EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the first in a periodic series of Thank You essays I’ve written and shared with individuals who have had a profound impact on my life.
It's strange, the myriad of manners in which we react to the unknown, given that we venture blindly into it every moment of life.
The first steps or pedal strokes on a new trail can stir any number of emotions.
They can range from childlike wonder and curiosity when an inviting carved wooden sign mentions a viewpoint ahead, to pure unadulterated fear when a poster outlines the proper procedure to follow in the case of an encounter with a Mountain Lion or Grizzly Bear.
While most of us yearn for that path we have not yet traveled, true outdoor lovers spend the vast majority of our time on the road much traveled; that favorite trail that can refresh your spirit each and every trip.
On those frequented trails that my mind wanders most, searching to find a way to make it new and exciting, if not downright memorable.
So as I hiked alongside the familiar creek, then crossed the wooden bridge I can envision in my head upon demand, an old memory of conquering uncharted territory splashed to the surface.
Nothing can compare to your senior year of high school.
You are a cauldron of hormones swirling from one extreme to another. At one moment you're ready to finally take the leap and fly on your own to that viewpoint. The next you fear what's on the horizon as you stand at the edge of the abyss searching the woods for your stalker.
If I'm really honest with myself, I have to admit that I never really felt as though I fit into my high school. We moved to a rather affluent suburb just before the start of seventh grade, so whatever grade school foundations I had in friendships and confidences on the other side of the tracks were cast aside forever. I had to start new and fresh.
When you walk into that cafeteria for the first time in junior high school, with a handful of grade schools suddenly thrust together, there are obvious boundaries.
Walk in there alone, with no ties, and you're adrift on the open seas.
That feeling of the first day of seventh grade pretty much stayed with me, deep down inside, and never left. Until the day I met her, five years later — the opening week of my senior year.
She was the quintessence of my vision of a high school dream girl. She was beautiful, smart and she had her life together. She was solid as a rock.
She was dating an older guy and knew exactly where she was going, and how she was going to get there.
On the other extreme, I was a pretty mixed up kid beneath it all, although I had my fronts. I hung with a popular gang of guys that represented some of the better athletes in our school.
Upon reflection, we drank far too much and spent far too much time with each other than with girls, who could have helped shape us more into normal teenage males. We were, in our minds, cool.
My one rock-solid foundation was my knowledge of what I wanted to do with my life. I had known since those grade school days: I wanted to write for newspapers.
I was pretty good at it, since I was already writing for the community newspaper, as well as the school newspaper.
Still, like most teenagers, I couldn't fully believe that my dreams would come true. That, of course, is why they are called dreams.
Yet somehow we became fast friends, and the more time I spent with her the more I started to believe that all my dreams and hopes, not just for a career, but to be the type of man I wanted to be, could become a reality.
I entered my senior year as one person and left a completely different one.
First she showed me how to get there, then assured me it was possible.
It appears that everyone needs a little magic in his or her life. A spark that lights a fire. It's the energy that transforms dreams to realities. That's what she gave to me.
I'm sure I had as many dreams as the next person. Probably more, just 'cause I'm a Gemini and my mind works overtime on 16 cylinders.
Dreams are what lives are made of. Yet I think so many kids, especially seniors in high school, slowly allow their dreams to fade as they accept a more mundane reality that tells them dreams are for little kids and, well, dreamers.
I'm not so sure that the acceptance of mediocrity comes from any other source than lack of confidence. I think the confidence that sparks dreams to reality, ultimately, has to come from an objective source.
I believed in myself about as much as anyone can believe in themselves. Yet, there were ghosts of doubt haunting me at every turn. I was ready to give my all — my essence — to the life I dreamed of. But finding the courage to really dig to that deepest depth to give my all, well, that's something I wasn't quite ready to tackle. There were just enough self-doubts creeping around to keep me in limbo.
Then, I met her.
I never thought I needed anyone's blessing or encouragement or belief. But when I got that from her, it transformed me forever. It really did.
I was pretty sure of the kind of man I could be, if given the chance.
In so many ways she allowed me to show her my essence without letting it get distorted or misunderstood. We created a bond like no other I've had. A bond we couldn't have had as a typical "boyfriend/girlfriend" relationship.
We leaned hard on each other and fought hard for each other, knowing all too well that the eventual beneficiaries would be someone else, in some other time, in some other place.
She boosted my confidence in my abilities as a writer and reporter. She helped me see the rewards of taking a chance and putting my heart on the line. Being vulnerable.
Throughout my years as a journalist, I believe what has set me apart from others is the ability to take that plunge — that bungee jump of faith. I've allowed myself to get frighteningly close to the people I've covered — close enough to understand them and their stories like few others — with the ability to pull myself back before crossing the line.
That's what we did. We fell as far and as hard as two people can without crossing the line. I can't explain how important that knowledge has been to me, and where it has taken me.
I've been privy to some of the most extraordinary stories and lives you can imagine. It has made me a fuller, and better, man. I'm the husband, father, teacher and friend I am today because of the confidence she instilled in me.
When I look back at my senior year, I couldn't have scripted it better myself. I couldn't have imagined waking up one day and meeting someone who would profoundly change my life forever, for the better. And then disappear into her own — what I desperately hope was wonderful — life.
Without her inspiration to believe in myself, I probably would have wandered through college like the zombie who wandered through the halls of high school until the day she cast her smile and sparkling eyes in my direction. Few smiles in this world have warmed my heart to its core and awakened parts of me I never knew existed. Hers has. And for that, I am forever thankful.
That angel has passed away.
Yet I feel her presence whenever I hit a trailhead, embracing whatever lies ahead.