A Triangle is the Most Stable Object in the Universe - Part 1 (of 3)

---

We meet at K-Mart. Being one of the emptiest lots in town, it’s very obvious to spot a carpoolee. I recognize two people right away, they’ve been on hikes I’ve lead before. The other guy is new. We are gathered here today for the 13 mile trek. ...the last planned distance hike of the year.

Clara is an elder. She is sweet, old enough to be my grandmother, and tough. She’d been on our 10 mile hike to the lake earlier in the season. And there’s Donald, the stout mustached man, with thigh thick calves… he’d been on the recent state park leisure hike. He appears today with two poles dressed in gear suitable for a week-long backpacking trip in the wilderness. I check him out… far out …a gigantic orange pack complete with a tiny tin cup attached. Chip stands solo and smiles…he’s the new guy with a hat and sad eyes. I love the random constellation we’ve become.

Outdoor leadership. Some about knowing directions, a lot about courage to meet whomever arrives. Sure, there is also the willingness to trust that nature will be kind, and the hope that I know myself well enough to have faith that I can handle what 13 miles of wilderness hiking will do with a group of anyone.

“Okay. Shortest in back - long legs, up front with me.”

I look around. All of us are over 5’8. I don’t think Donald can fit in the back of my car.

“Donald you can bring your poles up here with me.”

Clara and Chip fold themselves into the back area of my two door coupe.

“Car yoga.”

I say…to butter up the moment of the tight squeeze. Grunts and groans.

I drive with my knees near my belly….like a kid on an outgrown trike.

Who are you? What do you do? Why do you go outside, when did you first go outside? Where are you from? Car chatter to trailhead. Free-form group melding on the way to the trail is always like this, feeling one another out in ways we know how ……through questions about who we think someone is, from the point of reference of who we think we are. I get curious.

I watch the curve of the road, and I watch how I engage. Here I am, politely dividing my attention between all people. I make contact with everyone on the ride, especially the new guy. I’m a polite driver too. I see the road, I follow the speed limit. I check for animals and passenger comfort. And today…I know, rather I accurately sense ….that I am the only one who saw what came up around the bend, just over the lake. And I am glad. It gives me time to think.

A roadside hunter, complete with rifle.

Huh?

Surely, I checked the dates correctly. Yes, I remember, right? First day of hunting season November 14th, 2011 or was that of 2010. 35 minutes later, six miles down the gravel road…Crap.

A familiar trailhead, unfamiliar trucks….dozens.

I hate the way nervous laughter feels, the way it stiffens my face…like coughing up a handful of dimes from a dry throat. Sound comes out, but no true motion happens, laughter devoid of humor… blarg. I circle around the brigade of pickups and wedge into a spot.

BANG.

I see it come up. I swallow it. That memory …anxiety… childhood playing out in Technicolor vision.

Being shot, being shot, I’m going to be shot.

I see mom cursing, gritting her teeth at trucks of roadside hunters….every time…. I see every time she slowed the van down to scowl. I see little me sinking down, in the back seat please, don’t see me. She hated anyone who killed anything.

Oh god, I’m going to get shot. I’m the sacrifice. I’m always the sacrifice.

…funny how things like that happen. I think of mom. She may lose me today, maybe that’s why the hatred was so primal…maybe she was having premonitions of the future. Of how her only daughter, might die …. could be a direct shot, or a stray bullet. My hands feel fuzzy.

Outdoor leadership…Making decisions like this.

BANG.

The four of us are joined by three more. We stand in a small, closed circle. I look around. Who is wearing orange, two of the seven. Who is unknowingly wearing white, two others. When does leadership turn from the guise of wise autocracy to a moment of real humanity?

“Look everyone, I’m a bit concerned.”

A bit concerned. I squeeze my tingling hands.

“I thought rifle hunting season didn’t start until the 14th, two days from now.”

BANG.

“I was wrong….so…..how does everyone feel about this?”

BANG.

Half the group shrugs, the rest look down. Fuck.

I remember in outdoor leadership training we talked about moving through styles of leadership during the course of an event, like a hike. We talked about when it is appropriate to be autocratic,

“Everyone, we are doing this now.”

Or democratic,

“What do you all think about this?”

