LOST

This is the last post in the Getting Lost series. I have written about it in the past, but somehow I missed the connection between what I was feeling and writing, and the theme covered in this series. Out of all the relationships that were damaged by the abortion, there is one that I seem powerless to repair. Out of all the people who I pushed away, there is one relationship that I have been unable to reconcile.

I am talking about myself.

It is hard to describe, but the abortion changed me on a deep and fundamental level. I can look at myself in the mirror, and I can not see that person I was before the abortion. He wasn’t perfect by a long shot, but he had some qualities that are no longer there. He was stronger than I am. There was never a challenge that put him off. He was an outdoorsman and and adventurer. He climbed mountains for no other reason than to see what the world looked like from the top. If you told him he couldn’t do something, he would move heaven and earth to prove, not to you, but to himself, that he could. He literally walked with heroes, and while I am not sure he was one himself, he wanted to be. He spent much of his early military career trying to break into Special Operations, and it was only later that a change in structure allowed him to leave his field and pursue that goal. At 35 years old, he earned his Green Beret. Not the oldest person to ever do so, but the oldest in his selection group by many years.

There was always some goal, some effort that he directed his energy towards. He was a rock climber and mountaineer, so he was constantly training and practicing to improve both skill and stamina. He was an avid mountain biker, and while he loved flying recklessly down some trail, his greatest pleasure was in what he affectionately called a “Hell Ride” The worse the weather, the more difficult the ascent, the more people who looked at him like he was crazy for putting himself thru that torture, the happier he was. There were always others that were stronger, faster, better in some way, but those were the people who inspired him. He was just never afraid to try.

That guy is gone. I have tried to re-connect with him on occasion. A few years ago, a friend asked me to teach him how to climb. I was reluctant at first, but I agreed. I went thru my gear, and decided that most of it was too old to trust my life to, so I went on a shopping spree to replace ropes, harnesses, slings, etc. We went to a local sport climbing crag, and I roped up. While the last 25 years had taken it’s toll and I couldn’t manage what I had in the past, It didn’t take long for my muscles to remember what to do.

I thought I had reached some milestone, crossed some threshold, and the old me was being somehow resurrected, but almost as quickly I realized that while I could bring those skills back to life, there was no joy in it. It actually felt more like a chore. I gave it a few more tries, and I suppose that I will do so again, but most of that new gear I purchased either sits unused in a foot locker, or loaned to my friend.

That is one example, and really the only one I will describe here, but it is a theme. Wherever I have looked for that old me, I can find remnants, and memories, but he isn’t there any more. There is no joy, no higher aspirations, no direction that seems worthy of more than just getting thru the day and into the next one.

I miss that guy. I wish I knew where he was.