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Grant’s Journal

January 1

You know what they say: we plan, God laughs. He’s laughing at me now.

Cassie told me about a Sanskrit word, I can’t remember it anymore. It means the thing inside you that can’t be scratched. No matter what you go through in life, there’s some true essence within you that is beyond anyone’s or anything’s reach.

I told her about the ship of Theseus paradox; If every part of a ship has been replaced, is it the same ship? Is there some essence of the ship that gives it an identity? Or are we really, as Hume would say, just a bundle of perceptions held together like a commonwealth?

The idea that there’s some nugget of us, a magic bean, a diamond of the self that remains cradled and protected, free from all the slights—now that’s an idea I can get behind.

I’ve found that part of me out here. I mean, I had it all along. I just didn’t know about it. Even now, when everything has gone wrong—my feet are covered in blisters; I’m cold, tired, thirsty, hungry, lonely, lost—still, I know there’s a part of me that’s fine.

Everything, but despair.

They say that nine o’clock is hiking midnight. At least I think it’s around nine.

It’s impossible to hike in the dark. I tripped on a branch and introduced my face to a rock.

I’m no longer good for this day. I found a boulder with a crag underneath it to sleep under, ate my third-to-last protein bar, which got stuck in the back of my mouth, hunkered down, and still found beauty as I stared into the stars. Now for the best part: nothing. Not a darn thing.

I wish I’d spent my whole life knowing how deeply comforting it is to lie on my sleeping pad after a day of constant movement and feel gravity pull me to earth. I wish I’d always known what it’s like to look at the stars and feel my heartbeat in my ears.

This is the real thing.

All these years, I never saw myself as part of the physical world, I was so caught up in the life of the mind. I do now. I have silence and the most amazing view; this right here is dinner and a movie.

It feels good to earn my exhaustion. My body is wrung like a wet rope. March called me the other day and said she was exhausted from work.

Exhausted? Work?

What have we ever taught our kids about real work? Young people get tired typing into their phones. Once, I saw some guys drive their Lexus out near Bodie, and they turned around when they came to a road that was impassable. The area was really nasty, with an embankment, a washout, and sharp rocks. You know what I did? I got out there and spent an hour moving rocks. Let’s go, let’s make a road.

When I sit down to eat, I’m hungry with a hunger I deserve.

Am I ever hungry now.

The old me would have thought this day had gone horribly wrong. This new me? I feel peace. I’ve ended up where I belong. Life didn’t turn out the way I thought it would, but it led me to Kim. To the children we were meant to have. I have no regrets.

It led me to this moment in this place.

I’ve experienced the exultation of spending an entire day finding my own path, going where people don’t go, of watching the color drain from the sky, of pushing my body to the limit. Past my fear.

And here I thought I’d spend the winter rotting away in a lounge chair.

January 2

Coffee should be added to Maslow’s first level of the hierarchy of needs, along with food, safety, water. I’ll never give up coffee again.

I’ll bet Kim is pissed. She probably thinks I’ve pulled one of my disappearing acts, that I’m putting her through hell again. I’m the boy who cried wolf. It’s possible—probable—she won’t call for help. Talk about karma.

I can figure this out. I can figure this out!

I would love to let Kim know where I am. I want to tell her I’m OK. I want to tell the girls.

There’s an element of this adventure that I enjoy, if I’m being honest. I mean, look at me. One day I’m grading papers, the next I’m man against nature, oldest story there is.

I’m certain I’ll find my way today, absolutely certain. I feel rested. I was kept company by the pocket mice that crawled all over me to stay warm last night. My little buddies. In two, three hours, I’ll be at the Trading Post if all goes well. I’ll find my way back to phones, cars, Ubers.

Why am I in such a hurry to get back to that dirty, busy, insane world?

Before I left my little camp, I scored the tree, just like Hobie taught me. Adventure awaits, then home!

How is this possible? I’m back at the tree, back where I started. I’ve been hiking the whole damn day and I’m in the very spot where I slept last night, the same crevice under the boulder.

I don’t even know up from down. It’s cold, and it’s getting dark again. Hobie told me that when he’s on fire duty, he tries not to poop or pee because your full colon and bladder keep you warm. That’s easier than it sounds.

Nietzsche said, “To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.” I’ll find meaning in this someday. For now I can’t do anything but slide under this rock and rest. I thought I was OK with my own company. I’m lonely, but I can pretend you’re with me when I write to you here.

You? Whoa, Kim, this journal is starting to have some “if you read this, I’ll be dead” vibes.

Plenty can go wrong when you don’t know where you are. One bad decision has compounded to a thousand bad decisions, and I’ve made some bad decisions. Nuclear bad.

How often in life do we think we know where we are and we’re dead wrong?

What an ugly situation I’ve gotten myself into.