Lindsey II

Lindsey was young enough to be my granddaughter. She was wearing tights, black as her midnight hair, and had an innocent smile. So I began to relax and play along, curious, more than anything, about her odd request for me to video her dancing… something that would embarrass most people to an early grave. Truly, it was a magical setting though—an array of assorted granite boulders, basking in the amber glow of a western sunset and flung across the landscape like pebbles from the hand of an angry god. If completely honest—less inhibited, completely alone, female, and had it been dark—I would have danced, too. But, even in my boldest, most intoxicated moment, would I ever possess the balls to ask someone to video me strutting my stuff on a boulder. What if it got posted and went viral? So I envied Lindsey's free spirit—her child-like nonchalance and forwardness.  

I asked Lindsey if she was going to post the video on Youtube. No, it was for "her people." Ok, who are "your people?" She waxed poetic about the healing power of serene places like Joshua… and yoga-dancing in tune with nature. "This is my purpose," she said. "It's what I was put here to do, to help others heal through purposeful movement, music, and meditation." I gathered that "her people" were clients and likeminded friends. She handed me her iPhone, and I took up a good lighting position while she removed her boots and socks. "When ever you are ready," I said, feeling a little silly. 

There, without music, on a precipitously sloping boulder, a warm sunset glinting off her face, Lindsey began to dance. Her arms became wings, sweeping up and down, and she soared with lightness of being and grace. I could hear purposeful breathing as she glided around and around. With eyes closed Lindsey contracted and expanded, dancing as if she were all alone, with no fear of judgment or reprisal... oblivious to embarrassment. She was lost in a form of worship that I didn't really understand, but appreciated nonetheless. 

We did a couple of "takes" in fading light… maybe 7 minutes total. She put her socks and boots back on and thanked me profusely. I asked if I could take a photo of her… maybe sitting in a yoga pose or something. She declined rather emphatically, "No, no, but thanks for asking." I felt like she must think I'm some sort of pervert… dirty old man. She offered to send me a copy of the video, but, still smarting from rejection, I declined her offer and bid her goodbye. She asked if I was staying in the campground, and if so, what site number, "Maybe I'll stop by." I told her that Bobbie had registered and didn't know the number. "Look for a beat up old Lazy Daze motorhome." 

Bobbie and I were out hiking and exploring everyday.all day, so I never saw Lindsey again. Who knows, if she did stop by while we were gone and happened to note BCB's blog's address on Goldie's rear window, she may even be reading this. If so, Lindsey, I hope you don't mind me sharing our encounter. And please, send me that video. I regret not accepting your offer to email it to me. 

It's nice to meet unencumbered people like Lindsey… people above the fray of worrying about what other people might think. People who could give a rat's ass about judgement. Lindsey found her purpose in life; good for her. I wish I could say the same. Purpose for me seems to be a moving target. I tried to find it in my work, then "on the road," years and years of trying on this and that and the other. Nothing fit. It was either too big or too small or too loud or too quiet. 

In my final "Artful RV Adventures" post I wrote about surrender… that purpose was an elusive SOB, and that I, for one, was tired of searching. "Purpose knows where I am, and it is going to have to find me!"

Bobbie and I both struggle from time to time with the RV lifestyle, kind of a "Is that all there is" feeling. Shouldn't we be more "productive?" Do we just keep going round and round and round, taking in more than we give, revolving instead of evolving? 

We talked about it yesterday while on a long hike up onto a cedar mesa across from our current boondock. We both feel ripe to blow up our "box," our routine. We freely associated wild-ass dreams and outrageous plans. Not sure what will come of it, really. But time marches on; we are not getting any younger… which is just another way of saying (a la Ms Joplin) "we've nothing left to lose." 

We want to want more. It would be nice if in some way it served a purpose. Maybe that's too much to ask, too naive, too greedy. By its itinerate nature, the RV lifestyle attracts restless souls. It's a treatment for the innate boredom of a stationary, work-a-day existence, but not a cure. Call it a phase? A diversion? A three act play? I don't know, but I feel the curtain coming down. I just hope that instead of "The End," it reads "New Beginnings." 
See what you stirred up, Lindsey?