It's a wierd feeling. This is not my first rodeo, that's for sure, but I still get the same feeling on every opening day even though I've been doing this all my life. Granted not necessarily right here, in Quartzsite, but somewhere, at least. That daring adventurous life. Facing the doubts and fears, and then relishing in the thrill of the accomplishment.
Years ago I used to go to New Orleans for the winter. Artists, jewelers and other entrepreneurial types would set up on Jackson square or get a booth at the French Market. Once you got there, you were there for the season- the Sugarbowl was in January, then two weeks of Mardi Gras, then two weeks of Jazz Fest. There were lots of little festivals in between, and the weather was nice, so people came from all over the world. I spent six winters in New Orleans. One year, the Superbowl was held there too, right smack in between the Sugarbowl and Mardi Gras. Boy was that a boom season. It seemed as though the Patriots fans and the Green Bay fans were also competing against each other to see which ones could spend the most money.
But I remember showing up in the middle of December, my first year. It was 1994, to be exact. I had heard about how exciting and bustling and busy the Mardi Gras season in New Orleans was. I had been in North Carolina, in the mountains, for the summer. October was approaching, the leaves were about to peak in their fall regalia, and the mountains were full of tourists coming to see the fall colors on the Blue Ridge Parkway. There were only a few more weeks of the tourist season left, and then the snow would come. I was eager to find a place to go for the winter before the first snowfall. And so I heard about Mardi Gras season, and my decision was made. It would be New Orleans for the winter that year.
I arrived in a cold, rainy, desolate town devoid of anything resembling the hustle and bustle I had heard about. Mid-December in New Orleans is depressing. I wondered why I was there. Even Bourbon Street was deserted. I could easily have gone somewhere else and figured out something else to do, but something inside me wanted to stay, wanted to see what this place was all about. I went to a local coffee shop that seemed like it was the only happening place and grabbed a table near some people who looked like locals. Not that New Orleans locals look any different than locals from any other place, but it seemed to be a good enough reason to sit near them. After talking to them for a little while, I remember them telling me to just wait, wait a couple of weeks until "The Season" starts. So despite the fear and the doubts going through my head, I did. And it was worth it.
So here I am today, reliving those early days in New Orleans. I did see more people today than yesterday. Several people came by my booth. It's hard to resist the urge to try to sell something, but I am here for four months. Unlike Mardi Gras, the people who are coming will be here for awhile. So today I had to remind myself to relax and just let people come and go without seeming too eager. Still, there is that terror factor. That fear of failure.
But it's the kind of feeling that people like me live with all the time- life on the edge so to speak. I am an adventure traveler. That same "ecstatic terror" surfaces during times like kayaking Lake Powell, kayaking on the Atlantic side of the Florida Keys, climbing, backpacking a cross-country route, or even traveling the seasons instead of staying in one place. For me the "comfort zone" is not comfortable.
The simplest thing like a day kayaking on Lake Powell can bring ecstasy face to face with terror. You are paddling peacefully in a beautiful canyon when a power boat goes by. He comes around a curve at 50 miles an hour, his wake slams you up against the canyon wall, and he speeds away. In that instant you realize that the water is several hundred feet deep there,and it is about 50 degrees. The air is only 70. It is a ripe environment for hypothermia, and you are alone again in this canyon being repeatedly dashed by waves into the cliffs. You grit your teeth, hang onto to your paddle, brace yourself in your boat. You rehearse in your mind everything you know to do... Don't panic. You are prepared if something happens. Turn and face the waves... you know how to swim if you need to, you know how to do a deep water re-entry. There's a rock to grab if you have to. You're wearing a life jacket. You know how to survive if you get stranded. You know where your flare is...you have warm clothes in your dry sack...and... and...you wait it out. Slowly the terror subsides, along with the waves, and you begin slowly and carefully, still shaking a little, to paddle again. The shoreline approaches, and the thrill of the accomplishment returns, almost as if it is laughing in the face of the terror. After all, whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
And you would do it all again. The terror and the thrill are one and the same. There are thrilling and terrifying times on a hiking trip, or a climbing trip, or even just driving your car down the street to the store. The fear of failure in one form or another is present every day. The only other alternative is to not do anything at all. I could get injured on backpacking trip, and die out in the wilderness...so should I not go? If I live in fear of failure, what is there left in life worth doing?
So here I am. It's opening day. That emotional rollercoaster has played out today. But I wouldn't have it any other way. I can't do the nine-to-five, all day everyday, same mundane thing my whole life. It has to be this way or there is no point. And it's too late now, anyway. Too late for me anyway. I have been traveling for over twenty years, and self-employed in some form or another for most of that. Nothing else will do for me.
I am reminded of a time when I was working as a climbing instructor. There was a kid one time who was really excited and eager to climb the wall. For the first 30 feet or so, she scrambled up that wall with such enthusiasm- and then all of a sudden she stopped. She looked down at me holding her belay and said, "I'm scared." I said, "Well, it's too late now, you're already up there. You may as well keep going to the top". She thought about it for a minute, then she took a deep breath and kept going.
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