“I believe in the kindness of strangers. And when I’m at war with myself, I ride. I just ride.” – LDR
Benjamin Franklin said it best: “Either write something worth reading, or do something worth writing”. It’s been a while since I’ve blogged – four months to be exact. And while the writer inside of me often gets frustrated with the reoccurring dry-spells my pen experiences, I can’t help but feel grateful for the adventures I have embarked on during my absence.
So, to reintroduce myself into the world that is my blog, I have a lovely, yet lengthy story to tell…
May 2016 – The month I posted my last blog, graduated, and sold all of my belongings. In short, I ventured to a place that stole a piece of my heart long, long ago – to where the sea met the mountains, to where no sunset was ever the same, and to where the wilderness felt infinite – with one goal in mind: to learn the art of being alone, while simultaneously letting go of fear. It was a place that has forever beckoned my soul, because nature has always held me in a way no human will ever be capable of. When you feel the need to be held, yet simultaneously crave solitude, the forest is the place to go.
While there are many great stories to tell from this grand adventure of mine, there are a few in particular which stand out the most. They are the tales of the strangers I met along the way. Now of course, I met strangers everyday – but there were a few strangers that successfully imprinted themselves into my memory forever, as each one of them taught me a lesson I will never forget. I met these folks for a reason, and I didn’t meet them in social settings – I met them while doing what I sold all of my stuff to do, travelling solo.
Stranger #1 – The Man On A Mountain – A Lesson On Fear:
The First Solo Hike
The first stranger was a man I met on a mountain, who I had later learned was also from Ontario, but currently lived in the Himalayas. I was hiking for the first time by myself, in high hopes of having some sort of epiphany while alone in the wilderness. It wasn’t an easy hike to say the least; it was a steep climb with many rugged sections, that would take me 1410 feet above sea-level, and it began with a “bear in area” sign.
I began hiking the trail before this man, but upon noticing him, I let him pass me. There was something inside me that said, “if there’s a bear on this trail, that guy could probably handle it better than I can”. Selfish, or strategic? I guess it depends on how you look at it. However, realistically, I felt a general sense of comfort knowing there was another human being ahead of me. Not just for the sake of wildlife coming out of hibernation, but because it made me feel that I wasn’t actually alone. I was consistently startled by the random pitter-patter of squirrels along the forest floor, convincing myself that I was being stalked by a coyote, or bear, or both – yet knowing he was ahead of me helped me to concentrate a little less on the many fears which consumed my mind. Maybe it’s naive, but I am a firm believer in the kindness of strangers.
After a few hours of hiking, I had finally reached my summit. It was just me, my thoughts, Mother Nature, and – a stranger. Finally, I got to talking with this gentleman, and I had informed him of this being my first time hiking alone. We talked about nature and science, as well as the incredible view before us.This man understood how I was seeking solitude, so not too long after, he bid me adieu and continued down the mountain. I instantly pulled out my journal and began to write, and then it hit me – I was alone, just a girl in the wilderness, at dusk. There are no words to describe the random surge of fear I felt in that very moment, so being the back-country foreigner I was, I decided to toot my air-horn a couple of times. You know, to potentially scare away the wildlife that may or may not have been stalking me for their dinner that night.
Well, to my surprise, the only creature I came across after blaring my air-horn was the same stranger running back up the trail, to see if I was okay. (Thank-you, kind stranger, for potentially saving my life on that mountain). It was not even ten minutes after he had come to save the day where I decided to pack up and leave, in hopes of awkwardly following him back down the same trail. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, I took the same trail down as I did up, and quickly learned this man was not on that trail. So, there I was again, deserted and ready to shit my pants. I had no other choice but to hike myself out of the wilderness alone, so I sang the entire way, and I sang loud. Being the atrocious singer I am, I convinced myself that my vocals had the ability to scare away the mightiest of beasts.
