the corners to make it easier for the bungee to keep its oblong shape.

The next step was to iron the creases, which I prefer to do over pinning. If you pin the creases, you have to stop every few feet to remove the pins as you sew, and it also takes longer. I used the lowest setting on the iron, and ironed two creases. The first crease was about half a centimeter from the edge, which becomes just the folded under part to prevent unraveling later. The second crease is actually where I intend to sew the sleeve to fit the bungee.

With that done, I started sewing. Unfortunately, I was too focused on this task to remember to take a picture during the act, so instead I flubbed and took a picture after the fact. (Picture added for dramatic effect)

Yeah, I sew... so what?

The next step is the long, laborious task of threading the bungee into the sleeve that you just sewed. Trying to sew the bungee in the fabric is impossible and will only result in broken needles. You have to sew the sleeve, then thread the bungee through. Trust me, I have tried.

To thread the bungee through you can either inch it along unaided, or you can poke a safety pin through it and thread the safety pin through first. Sometimes the safety pin makes it easier to thread. This project I decided to do it by hand. It took me most of a National Geographic special called “America’s Deadly Dozen” to finish the task. About an hour. Not too bad.

Simple straight stitch. Nothing fancy

Once I was finished I simply pulled both ends of the bungee through until they were even, making sure to even out the fabric as well. Then I pulled both ends through a simple cord lock and tied a figure eight on the end to keep it put.

The final product weighs about an ounce and a half, and folds up to about an envelope-sized bundle. It is large enough to cover the pack plus any additional gear I might have hanging off of it, but can be tightened down very easily to cover just the pack.

View from the back

It’s not very difficult or technical, but total cost was probably close to maybe $2.00 and took me about two hours total to complete. For me, that’s worth it every day, all day long.

View from the front

Now I have a nice and simple rain cover for my brand new pack that I can throw into a tiny pocket and have available any time I encounter bad weather. If you give this a try, drop me a line and let me know how it came out!

Alert the presses! After hearing about the winter calamity plaguing the rest of the country for almost a full month, we here on the outer banks of North Carolina finally experienced it ourselves.

Dude, where's my car?

Unfortunately this freak weather decided to hit on a Saturday. Any other day of the week and it would have been a snow day for sure. In fact, we had a threat of ice about a month ago, and at 7:00pm the night before my work called and told me to delay coming to work the next day by two hours. I gladly turned off my alarm and slept in, but laughed the whole way to work as the temperature was barely in the upper 30′s and there wasn’t a bit of moisture on the ground.

Coastal North Carolina just doesn’t know what to do when the white stuff falls. Our snow removal service is Jim Bob and his 1978 Ford F-150 Truck with a front loader (and no side view mirrors). Of course, everyone with a 4×4 decides they are going to go out and prove their worth, assuming driving in snow is the same as driving in mud (a state pastime out here). I find no end to the irony that this morning the only two vehicles I saw off the road were a Jeep Grand Cherokee and a Dodge Ram 4×4 with the words “Off Road” written on the side. Meanwhile my little Subaru Outback trotted along nicely as we went out to buy my son some snow boots so we could play in the new winter wonderland that had become our backyard.

The view from the back porch

After some excessive bundling up, we ventured outside to enjoy my son’s second experience in snow in as many years (we had to travel to Indiana for his first). He seemed to enjoy himself much better this time around… that is until I realized that he was standing in the snow with only one boot on. I am not sure how long he had been bootless, but it took me some time to hunt around in the snow to find his other one. Needless to say, I didn’t win Parent of the year today.

Despite his nearly frostbitten foot, he stuck it out for about a half hour as we tried to build a snowman. The snow was perfect for snowballs, but didn’t want to cooperate as snowman snow. Despite our drawbacks, we prevailed and made the first (as far as I could tell) snowman in the neighborhood. I dressed him up with oversized legos from my son’s toychest for eyes, a nose, and mouth, and used two vacuum cleaner attachments as arms. I threw my hat on there for style.

North Carolina's first snowman?

30 minutes was enough for us. We called it quits and headed inside for some warmer and dryer clothes. Our feet are thawing out as we speak…

The fam

If you want some serious irony, look closely at my son’s feet. You’ll notice that one of his boots actually fell off right before I took the picture! Guess I need to remember to double up his socks next time?

