To Bluff or Not to Bluff.....

Lately, I've been playing poker.

It's an interesting game to me.

I, who takes pride in telling the truth and playing as few games with people as is humanly possible, really enjoy bluffing.

I love the idea that pretending you're winning can actually allow you to win.

I feel like a poker hand sometimes. Like nothing I have really adds up anything. I think we all do at one time or another. But we pretend....we bluff....so no one can tell. And sometimes, if we're good, we fool them all, and we win. Other times, we fold. Or we lose it all.

I could go on to quote a number of different ways that cards are a metaphor for life....but I think you get the picture.

One of the big differences between life and cards is this - if you bluff long enough in life, sometimes you forget you're bluffing.

Take working on a visitor center desk, for example.

Working in a visitor center can be exhausting. The people ebb and flow with the motion of a perpetual tide. The questions are neverending.

Some people can not handle working in a visitor center.

I, on the other hand, relish it. It is my bluff. My act. It makes me be a different person. A better person. No matter what is going on in my life, no matter what kind of mood I'm in, when I go out on the visitor center desk, I am at my best. Because I have to be.

A visitor to a national park does not care if I'm having a bad day. They won't even ask. If I don't give them my very best, they will judge not me, but my peers and my park.

"You're going there? Well, the rangers there weren't very friendly. We're not going back there."

So I don't have the luxury of being in a bad mood. Every contact I make with a visitor influences what they think about rangers, national parks, and maybe even the environment and conservation as a whole.

That's a lot of responsibility.

So I bluff.

And after spending even just a few minutes out on the desk, pretending to be cheerful and helpful......I become just that. And I return from my desk duty with a smile on my face, refreshed.

Not many people can say that their job makes them a better person - that their job makes them less selfish, gives them better perspective, or makes them smile more. I think mine does.

By pretending to have a winning hand, I win.

And that's no bluff.

Thankful

Luckily, I have not known many people who have died.

I think, maybe, only five.

At least only five who have really left a mark.

David Moseley was my first real choir teacher - a gift from heaven for an awkward 7th grader. He was talented and he was good and he made sure we all knew we had something really special to offer. And he taught me how to sing. And be a leader. He did handsprings for us in the grass outside of the music building. And he died of AIDS. Years later, my girlfriends and I went to the cemetery where he is buried and laid the printed words to Flying Free, "our song", in the urn in front of his gravestone. We wanted to leave part of ourselves with him just as he had left part of himself with us. I don't know how long the paper stayed in the urn before it was taken out, or just flew away, but it made us feel better that it was there. If only for a little while.

Colin O'Connell shot himself over Thanksgiving break my sophomore year in college. I loved him because I had no idea how his brain worked. He was so smart. And I had never met anyone like him before. I still have paragraphs of prose printed on a dot matrix printer that he wrote on my computer freshman year when we were supposed to be studying. Poetry. Prose. Music. Philosophy. That was Colin. And I remember him standing on the steps to the Andrews dormitory that November as I was getting into my car to go home. "You're staying here?" "Yeah." "I'll see you in a few days?" "Yeah." It broke my heart that he lied to me.

Trevor Eggleston had big feet and a bad haircut. He played A LOT of computer games and loud music and really loved the movie Braveheart. He even had a sword. He was a menace on the soccer field. We would compare bruises after games. And he was a sweet, sweet kid. I spent a lot of time with him. And he had a big crush on me that I humored....but ignored. When they found him and the shotgun the day after Valentine's Day, I blamed myself. "If only I had....." I could never, and still can't, finish that sentence. It doesn't make sense.

I was first on the scene of Lauren Burns' car accident. She was a student of mine. And a friend. I knew how to size up a scene. I knew to not commit to caring for one person before identifying all the patients and their conditions. But, for some reason, I never made it to the second car - to Lauren's car - that night. I stopped at the first. I didn't know it had been her in the other car until the next day. And I'm glad.