Or, laissez faire,

“I’m just holding space, talk to me if you need me.”

I notice myself. I am most comfortable with a democratic style of leadership, with finding consensus or polling a group. This type of leadership is not helpful at the moment. The group needs someone to make a clear decision. The group doesn’t need someone to take a poll. Oh God, this type of responsibility. Oh God, taking responsibility. This lesson. Not Today.

BANG.

Yes, today.

I am the leader after all.

….Couldn’t accepting responsibility and taking a stand 101 been in another location…indoors…

I try to see the moment. Is this hike dangerous? Or, is it filtered fear through my thought lens that makes this hike seem dangerous?

BANG.

I stumble into my child self. I’m roaming around our house after dark. Everyone’s asleep. I check our doors, lock the windows, I belly crawl on the ground to avoid being shot.

What was that?! The wind rustling a bush….

What was that!? Our cat shifting through the hall…

With heightened sense, I sneak around hiding from potential threats. I crawl up the stairs on my stomach checking under the bed, pulling up into the sheets.

BANG.

The group waits.

“Okay….Let’s go.”

I said it.

“We’ll put an orange person in the front, and an orange person in the back.”

I step ahead.

“Excuse me.”

He says. We turn.

“Don’t you all have something orange to wear?”

The black man at the wheel of the law enforcement SUV smiles wide.

“You know how many city people out there are shooting today?”

Silence.

Yes I do...painfully aware in fact… probably every one of those trucks filling the parking lot…at least.

“Well, they’ll shoot at anything that moves.”

Well….

I turn to the group, I see Donald. He’s not worried. He points to me.

“We’re going to put her up front, she is wearing orange.”

Christ.

“Well, I can’t make all of you wear orange…so if any of you get shot, that hunter is going to jail…they shouldn’t be that close to the trail anyway…so…”

We were waiting for him to finish.

“So…stay on the trail.”

Stay on the trail.

Mile 1. I follow my trapped breath; it’s locked in cage just below my solar plexus. It’s like a small fist pushing me back, or picking away at something …a persisting threat, like lingering on the cliff edge of the descent into a hole of dread. Dan follows me close,

“The hunters won’t bother us, I’m around them everyday at work.”

BANG.

Do I believe Dan?

He senses me.

“Ya, I think we are going to be okay Dan.”

Do I believe myself?

Okay self, so how are you going to navigate this?

“Well, I am really fast to hit the ground, I am wearing orange, plus…It will most likely not be me who will be shot, it will be one of my group.

One of my group.”

One of my group, whom I’m now responsible for leading into the wilderness. Ugh.

It will be one of the group members in white, while they are squatting to pee in the woods.

I turn back shouting past Dan.

“Okay! Stay on the trail, if you go off to pee, be mindful carry something bright.”

Some of the group hears me, a few do not. Most are absorbed in the grouping function.

Ya...Be mindful of those with guns who may shoot when we squat to pee.

A child in an orange hat approaches. He has a rifle on his back. He is being led by and older man, they are dressed the same. I see the glare in the child’s eyes… it burns a hole through the ground. Intense. A certain thing happens in me when I see anyone with a rifle strapped to their back, and another thing happens when that person is a child. They pass. I sense the soldier in the child’s past constellation, a great grandfather…. tromping trenches …he is so little, but he looks like he has always done this.

Please don’t see me as an enemy.

My plea is evoked by their passing…yikes. It feels deep…it’s not just the hunters in passing, or the the hiding from fake snipers as a child. And I don’t think it is just the formative material learned from the vengeful moments with mom and her mission. There is something else involved,

Please don’t see me as an enemy.

It is reoccurring. Unfinished business. This stuff has got a hold on me.

Please don’t see me as an enemy.

….its thinking me, again.

BANG.

Dan walks at my heels.

“Don’t worry, it’s almost mid-day. The bullets will come less and less.”

BANG.

I tune into the ladies at the tail of the group. Their talk is loud. Thank God for extroverts….anyone will hear us coming, and the deer will scatter.

Every type serves a vital function, somewhere.

Bathed in chatter… I slip out of the thought haunt into the life of the group. We hike, Mile 2.

---

Comments

[amy]

wow!
more please...

[Todd Schwartz]

Love it.
Thanks for sharing. ~T