Peeking Over the Fence

Considering and re-considering desire and contentment.

“Green Wheat Fields, Auvers” (1890) by Vincent van Gogh.

I wasn't much of a petty thief. I wanted the whole world or nothing.

—Henry Chinaski in Charles Bukowski’s Post Office

Around this time last year, I introduced you to Clay Duda. He and I met for the first time about a decade ago when we were both working as journalists for The Knoxville Mercury. The friendship lasted as long as the paper did (i.e., not long), but Clay was an interesting dude worth following on Facebook. I knew he’d left town, in part, to travel the world. But I had no idea why he’d shown up in my timeline holding a pistol to the head of an enormous fish in what looked like a scene out of Deadliest Catch.

Turns out, Clay had left journalism behind to become a fishing guide in Homer, Alaska, at the literal edge of America. And sometimes, in the Kachemak Bay, halibut that weigh upwards of 70 pounds require a bullet in the head to keep from breaking all your bones as you pull them into the boat.

I titled the story I wrote after our conversation “What Color is the Grass in Alaska?” because that’s exactly what I needed from my former friend: to confirm whether I’d screwed up by staying put in Knoxville, playing it safe while he lived out the dream of every dude who’d read Jack Kerouac or Jon Krakauer in college.

The answer was the one I’ve usually gotten when asking friends whose lives I ogle at about how they’re enjoying grass that, to me, seems so much greener than my own.

“Everything comes with a tradeoff,” Clay told me over the phone. “On the one hand, I don’t miss sitting in front of a computer 8 hours a day. But what you see is also fantasy. I work incredibly hard to make a life up here. My hands hurt. I’m gone before my son is up, then I see him for an hour before bed. When the season starts, those are five months I don’t get to be a part of his life.”

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For Lent, I gave up negativity. Since my attempt to get on seasonal anti-depressants failed after an allergic reaction that made it feel like fire ants had nested inside my rectum, I’ve been gritting my teeth through the discontentment that shows up on cloudy, stressful days when something breaks or I feel like a failure.

I wasn’t sure if my efforts were working until my boss mentioned in my annual performance review last Friday that he’d been impressed by my positive attitude lately. Last night, on an impromptu phone call, Jeremy shared the same sentiment, saying that I’ve dropped from my place atop his Podium of Grumpiest People, a loss I’m more than happy to take.

But longing still shows up from time to time. Some mornings, I can’t help but wonder what could be different about my life.