Let yourself be carried
I’d rather celebrate the people who help me then play a fake trumpet of self-sufficiency.
The sun scorched my face. I couldn’t bear to look into it anymore. I pointed my head down, so the bill of my hat put my face in shadow and gave me relief, fleeting though it was. I swung my paddle to the left, dug it into the Wisconsin River and pulled. The canoe moved forward, ever so slightly.
I was on the fourth day of a five-day adventure I dreamed up called 50-50-50 and for the first time, I didn’t think I’d be able to finish my 50th birthday celebration of hiking 50 miles, biking 50 miles and canoeing 50 miles all in one five-day trip in Wisconsin. I wrote much more on this adventure here, and I hope you’ll read that. I wanted to expand on something the trip reinforced for me: I have to be willing to ask for help. I put this last on a piece I wrote about what I’ve learned as I turned 50 for a reason: It’s important, and we don’t do it enough.
On the river, the heat, the exertion, the sleep deprivation mixed into a cocktail that left me bordering on delirious. To complete 50-50-50 with the nine friends who were with me, I needed help.
No, I needed to be carried.
So much has been written in celebration of you’ve got this, you’re strong enough, you have what it takes. But that’s often baloney, and it creates a stigma around asking for help, as if it’s a sign of weakness. I’d rather celebrate the people who help me then play a fake trumpet of self-sufficiency.
I can think of two people in the world I most wanted in the back of my canoe. One of them, Andy, the best adult friend I’ve ever had, was not there. The other, Rob, was. I tried to be nonchalant that morning as I told him, did not ask him, that we would be canoe-mates. A former F-15 pilot known as CFIT to his F3 brothers and Scrape in the Air Force, he’s as calm under pressure as any man I know.
As I dug into the water again and again, hiding my face as best I could, praying for clouds that never came, I daydreamed about pulling ashore and taking a nap. I rehearsed how I would propose it to Rob and the rest of the men on the trip. Guys, I'll just drape my tarp across those trees, and lay down for an hour ...
It never came to that, and here’s why: Rob served me as the steadying and simultaneously beastly presence in the back of my canoe. He was strong enough. He had this. He had what it takes. In that moment, I did not.
That could have been one of the worst days of my life. Instead, it’s one of the most memorable.
When you get a chance to be for someone what Rob was for me—when you can carry someone who needs to be carried—take it. Just as important, let someone be Rob for you. Let yourself be carried when you need it. And you will need it. We all do, whether we want to admit it or not.
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Year 2 of MABA—Make America Burpee Again—is coming. It will be largely the same as last year: In January, MABA will be a nationwide challenge in which each participant will do 3,100 burpees. In the inaugural year, we did it just to do it. This year, we will do it for a purpose: To work toward ending loneliness. The motto: Fall down. Get Back Up. Together. More details to come.
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Something that might only interest me: The two photos I chose for this newsletter tell opposite lies. They illustrate part of my point — we should be aware of our false fronts. I feel good in the top photo, in which I look half dead. That picture was taken during a taco bar feast on the island we slept on the night of that horrible day. My heart was full to overflowing but you’d never know it by looking at me.
The picture on the bottom, taken by Rob, came when I was at my worst. I can’t explain why I look vibrant in it, other than that’s the mask I somehow chose to wear for the photo.
