I just wrote a lengthy blurb on why New Year's Eve sucks so bad. And it does. But upon rereading the blurb, it came across pretty self-absorbed, so I deleted it. It had to do with resolutions and how you must be weak and fragile to initiate life-altering change on January 1st just because you hung up your new 2024 Garfield calendar.
It touched upon how I, Matt Todd, must be superior to you because I don't focus on drastic change and shallow hope when a new year begins. But while showering during a break from contemplating and typing, I thought to myself something different. As much as I'd like to admit that I am focussed on maintaining my current lifestyle and frame of mind, as opposed to immediate change, I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about what I'd do differently this year. Maybe it's all the television and social media hype centering around New Year's resolutions and the like, being shoved down your throat like cheap champagne in a matter of hours. Maybe it's because my birthday is only a week after the year changes, and that doubles my thoughts of what to do better. Goals aren't a bad thing. And I think we all need to start looking at "resolutions" as just "goals". And they don't need to fucking start on January 1st. If you need this arbitrary date to give you a kick in the ass, then so be it. But goals should be strived for year round, into the next, growing and changing. Goals should not be "one and done", meaning that they should evolve into a more precise goal, or have different steps or tiers. Let's start with the obvious "Exercise More/Eat Better/Lose Weight" combo platter that every schmuck in the universe thinks about on this day. Let's say that I decide suddenly that I'm going to hit the gym every day and lose 20lbs and be in excellent shape at age 50. Nothing wrong with that, and who knows, I might. If I feel like it. But what happens after you lose that 20lbs? Do you go say "mission accomplished" go back to your old habits, regain everything, and recycle the same "resolution" the next year? No, man. If you want to lose weight, lose it. That's your goal. Then set another like-minded one. Like hiking a 14er or running a half marathon. Then, perhaps, start incorporating these tendencies and habits into your everyday lifestyle. Learn to cook. Learn to cook well. Learn to cook healthy, real foods. Or you know, something along those lines. A calendar shouldn't tell you how and when to start doing these things. Just fucking do them. That's super easy for me to say. But I also understand that it's easy to get caught up in the everyday complacentness and a wake-up call on December 31 might come in handy. We all want to be better. Even me, Matt Todd, who is comfortable with maintaining the status quo. But what if the status quo can be even better than it is now? Wow, that's something I might be interested in listening to. Things are awesome now. But you're telling me that they can potentially be even awesomer? Awesomer always gets me jazzed. I currently have a goal. And it's not to lose weight. It's to procure some land in the Rocky Mountains. I didn't make that goal on December 31, 2022, I made it on some random Tuesday over the summer when I realized that is what I want for myself, my family, and my friends. That goal will stay steady until achieved. Then that goal will morph into solidifying some sort of shelter on that land, be it a camper, bunk house, or yurt. When that's settled, then I'm sure the focus will be more long term, as in a cabin with an actual foundation. This goal of mine has different tiers, and I'm approaching it as such. No cart before the horse. And I'm trying my hardest to be realistic about things, because "goals" and "dreams" aren't always the same thing. I've got another goal, and it's to barbecue more. Again, I didn't create this resolution while watching Ryan Seacrest host a Rockin' New Year full of terrible music and bullshit. I thought about it while concentrating on my new career in Education. I purposely scaled back barbecuing so I could focus on teaching kids how to read. Now that I feel comfortable in that, I would like to start mixing in more barbecue, like we did three or four years ago. So I'm going to, and it has nothing to do with NYE. Or does it? (I probably wouldn't be writing this if it weren't December 31...) So yes, things are good. Can't complain. But if I get closer to, or actually achieve one of my goals, then things would be better. Awesomer > Awesome. This is stupid, and I'm a bit embarrassed to share, but I kind of look at life as one of those "curvy roads ahead" road signs. And you can look at each year this way, too. There are always going to be some twists and turns, but eventually you straighten back out. Yeah, that's dumb, but I like visuals. I dig my life. But I also don't want to be complacent. I want to fine-tune it and tweak it so it can be a little better and a little better. When you do that, you're going succeed and you're going to fail. And I hesitate to call it a fail when you're in the middle of doing something that requires trial and error, because that term seems to discount the fact that you are learning something paramount in the process. Starting to dig a little too deep here. But you get my drift. Moral of the story: Goals, not resolutions. Create them year round, not just on NYE (although NYE is a reasonable time to be reminded to do so). Maintain. No drastic, unrealistic crap. Stay within your wheelhouse and keep on truckin'. And remember, New Year's Eve sucks.
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I'm out in the sunroom again. It's really my only refuge from my family, whom I adore, but also whom I need a reprieve from at least one time per day. It's got to be 50 degrees out here, but I'm desperate. I should probably pour a small whisk.