All right, well, my time here in Iraq, at least way out here in the desolate desert of despair (nice, huh?) is coming to an end. The trucks are here, things are being moved, tents are being broken down, plans are being made, etc. The writing is more or less on the wall. So, in remembrance, I thought I’d share a few pictures of the crazy, but sometimes beautiful, desert that I have been living in over these last eight months. Enjoy!

Nothing as far as the eye can see in all directions (and yes, that is the ground that I run on every day). For the most part there are no changes in topography out here, with one exception.

These plateaus are the only thing that breaks up the monotony of the desert. They are scattered here and there across the landscape, and provide interesting views when you climb up them. We made this one into a bunker complex for training.

When we first arrived out here, it was the middle of winter. The weather was very nice back then. There are almost never any clouds in the sky out here anymore, but in the winter there were plenty, like the below sunset I took in February:

This is actually my favorite spot on the camp. It is nothing more than a pile of rocks that we built on the North edge of the camp, but there is something about the solitude it offers that I find myself frequently hanging out there in the early morning and late evening. The Bedouin tribes out here use these piles of stones as navigational aids. We just built one cause we were bored and I thought it would look cool up on the hill.

The desert isn’t completely void of life. Surprisingly enough, one day in early spring I actually happened across this little flower. I was so surprised I could hardly believe my eyes. It was so colorful and stood in such stark contrast with the rest of its surroundings. It only lasted three days, and I haven’t seen one since,  but it was pretty while it lasted.

My favorite time of day by far is dusk. I don’t know what it is about the end of the day, but I just love the calm as the sun just hides itself below the horizon when there’s still enough light to see everything. This is the time I like to mosey on over to the lawn chairs and have a nice cigar with the guys.

Of course, we’re not all into cigars. Scott here likes chewing tobacco. Hey, after a long day of moving around in 60 pounds of gear in 110 degree heat, I think you’ve earned the right to chew on whatever you darn well please.

When the sun goes down for good, depending on the phase of the moon, we can often continue to see just as well all night long. The starlight and moonlight out here is incredible. The above picture was actually taken at 2:30 am! That’s a full moon, not the sun!

But where one day must end, another begins… and so goes a day of life in the middle of the Syrian Desert. ~ESV

It’s amazing what kind of perspective you can gain from a place like this.

Eastern horizon, Syrian Desert

A desert is the most inhospitable environment I can imagine. The ground is rocky, so that every footstep you take must be made with precision or you will be rolling your ankles on a daily basis. Yet, at the same time, the sand is lighter than baby powder and blows insidiously into and through everything. The complete lack of water and any vegetation makes you feel like you’re on the face of the sun sometimes, like you’ve moved to a planet long deserted. When the wind blows, it blows unhindered by trees or terrain, gathering sand and rocks and blowing them with amazing power. And the heat… living on top of what is essentially a yellow hot plate, and with no pollution or moisture-filled clouds to shield the sun’s rays makes the heat incredible. It’s so hot out here that even the wind is heated, so much so that it ceases to be a cool breeze and instead feels like you’re standing in front of an industrial space heater on full blast. All you can do is to find whatever small piece of shade you can and deal with it. Whatever energy you started your day with is long gone by 9:00am, and even the easiest tasks can seem monumentally challenging. In short, life out here can be absolutely miserable.

There have been a few times, however, when I have looked around at my surroundings and considered all the places I have traveled to and visited, and have actually considered this place intriguing. Charming. Dare I say it, maybe even beautiful. Today was just one of those days.

The "monolith", northwest corner of camp

After five days straight of the most uncomfortable string of sand storms and heat waves, I woke up this morning to the coolest, most refreshing breeze I think I have ever taken the time to enjoy. In an effort to beat the heat we made the three-mile movement by foot before dawn. Midway across the open desert the sky became a kaleidoscope of color and the small plateaus scattered across the horizon began to hint at the brilliance of what was to come; their outlines dancing with light in the pre-dawn haze. All at once the world came to light as the sun in all its glory rose above the desert floor and began its reign in the sky. The breeze was light, but cool for the first time in what seemed like months. The sun was bright, but its heat was mild and comfortable, like the feeling of a warm towel after a soothing shower. I walked with a perpetual smile on my face, enjoying every minute of the morning air.