Upon making it back to civilisation, I took a moment to laugh at myself, and to also reflect upon how consumed in fear I was, when in all actuality, there was nothing to be afraid of. In a way, I was proud of completing my first solo hike, but also very disappointed in myself for letting fear compromise my experience. Ironically, I met this stranger once again that evening, as I was sitting in a restaurant. I invited him over and bought him a drink, as a thank-you for his random act of kindness. He told me that the locals wouldn’t like me very much if I continued to toot my air horn in the woods. We laughed, we told stories, and as I departed, he said something so simple, yet so profound to me: He said, “You know, the only thing there is to fear, is the fear that lives inside of your mind”.
My first solo hike was much more than just a hike, it was a very memorable, and adventurous lesson on fear. I will never forget that moment, that mountain, or that man.
Stranger #2 – The Man Who Was Alone at Sea – A Lesson On Loneliness:
The Driftwood Beach
The second stranger I met was a lost man along the shore of a beach. This man had been alone at sea for six hours, in his kayak – navigating the tides, the currents, the eight foot waves, and a rocky coastline.
I had spent the greater part of my day hiking, until I stopped along a beautiful beach lined by driftwood, to do some writing and have a snack. Later in the afternoon, when I met this man, I had been searching for a short-cut home. Unsuccessfully, I realised my short-cut wasn’t a shortcut at all, as it had added thirty minutes to my walk. I was weary while I watched this man walk towards me in the distance, as I was aware that wherever he was going, he was going the wrong way. He approached me with his heavy french accent, and asked me if he was headed in the direction of a store. I smiled to myself for a moment, realising that I was correct, and that this man had no idea where he was going. The closest store was about an hour away on foot, but in the direction I was headed, so I offered to show him the way.
He explained how he ended up on this beach, and pointed towards his kayak. I instantly became intrigued by this nomadic traveller, one who had so bravely embarked on an adventure I could only dream of. I offered him the rest of my water, and shared my last two cigarettes with him, while seriously pondering how in the hell someone wants a smoke after actively paddling for six hours.
We had gotten to know one another briefly during our walk. I learned that he had recently lost his wife, which he expressed great sadness about. He spoke of how deeply he missed her, and of how being at sea made him feel close to her, as she had always possessed an exceptional love for the ocean. He also mentioned that he never knew where he would set up camp for the night – he would just paddle until he got tired, and when he would come ashore, he would write her a letter, and send it off into the waves of the Atlantic before going to sleep. I was literally speechless as I listened to this, because it sounded like something completely fictional, and straight out of a tragic romance novel. Yet it wasn’t, it was real – it was sad and beautiful and real. Although my heart felt heavy for this man, I also felt incredibly inspired by him.
Feeling curious, I asked him if he ever got tired of this ritual, and if he ever felt lonely. Ironically, he told me no, never. He said that being alone and being lonely are two different things. He explained that although he was alone physically, it was impossible for him to feel lonely spiritually, because he was always surrounded by so much life – and although he was a lonesome traveller, he would always meet fellow travellers along the way, so in a sense, he was never actually alone.
Our conversation remained in my mind long after we parted ways. Similar to the man on the mountain, I felt that I had met this person for a reason – because not only was he a friendly stranger, he was also an extraordinary teacher. He filled my heart with hope, and reminded me of the life-force that surrounds us, the life-force that holds us during our darkest and brightest times – the life-force that lives in nature.
Stranger # 3 – The Little Lady with A Big Heart – A Reminder of Kindness:
The First Solo Camp
The third stranger I met was a sweet little lady, likely in her late 60’s. We met on an evening where I was feeling extremely let down by the people in my life, and even let down by myself. So, as I always do when I feel lost, I set out to spend the night in nature, under the stars, alone – in hopes that maybe the infinite sky of stars above me would make me feel small enough to make sense of everything.
