COLUMN: The calm before the storm

    It’s one of those weeks. We all have them. The week that is so busy and packed that you have to remind yourself to breathe. I have a research project that has been piling up on me, a slideshow for a banquet later in the week which is only partially assembled, a need to plan my schedule for next year and find a summer job, a test tomorrow and I am working a night shift tonight.    Responsibilities, requirements and procrastination, a torrential flood of time demanding activities, rain down on me, an innocent bystander with no life jacket. It’s no longer a matter of trying to keep my head above water; it’s now a matter of trying to get back to the surface, or at least slow my sinking.

    I look at my planner, a disorderly mass of scrawled mandates in fine print, and consider setting it on fire. I could just walk away from this whole mess of the final weeks of school and live a minimalist lifestyle. Leave behind modern society and live off the land, foraging for food.

    This has a few positive implications. No more homework. No more work. No need for a day planner. Sleet begins to fall outside and I reconsider. Giving myself over to nature also means no home. It’s too large of a commitment in a bipolar season with an identity crisis; not quite winter, not quite spring.

    I turn back to my planner. I look at the to-do list that is growing twice as fast as I am crossing things off. The sleet pounds harder against the window and I know that I have to be strong. I need to finish the last few weeks of school, but it’s going to take some inspiration.

    A picture that is partially hidden under a stack of books catches my eye. Pulling it out, I take a moment to consider it. It is a picture of Paul K. Jones, Adventure Buddy Extraordinaire, rappelling down a sport route with run out bolts – way above my level – that somehow we had scrapped our way up. I had taken it last year, the week after finals.

    I think back on the trip. I had been stressed out of my mind, studying like crazy for finals, when my phone rang. My Dad said he had a bought a replacement engine for a dump truck in Vallejo, Calif., and wondered if I would be willing to pick it up. Seconds later, I called up Paul with an offer he couldn’t resist. In a few days, after finishing our last tests, we were in a huge flatbed truck with a hitch cover that said, “Git r Done!!!” driving southwest.

    Yosemite Valley is roughly a five-hour detour from Vallejo. I guess the allure of visiting one of the climbing meccas of the western hemisphere was worth it, because we made the drive.

    I look at the picture. A week before I had taken this picture, I had been in a situation just like this one. I take comfort in knowing there is a light at the end of the tunnel. The picture is proof that in a matter of days the floods of responsibilities, of tasks, and days without breathing room will recede. I feel a seed of hope take root inside me.

    It’s one of those weeks. We all have them. The week that is so busy and packed that you have to remind yourself to breathe, and you don’t know how you will survive. I smile and forget about the week and think about the weekend.

– Dusty Nash, graduate student in human movement science, rock climber, hiker, biker, camper, wilderness lover and outdoor enthusiast, can be reached at dustynash@gmail.com.