I half expected to return to the oppressive heat of recent days, but was repeatedly surprised to find myself drinking in the cool breeze and looking out at the clear, sea blue skies for the first time in weeks. Work seemed easier, tasks were finished quicker. There was a skip in our steps for the first time in a long time. Jokes were told, smiles were plentiful, and I think I even heard someone whistling a tune to themselves as they worked. Before I knew it the shadows were getting longer and the day’s deeds were done. The sky began to take on an orangish hue, and the horizon started to grow long and mellow. Determined to enjoy every minute of this day of days, I grabbed the three things I enjoy most out here: my iPod, camera, and a cigar, and proceeded to recline in my newly woven hammock.

There I sat, my Marines on one side of me, reclining in similar fashion on the many chairs and benches we’ve made, cooking steaks and burgers on the grill we built, laughing and swapping stories about the days of misery that seem like now distant memories. On the other side of me was the most amazing sunset I think I have ever seen. Unrestricted by landscape in all directions, the sun and its colored rays lit up the sky for at least an hour and a half. The atmosphere was surreal. Even the most hardened knuckle-dragger had to stop,

Quick reaction force at sunset

turn to the west and enjoy the quiet display of the day’s final stand. There we all sat, listening to the cool breeze blow over our shoulders out toward the sunset, drinking in the peace and quiet and considering how pleasant this day had been. The sun touched the sands a hundred miles from us and dipped down below the horizon leaving behind the most glorious hues of orange and pink I have ever experienced. An hour after the sun had retreated, its light was still reflecting off the small whispy clouds that played shapes in the sky. The once loud and raucous crowd had become somber and contemplative, and slowly retreated one by one to call or write their loved ones until I was left swinging in my hammock all alone. I finished the last sweet drags of my cigar and reluctantly yet appreciatively strolled over to the small mound I built at the far northwest end of the camp in order to catch whatever was left of the day’s light before retiring for the night. As I stood there, a long silhouette against the bluish hue of dusk’s solemnness, I thanked God for bringing such a respite from the hell that had been this past week. I quietly reflected on how simple a pleasure this day had been, and how many I must have had over my lifetime that went unnoticed or unappreciated. As I turned toward the camp, smelling the cool evening air blow softly out across the now black and empty desert, I considered what a blessing it was to have enjoyed such a day in such a seemingly miserable place as this, and just how much more I have to be thankful for.

Western post, Shadow Range

Thank you to friends and family who have been a support to me. It is greatly appreciated. I love and miss you all. ~ESV

It’s been a long time since I had a moment to myself. Work hours are long out here, and expectations are high, especially for me as the only doc. I find myself unable to fall asleep some nights because I feel like someone is going to come into my tent and tell me that I haven’t finished enough for the day yet. Perpetual work. That’s what it feels like sometimes out here in the desert.

I coordinated a helo drop yesterday to fly out a team of Marines who had been training on our site. As the helos near the landing zone, the pilot and I communicate about where to land and what the wind direction is and things like that. Once he’s on the ground there’s usually about ten minutes while the Marines load up and get situated before they can take off again. During this time I stand amidst the rotor wash and watch gear-laden Marines enter the bird while trying to keep the sand from embedding itself in my skin. It’s actually a peaceful time for me. It’s like the ultimate white noise machine. Sometimes, while I’m standing around, the pilot will chat with me. We’re both basically sitting around with little to do anyway, so we might as well chit chat over the radio. Yesterday he came over the net and asked if I had heard about the storm coming? I looked around at the blue skies and relatively peaceful winds and wondered if he knew what he was talking about. “I hear it’s coming later tonight and is supposed to last more than 24 hours. Another one from Syria” he said. “Winds supposed to top 40 knots (about 47 mph), and visibility is supposed to start down around 300 meters and decrease to below 100 meters by the middle of the night.”

“Really?” I said, with an air of interest in my voice. “That’s great!”

Most folks consider sand storms the ultimate downside to living out here. We are smack in the middle of the Syrian Desert with little but a few plateaus to slow the winds as they travel hundreds of miles toward the fertile eastern side of Iraq. Sand storms knock out power and communications, restrict travel and limit what can safely be accomplished. They blow so hard sometimes that rocks the size of basketballs are blown around on the ground as if kicked by an invisible person. The sand blown around is so super-fine that it coats and covers everything, inside and out, with a thick layer of brown patina that looks like an attic full of heirlooms long forgotten for thirty years. I’ve commented several times that only here is picking one’s nose so socially acceptable. The amount of sand that invades your body is unreal. I hand out cough drops and saline solution like it’s candy. Lying down on my pillow after a particularly dangerous sand storm we had a few weeks ago, I found sand coming out of my ear like water. Sure enough, when I lifted my head there was a small pile of sand that had spilled out.

