For me it was the summer of 2008. I was unemployeed. I had no idea what God wanted me to do. But I had just made a crap load of money due to an employer letting me leave early from a job. And I wanted to take on life. Not everything was so bad.
In June, I went to a screenwriting convention with my buddy Jeb and had the opportunity to meet with junior executives from all over Hollywood. Then in July I went on a trip throughout the southwest. I traveled the Grand Canyon...
And I visited Bedrock City...the home of Fred Flintstone...
...and that was by far the high point of my journey...
I traveled throughout Utah, New Mexico, Colorado, Arizona, and Nevada.
I slept in the smallest town in Utah (Green River), met a New Mexico Hooters waitress who shared mutual friends with me in Santa Barbara, visited the Olympic Training Center, got lost on a highway that didn't have any clear lefts, rights, or directions, and ended the trip in Las Vegas, where I figured out I had a gambling problem...
Upon my return home I was offered a free trip to go white water rafting on the Kern River with wrestling coach friend of mine, Steve Lawson. Steve is one of the most accomplished wrestlers in California history. He was a National Champion in Greco Roman wrestling, won a state championship, won three Southern Section Masters Championships, and was a high school All American.
He also likes to buy me lunch
and breakfast a lot, and that's
the greatest aspect of his character.
So when he invited me and our buddy Gerardo to get in a raft and hit the Kern, I figured, what would be a better way to end the summer than do an exciting outdoor activity...
...of course I should have been a tad more worried after reading this sign posted before entering the wilderness of the Kern River...
That's right! 257 dead!
And I was almost 258 twice...
First, I found out the hard way I couldn't swim when the guide told me to jump in the water. That was a stupid mistake. Then when the boat flipped, I was given the blame. But when you're short and fat, everyone blames you for everything. No one blames tall people. Probably because you will need them later to grab stuff down from tall places.
Steve blames me. (Well not really, but that's the way the story is told.)
I still blame the little junior high boy who was a friend of Steve's son...but as a Man, I can't do that. So I'll take the rap...and the entire wrestling community has embraced my near death encounter by having me retell the story at every tournament I go to...
So there you go.
The Summer of '08.
Sadly, no summer since has compared...though this July I did get to go to Disneyland and see Captain America...but it's not quite like nearly dying in the middle of nowhere and while traveling the southwest fighting the weather as the storms, rain, and lightening tried to take my life from me...
Which brings me to my greater point. When do we feel more alive? When we are safe? When things are predictable? Or when we are on the edge?
When we are living, of course! Walking by faith and not by sight. When we see our lives flash before our eyes and the potential for disaster is hovering above like a vulture looking for the kill. That's when we feel like life is so real we could cut it with a butter knife.
So maybe that's why the last few summers have been so dull. I guess you aren't really living unless you are fighting off death. Ironic, huh?
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