Monday musing

The art of savoring

Happy Monday (Labor Day!), friends! I have returned from a bucket-list trip, one of which I am still very much processing. I was invited by a sister organization of the one I manage to facilitate their six-day Main Salmon trip. River Discovery serves cancer survivors of all ages and stages with single and multi-day rafting experiences. I’ve worked in the periphery of this organization for years, as we share a fundraiser, as well as the joys and pains of a being a small nonprofit working in the world of cancer.

When their ED, Betsy, graciously asked me to lead the trip months ago, I recall feeling a little out of my league. I questioned my ability to support 20 survivors on their journey not only through one of the most treasured and remote wilderness areas in the US, but also their journeys inward. This river elicits emotion and reflection for anyone lucky enough to experience the grandeur let alone a group brought together by the shared experience of cancer. Normally, I am one of a multitude of volunteers, many of whom with licenses and letters behind their names. Being the unofficial mother hen of the group placed a sense of gravity on me that I had not felt in other similar experiences.

I am not sure if it was the majesty of river, the torrential deluge that baptized us as soon our butts settled into boats day one, or the shared excitement and anxiety of six days in the wilderness, but strangers became fast friends within minutes of our launch. It also became abundantly clear to me that I had nothing to fear as the mother hen. Every person on the trip, including me, was meant to be there.

The first evening’s campfire I read the following poem, challenging everyone to savor the days ahead. Savoring is a task I have been extra vigilant with as of late — with my girls as they morph before my eyes, with Ian as he begins football season, with my garden as it slowly ebbs into fall. I did my best to savor every moment, every breath of this trip. It was such a beautiful opportunity to disconnect from all of the noise, all of the shoulds. After reading this poem twice, it seemed folks got the assignment.

There’s something magical and contagious about vulnerability. I watched the intimacy build between strangers, as one shared the other reciprocated. I am not sure what was more prolific this week: belly laughs and uncontrollable giggles or warm tears that cleansed and healed.

Most of the conversations that I had revolved around life not cancer. Cancer brought this cohort together, but together we planned international adventures, dreamed of new loves and new life, discussed getting wiggles out, chewed on PA school vs med school, waxed prophetically about music and first concerts. In reflection, it’s remarkable the profound sense of love and appreciation I feel for people whom I literally just met days before.

One fine day, a group of us assigned dog breeds to each other. Mine was, no surprise, a golden retriever. Perhaps that’s what Betsy saw in me when she asked me to facilitate the trip. By about day three I earned the nickname the “BEST DAY EVER whore” because of my enthusiasm for each rapid, each meal, each tear-eliciting giggle-fest, and each fireside chat. Every moment really was the best.

I have over 500 photos of these fine friends who trusted me (and a highly qualified and absolutely amazing group of guides from Wilderness River Outfitters) with their hearts this past week. We closed the trip by throwing two rocks into the mighty Salmon — one that held all of the things that no longer served them and one that held their hopes. The third rock, which they stuck in their pocket, held all of their memories and experiences from the week. Our attempt at savoring the present.

xoH