Day 20 8/31/15

Covered in 6 days of sweat, dirt, bike grease, food wiped on my skin and clothes, and dare I say, even a little pee that trickled on my leg as I squatted in the woods, I am reflecting on adaptation. My hair is slicked back from oils baked in so much that when I take my ponytail out, my hair doesn’t fall around my shoulders as it once did. My clothes have been worn several days in a row, choosing the least smelly and least visible grossness of them all. Once they make it into the dirty clothes bag, where they sit and simmer with the other sweat soaked articles, they should never come out. A benefit to having the trailer is that sack gets open air away from the bikes, poor dogs.  This morning, Mark, Junebug, and Biscuit are sleeping in a circle around me, laying on an army blanket on the cold hard concrete floor. I’m sitting with my legs curled under me, wearing pants and a long sleeve shirt for the first time in weeks as it has been so brutally hot. Today, though, it is cool, a sweet relief. Raining. The sound of drops from the trees on a metal roof over the picnic shelter we are huddled under. Waiting for the sun to come up to see if it will change the radar at all from this tropical storm. I’m shivering but enjoying this feeling, wrapping my hands around a camp mug of Starbucks Via Italian Roast instant coffee as I write this. And I’m smiling like an idiot. Adaptation. Perhaps even submission. We fight to remain on one side or the other, until we reach a balance in the middle. When it starts to rain, we fight to stay dry. In my normal life I would have grabbed an umbrella, wore a rain coat, ran from place to place, and immediately toweled off and changed into dry clothes upon arrival. Dry is normal. Dry is safe. Dry is comfortable. So I fight to be dry. Not now, not any more. Now I wash my hands and face in the sink and don’t dry them. Now I do dishes under a water spigot outside some random building, water splashing onto my legs and arms, and I don’t flinch. Now it is raining and I casually walk from place to place, accepting, almost thriving, in my new state of being. On the bike, I start to heat up- my breathing strains from 90% humidity and 85 degree temps. The sweat starts to form beads under my skin but they don’t break through yet. Those moments I am in transition, and it’s uncomfortable. I want to cool myself. But I can’t. So I submit. And the sweat drips. My shirt is soaked. And I no longer care. In fact, I welcome the evaporative cooling. Back on day 5 we were swarmed by some mutant Mosquitos. Unlike normal Mosquitos, they stung all at once, hundreds in a black cloud around the body, biting through clothes even. I had 38 bites on 25% of one leg- I quit counting after that. Now, I have about 6 bites, and don’t think anything of it. Adaptation. We fight to maintain this balance, where things are known and comfortable. We fight. And that’s a good thing, sometimes. But sometimes it keeps us holding on to things that no longer serve us. From point A, origination, to point B, new status, we find this uncomfortable place of resistance. Trying to move forward while looking back. Yet if we didn’t fight, we may become like sheep. Simply following where the crowd goes. Or getting swept away by mediocrity.  There must be a place of balance. To learn what to hold onto, and what to let go of. I’m letting go of the need to control outcomes. I’m letting go of the need for details. I’m letting go of my desire to prove something. I’m holding on to simple pleasures. I’m holding on to a life worth living. I’m holding on to love of self and others. Submitting without losing myself. To find self. To adapt.