I set up eye washing stations in my aid station for people to come and clean their eyes hygienically instead of rubbing them with dirt-caked fingers, only making it much worse. People that must go outside construct elaborate measures to prevent being overtaken by the storm by wrapping their heads in various layers and wearing goggles and sunglasses at the same time. Sand in the eyes is only a mild inconvenience, however, compared to the real danger of sand storms- the air quality. When the storm is in full force, the amount of sand in the air is overwhelming. That, coupled with the intense speed and force of the wind makes it incredibly difficult to breathe, and in fact sometimes causes you to choke and cough uncontrollably. I imagine it to be what many asthma sufferers must feel like, the inability to breathe in deeply, the impending suffocation at hand, the panic at not having the space to take a breath.

Sand Storm, Syrian Desert, 14Mar09

So why would I sound so cheery at the news? Well, for the same reason that a ten year old sits eagerly next to the television on a wintery morning, wishing and hoping to hear his school’s name on the cancellation list. When sand storms come, nothing can be done, and so everyone just closes up their tents and does their own thing. Even the most ardent, hardened task master that doesn’t believe in the word “lunch break” is forced to sit on his cot and find something to do to pass the time. And for a guy like me, who is never short of projects and interests, well, let’s just say that I see sand storms as my opportunity to get some time to myself. I use this time to meditate, relax, engage in some much needed creative work, do some reading and mental stimulation, and overall just enjoy the respect that mother nature demands as she pummels our tents with relentless winds and sand.

I found myself drawn to go outside this morning as the sandstorm picked up in its ferocity. I have a great pair of sunglasses that are made specifically to wrap all the way around your head and conform to my face. They work great to block out sand. I decided that the sand wasn’t bad enough yet for me to stay indoors, and so I took a long walk by myself, out into the great brownish-yellow cloud that concealed what is usually 100 miles of unhindered view of unending monochrome landscape. For some reason I was feeling rather melancholy this morning, and so I walked and talked to myself, tracing my path as I estimated my way from one landmark to another. Occasionally I would stop and look around. Aside from the stinging sand on my face, it was a similar kind of relaxing calm that I find in the rotor wash of a CH-53 helicopter. There is so much noise and movement all around me that I am lost in the midst of it, and the more I try to take it all in the less the sand and wind seem to bother me, almost to the point where I feel like I’m just in the middle of a great brownish-yellow bubble. Looking around in that bubble makes me wonder if I’m lost in this storm, or if I know how to find my way out.

Times like these make me stop and look at myself in a snapshot. I like to pretend that I’m looking at myself as if viewing a scrapbook years from now, and this snapshot is just another picture on the pages of my journey through life. What would this picture say? Where was I at this point in my life? Am I going somewhere, or am I just here? Does this snapshot lead to something, or is it just another random picture of where I’ve been? Is there purpose to this picture? Am I sitting out in this sand storm in the middle of Iraq for a reason, or did I just somehow wander out here like the nomadic Bedouin tribespeople that can occasionally be seen herding sheep off the horizon? Do I know where I’m going? Do I know how to get out of this storm? Did I mean to be here, or am I just being tossed about by the wind like a scrap piece of paper?

I can’t say if I have any answers for those questions at this point. It was somewhat comforting to at least have a few minutes to consider them, however. The worst thing for a mind like mine is to keep it so preoccupied that it can’t dream. I need to get out and wander once in a while, both metaphorically and physically. Maybe we all do?

The howl of the wind and shake of the flimsy vinyl tent is all I hear amidst the pitter patter of fingers striking keys now, and I’m left to contemplate the unanswered questions that this vast expanse of desert has raised in me. This storm will pass, this much I know, and work will resume. In this way life continues. I’m just afraid that continuing is not enough for me. Progress and purpose are my principal concerns.

