“I didn’t go camping”

On Mondays in my first year in kindergarten, the ECE and I used to ask the kids what they had done the previous weekend. We would go around the room with a microphone so that each kid got the chance to speak and be heard. But after a December day when 9 kids in a row said that they had gone to the beach the previous weekend I realized that what we were doing wasn’t working. The nearby beach was wind-whipped and frigid in December. Nobody would have taken their kids there that weekend. The first kid to say it had obviously been thinking of a trip from the summer. Then the other kids just repeated what they had heard. They must not have been comfortable with the whole thing. Maybe they froze and just repeated what others had said because it was a safe answer that had worked for others. Either way, it wasn’t authentic and so I stopped putting the kids through it.

One day, while we were still doing the weekend recaps, a student said that they had gone camping. Given that it was November, I assume that they were actually recalling an event that happened in the summer. Nevertheless, a bunch of other kids picked up the idea and said that they too had gone camping. Afterwards, when the kids were busying themselves with other activities, a little boy came up to me with tears welling up in his eyes. He said to me, slowly, and with great sadness, “I didn’t go camping.” I tried to comfort him by saying, “That’s o.k. I didn’t go camping either! I’m sure you will get to go camping again one day.” He just stood there, bottom lip pushed out, staring off into deep memories. Then, suddenly there was a spark, his eyes widened, and his lips broke into a smile. He turned to me and said, “Hey! Marshmallows are good!”

I am far from an outdoorsman, but I really enjoy camping when the weather is nice. For a few years in a row, back when I was in the kitchen renovation business, I went camping once a year in the Adirondacks of upstate New York. On my first trip, I stayed the first night at Cranberry Lake. I remember the air. I am an asthmatic and when it is very humid, or the air quality is bad, I feel like I am willing a corpse into motion. I feel best when I am in the oxygenated air of a forest. At Cranberry Lake I remember the clean, dry late summer air, purified and filled with life by a hundred miles of forests in every direction. I felt the best that I have ever felt in my life. I travelled and camped at different sites for a few days, doing scenic hikes along the way, and then I drove through the green mountains of Vermont and then down to Boston where I visited a friend from university who I hadn’t seen in years. He took me to a game at Fenway Park (the Toronto Blue Jays happened to be visiting) and, when he and his wife had to go to work, I went to a beach and had what I am told is a classic New England experience. It was the hottest weekend of the year, 35 degrees Celsius, 95 degrees American (I know there is a proper word, but it is hard to spell), and not a cloud in the sky. But even though it was late August, the ocean off the coast of Boston was still very cold. So, I walked out until the water was around 3 feet deep and I alternated between standing up until I could no longer stand the heat and sitting down/swimming around until I could no longer stand the cold.

I do not have any photos from my trips to the Adirondacks, so I found this picture on Unsplash.com I hiked to this same spot and enjoyed this same view.

That was my first vacation in years, and even though I was only gone for 5 days, I felt like it lasted me the next 6 months, if not longer. By that I mean that for a long time I felt rejuvenated, as if I had just returned from vacation.

That is a happy memory. I sometimes have random flashbacks to happy memories of childhood. They just come on their own. They are usually memories of peaceful places and scenery. They make me realize that I am very blessed to have lived a mostly happy and peaceful life. Being a teacher, I know that isn’t the case for everyone. I fear that children who spend all their time on tablets won’t have so many foundational peaceful memories to lean on later in life.

One of my favourite happy vacation memories is from a trip to India. At the time, I was tired of waiting for my future. I had been working long hours at the kitchen business for years, dedicating all my time and energy to that, my prayer life, my health, and my spiritual disciplines. I was hoping that my Guru would tell me I was ready for whatever great thing I was destined to do. Maybe he would give me a mission. Maybe he would give me a challenge. Maybe he would invite me to stay in India and be a renunciate yogi like him for a few years before sending me back home in triumph. That had been my dream for a long time. But instead of that, there was nothing. He was happy to see me (he was always happy), and he was very good to me (he was good to everyone), but I didn’t receive any special attention. The trip was very good for me though. Each member of my family had gone to India with my dad at some point. My brother had been twice, and I was told that he made quite the impression. Everyone loved him there. They always asked my dad and I how my brother was doing. I could see how they smiled as they thought of him. One time I asked my dad if people in India ask about me when he is there, and I am not. My dad thought for a few seconds and simply said, “No.” in a way that didn’t hurt my feelings but made me think.

That’s me on the bench on the left.

When I had visited my Guru’s ashram in previous trips, it was with some pride. I thought of myself as another yogi, like him, in development. I never thought that I would be as pure, holy, and elevated as he was. But I definitely thought of myself as a future “somebody”. I probably carried myself an arrogant star of a junior hockey team who assumes that he is headed for the NHL. Add in the language barriers and my desire to keep to a meditation schedule and I guess I came off as cold. My brother, on the other hand, is just a warm, gentle, and humble guy who has no aspirations of being anything other than who and what he is. He was just grateful to be there.

On this particular trip I was by myself, without my dad. So, I decided that I would make an effort to be friendly and outgoing with the people who lived at or near my Guru’s ashram. I smiled more. When people waved me over, I went over and sat or stood with them, even though we couldn’t understand each other. Sometimes they wanted to give me some food or clothing or show me something. I found ways to still joke around even without words. I tried to just relax and give people my time, rather than always rushing back to make sure that I meditated for this or that length of time. One day I sat for a long time on a bench outside my Guru’s house while he was busy with some other guests. I had been hoping that he would finally invite me in and change my life somehow. But instead, I waited there for hours, just staring at the sky until, eventually, I was at peace. Instead of a life-changing event, I found the peace of a clear mind and an open heart. Eventually my Guru did invite me in. We just smiled and small talked a little bit and then he went off to his meditation chamber and I went out to walk around and see who would wave me over that day.

That is a happy memory.