Date: 2007-06-15
To: View Entry
Miles today: 0.0

I dunno if I mentioned that in the weeks prior to my thru-hike, I¢m working at Camp Thunder Boy Scout Reservation, teaching America¢s most conservative youth about Darwin and global warming, breeding the next generation of hippie environmentalists like AIDS in the Republican antibody. The following is a letter to myself, written a few nights back, covering general thoughts and weaknesses; I thought A.T. folks might be interested:I¢ve had several mentors in my life, but the subject of tonight¢s rant is one Aaron Cardwell. Tonight I¢ve done a considerable amount of self-contemplation, and it occurs to me that I have become my mentor¢s replacement. At camp, it¢s easy to find a new identity, and I¢ve become the guy who smokes a pipe, has an obnoxiously large keychain with a bare minimum of keys, sings off-key and off-rhythm so loud the astronauts complain, talks in constant joke references, has years of experience, offers sound advice, is the first to count on when it really matters, and refuses to take a position of authority. These are precisely the traits of the people I looked up to when I was a little younger. I get it now. I met Aaron several years ago, before I had established myself as a senior figure in camp. We became close friends as we understood each other¢s humor, brought complimentary skills to the table, shared a passion for being a jack-of-all-trades, and both held a loathing for authority figures. However, throughout our comradery it was always clear that he was the tutor and I the student. Now, years after he left camp, I am in his position, waiting for a successor to pass on the legacy. Strangely enough, I almost need someone to continue in my footsteps before I can really move on, just as Aaron stayed around until I was ready to take the reigns. It¢s a weird feeling to start seeing potential in kids instead of judging them as equals, but like this year¢s staff it¢s great to see so much potential in the midst of success.During my first summers at Thunder, I hoped Allen and I would become Seth and Chris, the centerpiece figures whom everyone built their confidence around. Though their humor was kept in check to appease the mainstream, they both possess a charisma which any ancient emperor would envy. These guys are the real thing, genuine positive role models who belong in history books (cabin antics aside). Somewhere along the way, though, my taste in jokes, attributes, women, etc. (outlandish behavior and a refusal to tame in public) made me diverge from their influence, simply enjoy a small company of close friends and let the rest take care of itself. Right now, I feel I¢m more inclined than Aaron to fulfill the needs of the masses, to positively reinforce the up-and-comers, but at the same time I realize that simply imitating someone else¢s style is dishonest. Instead I must solidify for myself the identity which gathers as much attention as the people I admire. For as long as I can remember I¢ve been in continual self-assessment, contemplating whether or not I¢m ¢cool.¢ The best part of scouts is that at Thunder the high-school-outcasts can become the funniest and most popular guys around. I¢ve come to the conclusion that ¢cool¢ is who you¢re around, and people who peak at prom have no grasp of the meaning of words like ¢cool.¢ Of course, it must also be stated that I am in constant fear of becoming a pompous jerk. Fortunately, I¢ve rarely been concerned with whether or not I fit in or if people like me, but the opposite scenario is just as frightening; if every joke gets a laugh, if you build yourself up too much, and start to think you¢re the coolest cat around, you might as well put on that high-school football jersey and start picking on the nerdy kid with glasses who you¢re going to work for one day. But I digress.The global point is this: growing up is hard to admit, and this A.T. thing coincides with graduation, a dozen other issues and whole slew of maturation. A few days ago a staff member said offhandedly ¢when I was still in buckskin, Sunshine was commissioner (campspeak translation: Obie¢s been here/done that since the stone age).¢ I¢ve never felt old before. It was kinda neat. Sometimes it¢s nice to be the one people rely on, it¢s nice to be respected and trusted and counted on for approval. Especially when you¢re good at what you do. But there are a few times when all you want is to be taken care of and have no responsibilities. I guess it¢s easier when you¢re part of a team. Whenever you have a weakness the partner is there to pick up the slack, not to mention the invaluable boost in confidence which really does make your jokes funnier and your step lighter. I feel sorry for any lone hero. Yeah, glory and honor and all that sorry sack of poo, but when it comes down to brass tacks if you¢re by yourself you¢re incomplete. I don¢t know if I¢ll be able to finish the A.T.; maybe the reason all this is on my mind is that it¢s only a matter of weeks away and I might actually have to go through with this, finally man-up to all my bull$#!t talk-talk-talk. But I hope that either I¢ll find peace being the lone ranger, or by some mistake or miracle my gaps will be filled (that¢s what SHE said! Don¢t get your hopes up for maturity quite yet). Regardless, I¢m starting strong come hell or high water, and somewhere along the way I¢ll find out what I¢m made of. If anyone ever reads this, I hope you don¢t think I¢m a lunatic. A few beers, a very few hours of sleep and a looming sense of uncertainty have teamed up to produce some of the most disastrously introspective writing I¢ve ever put down. Well, time for the last of the booze and off to bed.-Obizzle