My grandma Vivian was 91 when she died 2 nights ago. She lived a long, full life. She was married to my grandfather for 70 years, had 2 sons, 2 grandchildren, and 5 great grandchildren. She was a great pinochle player. She would buy Fruit Loops especially for me when we visited, and she gave me a fake pig named Porkchop. She would send cards for every holiday. She was a wonderful Grandma.

Four of these people died way too young, and I am still hurt by the ways they died.

All five of them, though, were amazing people who touched my life in such profound ways that even now I can see their faces as I write about them. I can remember their smiles and habits and how they made me feel.

I remember them for how they lived not how they died.

And I remember what they taught me.

In some ways, this thirty-three year old is still a lot like that awkward 7th grader - wishing I knew what role I played in their lives.

But I know what role they played in mine.

And I'm thankful for every second.

There is a place I call my own
Where I can stand by the sea,
And look beyond the things I've known ,
And dream that I might be free.

Like the bird above the trees
Gliding gently on the breeze,
I wish that all my life I'd be
Without a care and flying free!

But life is not a distant sky
Without a cloud, without rain.
And I can never hope that I
Can travel on without pain

Time goes swiftly on its way,
All too soon we've lost today.
I cannot wait for skies of blue
Or dream so long that life is through.

So life's a song that I must sing,
A gift of love I must share .
And when I see the joy it brings,
My spirits soar through the air.

Like that bird up in the sky ,
Life has taught me how to fly.
For now I know what I can be
And now my heart is flying free.

The View From Here...

Coming down the hill driving home tonight, Yellowstone stretched out before me, it struck me that, for the first time in over a year, I could see where I was going.

The sagebrush stretched out before me, sunlight reflecting off scattered patches of diminishing snow. I could see for miles. There is so much space...

It also struck me then that really like being able to see where I'm going - in my environment, and in my life.

I think many people reach a point in their life when they think, "I should probably know where I'm going by now."

Several people have shared this thought with me recently.

We are all, by the way, single and in our mid-30s.

So the question comes out -

If you ARE single and in your 30s, with no family or significant other to be planning around, is it as important for you to have a solid committed plan of where you're going to go with your life?

Granted, having a solid life plan would probably reduce the amount of time I spend feeling like a flounder - flopping around desperately gasping for air at random intervals - but as I talk with my friends about the future, I also lend an ear to those who have expressed frustration at being pigeon-holed early in life - people who took on commitments at a young age and have house payments and college savings plans.

It makes me think that being a flounder isn't so bad.

I kind of like the fact that I can still change direction at any moment (flop flop). I have a tentative plan for my career, but it's relatively open. I don't own a house, I don't need to worry about dual career positions, I don't need to be looking for great school districts adjacent to wilderness areas, and I don't have to apologize to anyone for not having any of these things.

I think my compass will continue to point in the direction of the choice I think will make me the happiest - and that may or may not coincide with the best direction for my career at any given time.

And, as imporant as place is in my life, my direction will probably be influenced more by love than mountains (although having both would be nice...).

So even as I flop around a little, I try not to worry about it much. This life is catch and release.

I can see where I'm going, I just haven't decided which stream I want to take to get there.

Smile.

You can tell a lot about a person from their smile.

That's why it's amazing to me how many people don't like to go to the dentist.

I think it might be because most people don't know a darned thing about their own teeth. I certainly don't. After all, we can only see a few of them. And since taking care of them is pretty simple, we don't really need to know anything about them past what you learn in health class.

So when we follow the simple regime we are taught, we expect our teeth to hold up their end of the bargain.

Ultimately, no matter how much we brush and how much we lie about how much we floss, we usually end up upside down in a dentist's chair wearing funny glasses and looking way to closely at the pores of someone who is breaking all the rules and using sharp metal pointed things to scratch away at the precious teeth that we have worked so hard to protect.

And, on top of everything, when these dentist people are in our mouths "fixing" things, we can't see anything they're doing. They could be playing tic-tac-toe on our molars and we wouldn't have a clue.