As a lover of nature I’ve always considered myself to be rather conservative on the whole “big bang vs. God Spoke” argument. I can remember growing up deep in a valley on hundreds of acres of farmland surrounded on all sides by thousands of acres of forest. This was like a paradise on earth, the most peaceful of all places to live; simple and quiet. Nothing but a few sheep grazing on a sloping pasture to bother you.

However, as I’ve grown older, and hopefully a bit wiser, and I’ve been exposed to much more liberal or “progressive” thinking that comes with a college education today, I’ve begun to think of myself leaning more as an evolutionist- though not in quite the way you might at first perceive.

I have no question in my mind that God made the heavens and the earth and everything that is in it. And while I don’t pretend not to notice the overwhelming evidence for a pseudo-linear evolution of various species over millions of years, I don’t believe that it accounts for our beginnings, and certainly not for what makes us who we are today. No, the kind of evolution I have begun to believe in lately is the evolution of creation itself.

Throughout my life I have been categorized as creative, and although there were a few years of what I’d call advanced creator’s block, I’ve always considered myself an artist. However, where others excelled at using their creativity to actually create and produce tangible art, I could never quite muster up the coordination or organization required to piece together ideas and put them into something worthwhile. Instead, I was for the longest time a poster-child for a term I’m certain is soon to catch on, Artistic ADHD.

I have several binders filled with half-written poems. I’ve sat down to work on the same piano tune now for over ten years, and I still walk away having played it again thinking to myself “I’ll take a break from this and the rest will come to me soon.” I have literally thousands of images that I’ve either never edited, or have edited but didn’t know how to showcase them in a project or creation of some sort.

And so it seemed I was doomed to be an unorganized, unfulfilled creator. As the saying goes, the spirit was indeed willing, but the flesh…

Until one day everything changed.

Well, no, actually. That would fly in the face of my evolution of creation theory. In fact, I cannot point to any one thing as having suddenly caused a paradigm shift within my inner artist to cause him to suddenly get his act together and finish a project or two. But rather, over time I have continued to allow myself to create, only now with the expectation of completion. Whenever I start a project now I have a goal in mind. I can see in my mind’s eye what I want the end result to be. I can see a family sitting down to a full multi-media experience DVD in their living room, seeing their pictures in vivid color, listening to soothing music while enjoying the skillful transitions of an artfully made slide show. Or even better, I see millions of subscribers picking up their monthly copy of National Geographic and thumbing over the well-written stories, opting instead to gaze at the amazing pictures and reading only their captions (a personal dream of mine.)

And so it seems that I personally have been evolving over the last several years. As I’ve created, my creations have become more complex. As I’ve completed more, I’ve also undertaken more, and often larger projects, always with the expectation of completion.

You see, I am not the product of a sudden explosion of talent or creativity but rather the slow refining of individual qualities that have caused those innate inner traits to come to life. And as I’ve evolved, so have my goals and dreams. I’ve begun to think of my creation more on the scale of life-long career and less as a weekend hobby. Long gone are the days when I’d haul my red sparkle drum kit on top of our garage in the middle of town and play to music in my head for everyone to hear. No, those days of passively entertaining the underlying urges to create are over. I think I’ve reached a point of no return; a point where I am faced with decisions about these tendencies and just what they mean in terms of my life… and its purpose.

These are monumental questions that every person must answer, and there are no shortage of ranks of people who have never brought themselves to answer them.

Perhaps the difficulty in answering is simply believing in a purpose? Is it possible that you are actually made for a purpose in this world? Or perhaps we have trouble facing these decisions because at the very core of them is a personal proclamation of being. By answering these questions you are stating once and for all to everyone on Earth and above it that you exist and are an important part of this universe. So important, in fact, that if you were to cease to exist somehow that it would create a hole that no other person now or ever would be able to fill.

Such a statement of self-importance is often seen as egotistical. However, I see it not so much a statement of self-importance but rather one of universal importance- one having more to do with all of us than with one’s self. After all, you are claiming your place in this global community of souls, finally taking possession of your rightful place as an individual. Such a claim bears far more than any single ego could stand to contain.

And so I ponder about my life and its direction. About my interests and goals; my dreams and desires. All the while writing music, framing photographs and putting ideas to paper. Maybe these actions are my way of answering my question of purpose? Perhaps every person’s inner motivation is their answer?

Was I created, or have I evolved? Perhaps the question should be rather stated, am I who I should be, or
am I merely a creation evolving?

You decide.