When I first decided to spend the winter out here, I thought the biggest challenge would be the isolation; the inability to get to pavement, a store, a service, an item, etc. could limit the way one moves in today’s world. Turns out, that part is a piece of cake. I grew up in the middle of nowhere with eighty acres to wander with nary a neighbor in sight. I grew up very much alone, isolated, taught to only reflect inward. Skills all handy on my little mountain top.
Had a dental ‘situation’ this week that was readily handled, but what about during the snowed in phase(s)? What about the fourteen year old dog and his needs? I cannot expect him to hike to or fro, with or without snowshoes. Much of this weighs upon a man at times. Much of this is worry. As Louis L’Amour aptly stated, ‘Worrying is like planning how to cross a river you might never come to.” And thus I move along.
Been attempting to heal an old wound though, this one follows me everywhere. After a life of living with no regrets, oh, I have one now. It haunts me. Keeps me from sleep. Makes me beg for time travel to re-do the experience. It goes to bed, usually with me, and oft lies dormant for days, weeks, and recently months, but then she returns, and she is fresh and present and something I yet have managed to properly scope the impact upon. The man I am, would be, and will be, would be on a very different trajectory.
Perhaps this is why I am here. Everyone gives me ‘looks’, big eyes, exclamations, when I tell them I plan to winter here. So be it. The physical part is easy. A man still carries his wounds, as well as his rewards, wherever he may wander, settle, or feel at home.
Any great insights on how to settle a past regret? This experience is new to me. And oh, she does eat at me still; how to remove these tendrils eludes me.