It's no wonder people don't like dentists.

Luckily, the laughing gas makes up for much of this.

I personally don't really feel one way or the other about dentists.

I don't really know why anyone would want to spend all day looking into mouths. The breath thing would probably get to me. Then again, I wouldn't want to spend all day looking at feet or skin or ears any other of the number of specific body parts that specialists spend their time looking at.

But, hey, I'm glad somebody wants to look at that stuff.

I just care about being able to smile.

Which is all I was thinking about this last week the whole time I was upside down in my dentist's chair wearing funny glasses and looking way to closely at the pores of the man who was breaking all the rules and using sharp metal pointed things to scratch away at the precious teeth that I thought I had been doing a pretty good job of protecting.

"You might need a root canal," he told me when he was done.

"Excuse me?" I said. "I thought I had a cavity."

"No," he said. "There's nothing wrong with the tooth you came in for. But it's good you came in anyway."

In the end, it turned out that I, in fact, did not need a root canal after all.

After probing what little was left of my tooth with my tongue before he filled it in, it was hard for me to imagine exactly what more they could have taken out of that tooth, but whatever.

I was happy. My tooth still lived, and my smile was still intact.

You wouldn't think a smile would be that important for a park ranger, but you would be surprised.

A couple years ago, while working the visitor center desk, I looked up to see a huge black man walking through the front door. He must have been a football player. He was at least 6'5" and built like a wall. And as he walked toward the desk I just remember my head tilting back until I was finally looking straight up into his friendly face. It was such a surreal feeling that I must have been grinning like a cheshire cat.

And as I looked up at him, he looked down at me and said, "Nice smile."

"Thanks," I said.

"Can I have a map?" he said.

"Sure," I said.

Not a deep moment, to be sure, but a memorable one.

And just today a different man came into a different visitor center. He had simple questions, and, after every one, I thought he was done and would leave. But after a moment, he would just come up with another question.

Finally, as he turned to go, he said, "It's so nice to talk to someone who smiles so much and so obviously loves her job."

Wow.

And that's why I will continue to brush and why I will continue to lie about how much I floss. It's why I will continue to sit upside down in a dentist's chair and why I will continue to smile at people when they walk through my door.

Because it makes a difference.

To them.

And to me.

How 'bout now?

Ok.

Fourteen short days left.

The happiness has arrived.

I'm officially excited.

Where's the Happiness?

It's been two weeks since I accepted the job in Yellowstone National Park.

The first week I was too busy to really think about my decision clearly.

This last week, though, as the reality of my situation has set in, I've been bombarded by a maelstrom of emotions. And though I know I've made a good decision, I've yet to feel the rush of happiness I've expected.

When I first saw the job advertised on the federal USAjobs website, I got a lump in my stomach. I knew this was my job. This job was what I'm good at in a place I love. There was no way I wouldn't get this job. And I was right. I took it without reservation. I didn't even ask anyone their opinion about whether I should take it or not - which for me is huge. I'm not good at big decisions. But there was no decision involved - of course I would take it. And I did.

So why, since then, have I been fighting my right to be happy about my decision? It is, after all, the culture of the National Park Service to move from place to place. I'm not doing anything wrong by leaving. I don't think I'm even doing anything unexpected by leaving.

But despite my yearning to escape from Forks and the loneliness I have found here, the truth is, that I will be leaving things of value behind:

This place.
While the Olympic Peninsula may not be the best place for a single girl to expand her social life, it is a great place for an adventurous girl to explore her surroundings. And I didn't do half as much exploring as I would have liked. I did get to the Blue Glacier. I did hike the South Coast. Both amazing experiences. The Press Expedition Route will, I suppose, have to wait.

The ocean, too, has been a pleasure. In a place where the sky does not always seem big enough, visiting the beach brought me space and openness and an endless horizon, complete with beautiful sunsets. My occasional encounters with the harbor seals, an added bonus. No whales yet, though. I've got three weeks left to keep working on that one.

