This essay originally appeared in Canoeroots and Family Camping magazine.
What am I supposed to be looking for out here in this canoe? I’m suspicious of how easy it is to zone out, rarely thinking about anything more profound than what’s for dinner.
It’s certainly not because I have all the answers to life’s more difficult quandaries. Can time spent in the Boundary Waters, Adirondacks or Algonquin really provide answers to my questions about life back home? Can hours spent on a webbed seat, kneeling, bug-bitten and sun-baked, really change my outlook on work? My relationships? My path in life? These things creep into my head when I’m out for a paddle.
Most of the time, however, I don’t think about them at all. Instead, I’m focused on the heat, the location of the next portage marker, the bugs, my aching shoulders or, most often, my next meal. My brain is just as scattered here as it is when I’m hours—or days—away, at my desk, behind the wheel of my car or lying awake at night. The meaning of life flits through my mind, then quickly gets pushed aside by the need to hit the shore for a pit stop.
I’ve spent entire Saturday afternoons contemplating the placement of a barrel and portage pack in my canoe, optimizing balance, tilt and access. Then, when I’m back at the car, tying down the boat, I become addled with guilt over not taking advantage of my surroundings to meditate on life.
Isn’t it enough to pick a route, enjoy a different place and relax with a paddle in my hands? Should I be trying to find myself? Is that really what I’m supposed to be doing out here?
So, I force the questions. I try more demanding routes to push myself, hoping to prove what I’m capable of. I slow down, be more mindful and write it all down in my Moleskine.
People are always talking about finding themselves while paddling. Bloggers broadcast mysterious deep sentiments revealed by cedar and canvas. Sales pitches promise journeys of self-discovery. People recently returned from trips glow with an aura that suggests a life-changing event.
This trip, these adventures, this paddle—they’re supposed to mean something. And maybe they do. But when I look back, I’ve never really been able to recognize a life-defining passage while it’s happening. It’s in sharing stories around the campfire circle on future trips, or in flipping back through old journals years later that I gain the perspective that I want so badly to find right away.
I snap myself out of it and focus. How much deep thought and soul-searching is enough to figure it all out? Do I really need to try so hard? I’m not sure. But I know I’m hungry. And, for now, that’ll have to be enough.
This article originally appeared in Canoeroots & Family Camping, Fall 2012. Download our freeiPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it here.
