A Starting Point

Dear Paul,

I was informed today that I would be allowed to take time off work for my expedition. Still not sure exactly how the trip will shake out, but I’m taking this as a starting point to begin sharing the trip with others. I will work remotely for the first half (I know you disagree) and then take a month off to finish. Though I have done a fair amount of preparation, I’m still an inexperienced kayaker with little time to gain the skills I need. Hoping that writing down my thoughts and sharing will help with focus and accountability.

For my first post, I thought I’d reflect a bit on the inspiration behind the trip and what motivates me to see it through. Name the three intentions I have for the trip. I’ve discussed all these thoughts regularly with my partner, Bridget, and still don’t have a clear answer. Finding an answer may be beside the point. What seems to feel right is finding a sense of liminality. More on that in a bit.

If you don’t mind, I thought I’d address my journal entries to you as a sort of thanks for your guidance. Of course, friends and family have offered many encouraging words. Even more, Bridget has been unbelievably supportive. But since you’ve experienced what I’m about to go through, you must understand best what I’ll struggle to articulate over the course of the trip. So, I suppose I’ll be treating you as my guide-star.

One thing I should explain - why I chose the name Franklin Bridges (Bridget was asking). When I was in my 20s, I was a custodian for a small church nestled in the hilly Prospect Park neighborhood of Minneapolis (poetically, Bob Dylan’s watchtower tops the tallest of them). Life wasn’t going well. I got paid with room and board. Did odd-jobs and hustled part-time gigs. Was on food stamps. Couldn’t afford a car and had to bike everywhere. Getting up the hill to Prospect Park was a slog. Coming back down the pothole strewn streets wasn’t easier.

It was a time in my life I couldn’t look anywhere except right in front of me or risk hitting a hole and going ass over teakettle (I broke my arm doing that). I used the Franklin Avenue Bridge daily. There the land drops away into the Mississippi River Gorge. Downtown dominates the North end of the gorge. Trees and water dominate the South. If you look down, you’ll catch a beaver or muskrat swimming up the river. Fox and deer follow the wooded embankments. Eagles pop out just above the deck of the bridge before floating down the other side. Distant geese V away. Storm systems pile in from the west. The sky opens up. Stars flicker directly above between streetlights. Contrasting all that, cars on a highway next to the bridge are stuck in traffic. They don’t take the time to observe. It always felt like a liminal moment crossing that bridge. I was regularly uplifted by the beauty of it all.

I’m thinking this trip will offer a few liminal moments to share.

If I talk about the idea to others, I struggle to help them imagine. How can I describe the beauty of dipping into waters as frigid as Lake Superior and awe at its vastness? I can’t articulate how comforting it is to be on the shore, lonely, but cradled under pines, smelling mist and buzzed by mosquitoes. It is best described in spiritual terms. It’s like listening for a voice in the wilderness. In future posts, I’ll likely frame the experience as one of sacred mystery. I am a practicing Catholic after all (at least I’m working hard at it). Hope it isn’t off-putting for you.

Aside from the metaphysical, I have a few smaller intentions for the trip. At 38, I’m just starting middle age with a career where I am being asked to lead more. I admit I’m insecure as a leader. If I’m going to lead well, I need to have more agency to see a project to the end no matter the hardships. Therefore, my first intention is simply to execute as best I can: vision out the goal, build a process, commit, advocate for myself, recruit support, and keep moving.

My second intention is to live my principles better. What I mean is that I am a big proponent of living sustainably and a firm believer that no issue facing us today is more important than climate change. But I am fully enmeshed in the trappings of a sedate middle-class lifestyle. Next to the warnings given to us by the greatest minds of our world, it feels so very small and meaningless. We are on a road to apocalypse paved by the very conveniences I enjoy. I don’t think that’s hyperbole. Now, I’m not about to go on a diatribe of glib edicts that we must break free from fossil-fuels. The trip itself is a big endeavor that inevitably has carbon emissions infused throughout. But I’ll use the time to learn and plan.

Folks are asking how they can follow along and are even offering financial support. It’s flattering but a bit unnerving. I think it best if I not make this about me or about money. To be painfully frank, I have too many fuck-ups in my past to deserve the attention. And I don’t need the cash. I have an idea of how to accept in a way that does not lionize me or commodify the trip. My third intention is to fundraise a bit for Renewing the Countryside, a nonprofit I’m involved with and hold in very high esteem. They do good work championing sustainable entrepreneurs in rural communities. If anyone deserves support and funding, it’s them.

I’ll do my best to be frank in these posts. No bullshit. At the core of it, the trip feels like a vanity project. There’s a lot of hubris and narcissism in it. Is this the best use of my time? Where do I get the notion I can be successful? I don’t have experience that qualifies me to take on an endeavor this big. I don’t have enough skills or athleticism to think I am able to complete a 1,150 mile paddle, let alone while working. It’s just an idea I find inspiring. It feels like the right thing to do.

Well Paul, that’s it for now. More to come. Will do my best to make this a regular practice. And be warned, I’ll likely ramble. Hope you’ll keep with me throughout. It’d be an honor.

Sincerely,

Frank