After scouting out the area, I found a spot with the perfect ocean view to set up my tent, (a tent much larger than I was prepared to put up by myself). The woman had been hiking with her two dogs, with a stack of wood within her arms, when I noticed her from a distance. I was rocking dried mascara all down the sides of my face to compliment my puffy eyes, and I was having an incredibly hard time getting my tent up. At first, I had genuinely hoped I were invisible, and that this woman would just leave me alone. However, she walked right up to me and began inquiring about what I was up to.
The woman was not only curious as to what I was doing, but she was also genuinely concerned. Both her and her dogs stood and stared at me as I continued to answer her questions, while trying to figure out my tent issues at the same time. When I told her I intended to camp alone for the night, she was very taken aback, and kept asking me if I were sure I wanted to do that – the woman even offered me a drive home! She warned me of the thunderstorms we were expecting, and told me that if she heard thunder in the night, she’d be thinking of me. Eventually she accepted the fact that, yes, I am a woman who wants to camp alone, thunder or no thunder – so she dropped her pile of wood, and to my surprise, began helping me set up my tent. Thank heavens.
We talked the entire time, and laughed at many of my poor decisions, such as bringing an eight-man tent on a one-woman journey. Let’s just say that setting up that tent took much longer than it should have. Once it was up, we began putting the tarp over it – only to find that there was nothing to keep the tarp in tact. As I began brainstorming solutions in my head, I looked over to see this little lady gathering large rocks from the beach. She walked them over, and set them around the tent to keep the tarp in place. She then handed me the biggest rock of the bunch and said, “here! this is for inside of your tent. If someone tries to enter during the night, you give ’em a concussion!”. I giggled to myself at the theatrics in her voice, while realising that this woman meant business – so I gladly accepted the weapon she offered, while smiling at how bad-ass this sweet lady turned out to be. I felt especially grateful that this kind woman stumbled upon me and my over-sized tent that evening.
Once everything was set up, I began building a fire-pit. The woman asked if she could have my phone number, just in case she worried about me, she would be able to touch base and sleep well while knowing I was okay. I picked up my phone, and realised it was almost dead – she then insisted on taking my phone back to her car to charge it, telling me that it wasn’t safe to be without a telephone. So, we hiked twenty minutes back to her car, to find that there was no car charger. She then insisted on taking my phone home with her for an hour, charging it, and bringing it back – which she did.
I hiked back to my campsite in the dark, phone-less, and alone. I was in a complete state of awe towards the altruism this woman possessed. I was also slightly scared due to how dark, and how quiet everything seemed to be once she left. So, while I waited for this kind woman to return, I lit my fire, and I indulged in a bottle of coconut rum under the stars.
I laid in the sand, looking up towards the sky, noticing the full moon over the ocean – as it began to rise in all of its glory, painted with the most beautiful, deep hues of orange, it gave me a sense of stillness. After what had seemed like a very tumultuous day, I finally felt at peace. I felt re-energised by the reminder this woman was sent to give me – a reminder to always believe in the kindness of strangers, even when you feel let down by the world, because true altruism does exist.
My lovely lady was gone much longer than expected, but it felt almost tranquil to be without a cellphone. It gave me a lot of time to reflect, and a lot of time to just be – I needed that. When she returned, she had her grand-daughter with her, and they gifted me a care-package full of goodies to go along with my fully charged phone.
I was in what I like to call “gratitude shock” – because after all of the mental turmoil I had experienced in one day, there was this little old lady, gracious as ever, showing me the kindhearted, basic goodness of human beings – and I couldn’t thank her enough.
♥
I woke up the next morning, knowing that this was the last of my solo-adventures on an island that had such a drastic effect on my soul. I opened up my tent to witness the most incredible sunrise I have ever seen, and in that moment, nothing else mattered, because I felt lucky, and I was okay.
The Last Sunrise
♥
Coincidence does not exist, the universe works in mysterious ways. Everyone we encounter in life serves a purpose and a lesson, because everything happens for a reason.
Krystal Lowe – 2016
Sparkles In Your Soul 