New friends.
Not many, it's true. But good ones, nonetheless. And not just in the park, but also in the Pacific West Region. I really had just started to get to know some really great, fun, warm, talented, and interesting people. They are what kept me going, and I learned and benefited from each and every one of them. The family network that is the NPS, though, will hopefully keep them if not close, then reachable.

A job where I know I can make a difference.

I've learned a lot from this job in the short time I've been here. With the right motivation and energy, I know I could learn a lot more and continue to do good things here. I also know that I could stay for another five years and still not get everything done that needs to be done.

A friend helped put things in perspective for me, though, when she told me (in so many words) that you can do good things for a place that you like, but you can do great things for a place that you love. She told me I owed it to the National Park Service to put myself in a place where I could do the most good. I take my responsibility to the NPS very seriously. And while I like Olympic National Park and have come to feel a great fondness for it, I know deep down that it will never replace the Tetons and Yellowstone in my heart. My position at Yellowstone may not need me as much as my position here does (at least not yet), but I feel in my heart that I will be giving back to a place that has already given me so much.

It gives me hope that I will actually feel like I'm doing good, instead of just feeling like I'm keeping up.

The idea that I can do anything.

This one I've struggled with. I've tried to write about it several times, and just couldn't find the words. It's probably one of the biggest reasons I haven't been able to be outwardly happy about leaving.

I've always thought of myself as a strong person. I've always wanted to be that person who can be a rock - an island unto themselves - weathering the storm, and all the other metaphors that mean you can survive on your own.

Well, apparently, I'm not.

And for the last two weeks I've been dealing with the idea that accepting a new job and leaving here means that I'm accepting defeat, accepting weakness. That I couldn't make it here on my own.

My brother helped me with this one. He simply said, "Don't try to be who you're not."

Simple, huh?

And so now I see that me leaving this place is not me giving up. It's not me being weak. It's me accepting that this place is not what's best for me. It's me going back to a place where I hope I can be myself again.

And I can finally leave here knowing that this place helped me better understand more of who I really am.

My family.
This one is the hardest because I know it's the thing I'm going to miss the most about being here. My brother and his family is the one reason I would consider staying here on the OP.

I've never lived this close to them, and I've never been this involved in their lives. And, tragically, I probably never will again. Having them close, sharing my life with them, having them be part of my comings and goings- these things have been what has kept me going for the last year and a half. They have seen me through some of my darkest days - whether they know it or not.

I have found friends in them that I did not have before. And I have found an unconditional love that I always had but had never realized.

I truly regret that I'm leaving them.

I hope what we've shared while I've been here will be a strong foundation on which we can continue to build our lives with each other, no matter where I go.

And I hope the kids don't forget me. Another thing I'll have to work on....

I will miss all these things.

But now that I've voiced my reservations, I know with certainty that I've done the right thing. Just as I know that coming here to the Olympic Peninsula in the first place was the right thing to do.

It was hard to come here. And it will be hard to leave. So I think it's ok that I'm not "happy" to be leaving.

Because I've learned from it all - professionally and personally - and I know that while Yellowstone too will have its hardships, I'll also find things that will make it all this worth while.

Adventure, new friends, challenge, reward.

And maybe, if I'm lucky, a little happiness, too.

To find....

I wrote this a few years ago, but just found it recently. Somehow it seems appropriate.

I am sometimes lost.

I long to find a land I love

Filled to full with mountain song

Bubbling with water romp and babbling with robin talk

And with sunny sky on snowy slopes

That glow to green as winter melts.

I long to find my heart a home

Hung with silvery lupine blooms

Colored thick with paintbrush red

And built of pine and post and stone

Strong enough to stand alone.

I long to find a memory

That keeps those bright blue angel days

That slow and set and simmer down

To golden plumes and purple sighs

That roll in late like mountain tides.

But I find myself in love at once

And all my longings fade away

When the clouds before my windows lift

The Tetons rise, are sunlight crowned

And in that moment

I am found.