Outlive the Bastards

I caught myself thinking critically about my most recent career choice as I packed up my life yesterday. I had stumbled across a laminated quotation that I always carry with me to remind me of my passions and what is truly important.

“One final paragraph of advice: do not burn yourselves out. Be as I am - a reluctant enthusiast....a part-time crusader, a half-hearted fanatic. Save the other half of yourselves and your lives for pleasure and adventure. It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it’s still here. So get out there and hunt and fish and mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, climb the mountains, bag the peaks, run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and contemplate the precious stillness, the lovely, mysterious, and awesome space. Enjoy yourselves, keep your brain in your head and your head firmly attached to the body, the body active and alive, and I promise you this much; I promise you this one sweet victory over our enemies, over those desk-bound men and women with their hearts in a safe deposit box, and their eyes hypnotized by desk calculators. I promise you this; You will outlive the bastards.” 

-Edward Abbey

I will be at a desk a lot of the time for my next job as a director at a camp. I won't be leading as many hikes outside--I have moved away from the mountains. Have a sold my soul for stability and healthcare benefits? Have I forgotten the passion? Have I lost the razor-edge that made me sharp and special? Or...am I just missing him through time?

I have the sneaking suspicion that the only reason I am asking these questions is because I don't want to leave him here. I don't want to count down the days we have left together (7), or the fact that he doesn't seem to be counting. 

I think I did what every mistress is warned to never do--I thought somewhere in my heart that he would fight for me--when he doesn't even posses enough courage to fight for himself and his own happiness. 

It's time to rear up and kick hooves into the air, demanding the freedom and happiness I have set up for my future self. No more excuses. No more sorry examples of men. (Well, at least I will stop seeing this one). 

I need to remember the parts of this affair that made me feel happy and powerful, and toss the rest to the wind. A mistress should never forget to smile. We get the best of the men, and never have to deal with the dirty nitty-gritty life-leaching crap that is real life.

Here's to the fantasy, the wine, and the new beginnings I will be embracing soon! 

Cheers.