I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about happiness the last few days. It is a complicated subject, with a lot of intricate, moving parts, meshing, turning the whole machine, carefully balanced . It could be something you do, or it might be the way you do something. It might be something you see, or it might be how you see something. It’s probably all of these things in a mixture that changes every day. You have to make an effort, I guess.
Straight out from the dock is a small, almost square island. On a sandy point that juts out from the northeast corner were several turkey buzzards, fascinating birds. They float so gracefully in the air, drifting majestically, soaring in wide, almost perfect circles. But, on the ground they look, clumsy, cruel, malignant. The contrast is irresistible, it makes me smile, kind of like life. If you look at it from a distance it is perfect, get closer and the cracks, blemishes and scars begin to show.
As I paddled closer to get a picture they turned and glared at me. They were probably thinking “come back when you’re dead.” My cousin and a friend from New Zealand thought they might have seen my watery flop and thought I was a goner. Which would have explained the baleful look. Nothing quite so disappointing as watching your dinner get up, rinse the mud of his pants with lake water and paddle away. Unless it comes over and wants to take a few photos.
After getting several blurry, out of focus shots (I carry my phone in a water proof floating case and it makes the photos a little filmy, plus I am a lousy photographer) of my bird friends I took off for the open water.It was amazing, I just cruised. I thought “man, all this kayaking is really starting to pay off,” It was smooth sailing. I felt invincible, a machine, Hercules with a double bladed paddle. One powerful stroke sent me shooting silently across the muddy water. It was bliss.
Until I turned around and started heading back. All of the current was flowing out, into the lake, away from the slippery dock and the carrion birds. Every inch was a struggle, and if I stopped for a drink the flow would turn my little boat around and start pushing me out and away from my car, from my home, my family on to a life of a watery nomad, destined to drift across Hoover Reservoir for all eternity. I moved closer to shore, thinking it would be less work there. Not close enough to be under the trees, where snakes, spiders and ticks were waiting to drop and feast on a poor tired paddler.
Finally, I made it back, carried my boat to my car, sat down and had a cold bottle of carbonated water, so cold there were tiny chips of ice floating in the bottle. It was Ice Mountain, one of my favorites, calorie free, sugar free, no caffeine and a taste that made falling into the water seem worth it. And I was pretty happy.
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Previously Published on Life, Explained and is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: iStock