Better. Continuing... What's more important than where I went and when I went there, is surely what happened mentally. After all, that's the main purpose of these types of journeys. Well, that and catching a shitload of trout. And oddly, I remember my mental state much, much better than my physical. Physically, I filled up with gas, grabbed some variety of food, and turned west. The instant my four wheels hit 306, it was the farthest west I had ever been, by Colorado standards. It was literally uncharted territory for me. I remember having a couple Colorado Fly Fishing books next to the atlas riding shotgun, as this was well before having everything at a phone's tap, even with probable shoddy service. I knew the Taylor River was worth the drive. And I knew Cottonwood Pass was worth crossing. Mentally, it was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. There was a timidness and anxiousness, as I had never explored a place of this magnitude, especially alone. But those feelings would quickly morph into confidence and comfortability with each passing discovery. I recall the weather being of some concern, not having a smart phone, computer, or TV handy. Rocky Mountain Octobers differ from Ozark Mountain Octobers considerably, and the former range can be much harsher than the latter range. I saved plenty of the deep thoughts for windshield time, being that was a big part of this escapade and a time when I tend to chat out loud to myself. I went into every road, river, mountain, and city with blind faith and excitement. Excitement for what was around the next bend and for what might happen in a week or two or three. My soundtrack for this adventure as a whole was spearheaded by the Allman Brothers, specifically "Ain't Wastin' Time No More", which I found fitting. It's the perfect song for what I was doing. Still fuels a sense of adventure, or at least a calm mood while staring at the mountains, which thankfully now reside in my backyard. 93.7 FM, "The River Rat" out of Salida accompanied me throughout the trip as well, and welcomed me to the mountains. It's what the locals listen to, man. Think deep, classic rock cuts from the likes of Little Feat, New Riders of the Purple Sage, and Creedence. On my way up the hill, I stopped a handful of times to take pics of a couple elk, which I'm not sure if I'd seen in Colorado up until this point. Pics of the winding road that somehow complemented the landscape, and the Pass itself, which was the probably the highest I'd been ever been on the ground, according to altitude. My musical choice went from earthy classic rock to punk quickly as I found a fabulous single track that needed me on it. I'm not a serious mountain biker, never was. But riding this easy little nondescript downhill, winding back and forth ever so slightly, then huffing back up the gravel road to the truck gave me life. The Taylor Res on one side of me, Mount Yale on the other. Zero other people in sight. Shit, man. Time for a tailgate and some jerky. I spent the remainder of the day exploring the Reservoir and River, catching some decent fish, but nothing massive like the big girls that lurk below the dam. At one point, I realized where I was, and needed to take an appreciation break. I have to force myself to do these, 'cause I'm a fucking robot when I'm fishing. More so back in those days than now, but the breaks are still needed. If memory serves, I had just caught my biggest, which was maybe an 18" brown, maybe. Satisfaction engulfed me, so I unbuckled my waders, laid my rod and pack on the grassy bank in front of that beautiful riffle holding that beautiful trout, plopped on my back with my hands behind my head and stared at the lodgepole pines and blue sky. Appreciation. Thanking whomever for what's happening, where you're at, what's in front of you, what's in your head, and why you're smiling. I was in a valley In the middle of the Rocky Mountains next to a river in October. This wasn't a mild Midwestern evening approaching. I could feel the chill starting to take lead over the sun, and it was 110% time for a campfire and warm clothes. Luckily, I had passed a tiny campground on the opposite side of the road from the river earlier in the day. Looked perfect. And it was. It was actually serendipity, as I discovered soon after, that the state-owned campgrounds closed October 1st in Colorado (back then, at least). That would certainly add a wrinkle or two to my voyage. But I'm pretty good at making lemonade, so let's drink up. The fire served its purpose well, giving me much needed warmth and a means to boil water for dehydrated chili mac. Maybe not the best choice, seeing as how this tiny campground was sans toilet, but it all worked out in the end. It was a chilly first night in the bed of the truck, but my down jacket had fully dried from my sweat-fest the day prior. So that, plus most of the clothes I packed, layered over me and being inside my down sleeping bag worked out pretty well. I tend to get a lot better night's sleep when I'm inside a truck or camper, as opposed to a tent. Peace of mind from the elements and critters that always seem to be somewhat of a pest. I've had bears and porcupines fuck with me at night before, and I've been flooded out and woken up with 6 inches of snow on my vestibule. So truck was a solid call. For the next day, I dicked around that same area, exploring and fishing and riding my bike. I spent one more night at tiny campground, with no other campers in sight. Now, in hindsight, I'm not sure if this campground was closed or not. Later in my trip--starting the next day on the Blue River, is when I discovered that all the campgrounds shut down. Maybe tiny campground was an exception? Who knows. Who cares. It was perfect. After another chilly night, but one that was more comfortable due to a bit of familiarity, I headed out. Oddly, my guidebooks did not take me further west to Almont and Gunnison--rookie mistake. I instead backtracked to BV, through Leadville, and spilled out onto I-70 en route to Silverthorne and the Blue River. ....tbc |
AuthorI am Earl. Archives
May 2024
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