I like to ask people what’s their why behind kayaking. Especially the older paddlers who’ve lived through tragedy on the water. What keeps you coming back, even when you know first hand how much the river can take. I’ve gotten all kinds of responses, but I’m always most inspired by the people who tell me how the river shaped them. That the river isn’t just a fun place they go to kayak, but its become a close friend. A place to experience inexplicable joy. That when the world stops making sense, the river stays.
—————— This also feels most similar to my experience of the world and the river. Each morning I wake up and there’s usually news about another shooting at a synagogue, an anti-trans bill, a thousand miles of clear cut forest. I go to the supermarket and know there are millions of people starving across the world. That when I turn on the air conditioning, it’s likely directly pulling from the Colorado River, which is, as we speak, drying up. To be frank, I think most people choose to ignore this reality. That our very existence requires sacrifice, even now, when we’re so very separate from the interconnected side of living. The worst part is that each of us are simply doing the best we can. The farmers who are spraying their fields must do so to keep up with demand and constantly lowering subsidies on their products. The states in the West must pull from the Colorado as millions of people rely on it for energy or water. Nothing is as simple as it appears and while we’re all likely trying to live better, more sustainable lives, so much progress is still needed. —————— This is what exists in my brain at any given moment. The impending doom of human overconsumption. The ever present implications of a colonial society that values conquering and success and isn’t always aware of what it demolishes in the process. And of course, the fact that my very existence makes me a target. That simply the intersections of my identity put me in uncomfortable and sometimes unsafe situations. Driving through Idaho. Using the restroom. Speaking up when there’s a micro aggression made against me or other minorities. So, to put it lightly, I’m pretty frequently overwhelmed and exhausted. Sometimes that’s by choice. The choice to refuse to ignore these pressing realities, even if in the process I exhaust myself. But often, its simply me absorbing what’s going on around me. Letting it all in without filter. —————— But what does this have to do with my passion for kayaking I hear you saying. Put simply, the river doesn’t discriminate. It doesn’t consider the people who paddle it any differently. It doesn’t weed me out, or make me feel like an outsider because of my identity. It can’t. Additionally, the river feels ancient. The same waters we paddle in today were once the pee of dinosaur’s. I know, a little gross, but that’s also incredible. That we exist on a planet with a closed loop water cycle. A water cycle that’s worked so perfectly to manage the billions of creatures that have, do, and will exist. That even with the massive strain we’ve put on this system, it’s still holding, and, that if we lessen this strain, it will work perfectly. The river reminds me that nature knows what works. And that we’re a part of that. That even today where it feels like humans are screwing everything up, there are solutions. Solutions that require us to reconnect with the world around us. To stop trying to separate ourselves from each other, the planet, and each other. You can’t be on the river and be separate. You are leaving a mark, visible or invisible. More marks will come, but yours will still be there. Forever. And the river makes me want to leave a good one.
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