Chapter Three / Enchanted Forest Redux
One of my favoritest people on the planet (Mr. Dave of Peanut Butter Pie fame) and I howled with laughter the other night on the phone. Have you ever laughed so hard that what spews out is a combination of animal barking, gasping, dry coughing, and unintelligible explanatory words all the while weeping with laughter tears?
It’s one of the true delights of deep friendship.
I was trying to explain to Dave how UTTERLY TERRIFYING it was to be running through a darkening redwood forest eluding serial killers and sleek-muscled cougars. All the while I tried to portray myself as a victim of shortened winter days, awful trail signage…
Dave’s refrain was the same incredulous question: “Yeah, but didn’t you KNOW that it was late in the day when you arrived? I mean, you KNEW night was approaching, right?”
I would pause and then reply, “Perhaps you didn’t hear me explain the part about the absent trail markers.”
Oh, he was sympathetic at first. And we were giggling while I was explaining my fear of Nike-Zombies and flesh-devouring Redwood trees. That’s how it begins - the giggling. The snickering.
And then I had to confess the next ugly part: it happened again, roughly a week later.
“What happened again?” asked Dave.
I explained how I *somehow* ended up alone in a redwood forest at dusk on Christmas Eve. Different redwood forest. But roughly 8 days after the first experience. Cue the mountain lions, serial killers, and zombie attacks. And while I wasn’t quite as lost as the previous week, nevertheless I was still pretty far from the park entrance when the sun zipped out of the sky.
“You can’t be serious.” Dave’s voice raised in mild alarm. “Again? A week later?”
I swear I could actually hear him thumping his head against the wall on the other end.
There’s a point at when horror with someone else’s behavior turns into humor.
Dave’s chuckles started linking together to form a rippling wave. “You…(laughter) did this to yourself…again (laughter) …”
“Oh, it gets better.” I told him.
***
There’s a little story that goes with this tale, taught to me by my buddy Stephen. It’s called:
My Life In Four Chapters
Chapter One: I’m walking down the street and I see a giant pit in the middle of the street. I get too close and fall in.
Chapter Two: I’m walking down the street and I think to myself, ‘hey, this is that street with the giant pit in it.’ I get too close and I fall in.
Chapter Three: I’m walking down that same street and think to myself, ‘hey this is that street with the giant pit. I fell in a couple times before. I should avoid it this time.’ Then, I fall in the pit.
Chapter Four: I take a different street.
Most of us spend our life in Chapter Three: walking down the same street, knowing there’s a giant pit ahead, knowing that we’ve already fallen in it once or twice before, warning ourselves to be smarter this time, be more aware this time…and then falling in again.
I remember a friend of mine once saying to me, “God, this is the fourth person I’ve had a fight with this week about money. Why is everyone so focused on money?”
Good question. Why is EVERYONE ELSE so focused on money?
That would be Chapter Three.
***
I laughingly explained to Dave that this time it was different…this time…I…I…
Dave was beyond listening. “AGAIN?” He howled. “You did this to yourself AGAIN? Do you WANT to be eaten by zombie mountain lions?”
Well, to be completely honest…I did it twice more. In addition to being in Montgomery Woods on Christmas Eve just after sunset, I was in the same forest on Christmas Day.
After sunset.
And while I had BIG INTENTIONS to get out of the forest before sunset, I got caught up in the search for the tallest tree and suddenly there I was again in a redwood forest at sunset.
Any explanations I tried to offer were lost in the hacking, whooping sounds from Dave’s end of the phone.
“Oh my god…” he wheezed, “three times in ONE WEEK…”
This would set us off again.
Chapter Three.
“And nobody knew where you were…” he gasped for air.
Sometimes the best warrior work is to laugh at the Chapter Three situations I create for myself and cherish the ‘how did I get here?’ moments, to embrace them.
This coming weekend I’m headed to another redwood forest.
Alone.
My intention is to be in the forest by 10:00 a.m. so I have plenty of time to roam before sunset.
Dave is not sure this is such a good idea.