This must be the place: ‘To let old habits die, wild geese are gonna fly’
Sunset at Lake Junaluska. Garret K. Woodward photo
Christmas Eve. With the sun fading behind the Blue Ridge Mountains, the sky transitioning into bright pink, purple and orange, I found myself quietly jogging the four-mile path around Lake Junaluska. Nobody around me, the air quickly gets cold during sunset. Dozens of Canada geese roaming the walking trails and shoreline, with many more either swimming or in-flight nearby.
Lots on the mind, as per usual. This go-round, the thoughts are heavier and surreal, more so than I tend to allow or stand there and face head on or want to deal with, especially this time of the year. But, everything is also filled with a renewed sense of self, this odd lightness of being in the midst of sadness and transformation.
And as all of this ricochets around my restless mind, so does the melody “Wild Geese” by singer-songwriter Liv Greene: “That’s when the ground gets soft and the light gets long/And all things come back, yeah they come back strong/Forgive yourself for what you did wrong if it got you through the night.”
Head home from Lake Junaluska. Onward to Waynesville. Back to the humble abode. The small Charlie Brown Christmas tree in the corner to greet me at the door. Enough beer and snacks in the kitchen to hold me over through the evening and impending day of everything closed and nobody around to get anything from. Same goes for fueling up the truck in advance.
A quiet Christmas Eve. Sporadic cars on nearby Russ Avenue, with most already home soaking in the essence of family and friends. Take a shower and get dressed. Head for one of the only restaurants open in town: Suwana Asian Cuisine. Order the chicken satay, tom kha soup (also with chicken), a small hot sake and a Sapporo. Sip and bite, ponder life, evaluate and repeat.
My immediate family remains some 1,100 miles door-to-door from Waynesville to my parents’ farmhouse in my hometown of Plattsburgh, New York. I heard they received around six inches of snow in the past day or so, with temperatures dropping below freezing. Sounds about right for this time of year. I remember those frozen nights vividly as a kid. Layers of clothes to keep warm. Roaring fireplace in the living room to keep all of us sane.
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I hope they’re enjoying Christmas Eve way up yonder near the Canadian Border. Same goes for long-lost friends and loved ones not seen in years. Our memories together are still cherished and will always hold a place on the sentimental shelves stacked high and mighty in my heart and soul. Time marches on. Seconds ticking away ever faster with each passing calendar year. It’s all so surreal, fleeting and bittersweet, don’tcha think?
Where to from here, eh? The holidays come and go with a fury, where seemingly out-of-nowhere you’re left standing on the side of the road of life the morning of Jan. 1, wondering what in the hell just happened over the last month, let alone the last year and everything else before that? Slow down, you say: “This year will be different.” But, you soon forget that honest sentiment and proceed at a seemingly faster rate than previously imagined by February.
Shit. It happened again this go-round. Your best intentions unfold in real time, only to reveal you’ve got a lot more work to do on yourself. Way more than you’ve thought was left to ponder and resolve. Much more of an unknown depth than was previously explored. You know what lies down there within. And yet, it still gets avoided and pushed to the side until you “finally get around to it.” Look into the bathroom mirror and take note of what you see.
Well, it’s high time to shift your expectations and perceptions. Remember the holidays are a time to examine one’s life and take an accurate inventory of the “here and now” of your precious existence. Remember you’re worthy of love and, most importantly, are loved. Even if you dread the holidays, it can become a platform for transition, transformation and transcendence into your true self. As an eternal optimist, I remain steadfast in pushing ahead to glory.
With “all of that” in mind, I found myself motoring up to the Cataloochee Divide Trail on Christmas. Early afternoon with temperatures oddly mild for the end of December. The sounds of Bert Jansch, Mac Miller, Courtney Barnett, John Anderson, Tom Pearo and Neil Francis echoing out of the truck speakers.
Parking at the Cataloochee Divide Trail, rays of sunshine sprinkled through the tree branches high above the vehicle. A solo trek up the ridge. Silence. Tranquility. Just a lone human being disappearing into the woods, into his restless mind and endless thoughts of what was, what is and what could be moving forward.
Bring forth the honest truths as they emerge with each step of the way higher into the mountains. See everything for what it is, for good or ill, but hopefully mostly good. No signs of wildlife. No slight breeze either coming up from Cataloochee Valley way down below. More silence. More contemplation. The redemption of one’s own journey coming to pass when placed in the desolation of nature.
Reach the desired point in the trail to stand in a small clearing and scan the Great Smoky Mountains to the west. A warm sun soothes your skin. Beads of sweat dripping down your forehead from the trail run to this juncture. Well-earned perspiration to relieve yourself of the heat and pressure pushing through your veins and skin. Acknowledge the mountains with a sacred sense of gratitude.
Jog back down the trail to the truck parked underneath the high branches with the sunshine sprinkling through. Wipe down your forehead and neck with a towel. Take a deep breath and exhale. Do it again. Look upward at the blue sky and remember how incredible life is, even when the going gets tough.
Put the truck into drive, but not before selecting Bert Jansch’s seminal 1965 number, “Running from Home,” the poignant lyrics and fluttering acoustic guitar notes swirling around you, right there and in that moment: “Runnin’ runnin’ from home/Breakin’ ties that you’d grown/Catchin’ dreams from the clouds.”
Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.
