Quiet End in Montreal

I drifted into Montreal feeling despondent. The trip had finished quietly a day earlier than I’d planned. Over the summer I’d felt no conversion of heart or grand inspiration. Instead of meditating alone in nature, I ruminated on grueling paddles spiked with risky choices I shouldn’t have made and permeated by people I’d wanted to avoid.

Maybe I’d had glimpses of a new life. But now it was done.

Wandering downtown Montreal in clothes I’d worn every day for months, I felt overwhelmed and drowning in a wave of humanity. a homeless African man approached me mumbling something about a shelter nearby. I apologized and admitted I was lost and couldn’t help. He scrunched his brow and leaned in closer saying, “I know where there’s shelter. Let me show you.” 

Returning to Minnesota on Amtrak as summer ended, I was left thinking over the time I had onthe trip, I still wonder over it. For a long time I couldn’t say more than it was just a thing I’d done and let people come to their own conclusions. It was too big for me to summarize. I had tried setting the stage for inspiration. But it only came in fits. I’d went listening for purpose but it never fully revealed itself. I’d wanted to be alone but was surrounded by people.

I could say that inspiration cannot be forced. I could say that purpose is arbitrary. I could say life is just a brutal slog. But I think the gifts we receive of euphoric beauty from nature we won’t always understand, and the generosity we receive from others we’ll rarely deserve. One thing I have concluded for certain from paddling 1,300 miles from Saint Paul to Montreal: in the end, there is no refuge alone.

When it feels right again, maybe I can carry on down the St Lawrence to the East Coast and across oceans like I’d originally planned. I’ll dig deep and keep pushing for inspiration. It’s absolutely worth the risk. Call me crazy, but I think I can do it. With the help of others along the way, of course.

September 7-11, 2023

Route Map - Ottawa to Montreal