The Listener

It has occurred to me recently that the art of listening has been severely eroded by so much noise. When we are led by blowhards that only love the sound of their own voice, many believe that is the model to follow. After years of such nonsense, everyone is talking too much and saying too little, mostly about themselves. If you don't agree with them, it doesn't matter, at least not to them. They are the only reason sound should happen and their voice is the only one anyone should hear. Talk, Talk, Talk. Blah, Blah, Blah. Lest you think that I am taking sides, it is happening on both sides of the issues these days. With so many people talking over each other, no one is listening. You hear that, Washington, No one is listening anymore because they have already heard it. At my age I have heard it ad nauseum. It is easy to think that the only remedy for anyone sane is to just turn it off and stop listening. That is not the solution. To ignore what is happening is to make yourself vulnerable. I made my living listening to all sides of an issue. It's never easy to satisfy both sides but it is necessary to listen and that takes work now more than ever. It is hard to hear so many of the things that are being said whether it is about black lives, Covid-19, or who is responsible for the cock ups with both. None of these will be solved by rhetoric or shouting or talking over each other. They will only be solved by the same thing that makes relationships, and that is listening and the respect that goes with it. Agreement is optional, but listening is mandatory. You can take the ploy that you will only surround yourself with people of like talk and thought. Good luck with that. Guess what? The other side is going to show up anyway because there is a reason for them to show up. Fear makes us do strange things. It makes us shout and scream and run and react badly. Understanding at least forces us to slow down, contemplate, and maybe, just maybe engage the brain before the mouth. The issues of the day are being so misused by the shouters and screamers that is hard to get the message and come to grips with some of the sad facts. On this last trip I listened. I didn't speak much unless to ask a question. I tried to clarify. The country is split over the leadership largely because of the leadership on both sides. If you are white you do need to listen to the black perspective. All black people are not criminals and not all black youth are dangerous. It is easy to accept the myth unless you listen to them. They are speaking in a variety of ways. They are speaking in their music, their poetry, their art, their demonstrations, and their attitudes. If you listen you will get it. If you don't want to get it and continue to think they aren't equal then continue to wallow in ignorance. You'll have plenty of company. Just don't get surprised when the other side shows up. They are not going to disappear because you ignore them. They are on their way. If you think that Covid-19 is a political tactic then continue to disregard the science. Disregarding fact or blaming the spread of a disease on party line or foreign countries is your thing, surround yourself with all your buddies who are shouting along with you. Just don't be surprised when the other side shows up. Don't expect them to get you. You don't even get yourself because you only listen to you. If you do want to listen more, you will find a world of solution. You will be amazed at how people respond. If your busy listening then you are not busy trying to think of your next counter statement or argument. You are actually hearing who is speaking. Strength is tied to sustainability and adaptability. Those two issues rely on learning what the situation is. Learning what the situation truly is, at least for us "higher" order primates, depends on listening, thinking, and taking it all in.

It may seem odd to have a landscape shot of the Great Smoky Mountains as a reference for an entry about people. I took the photo while on my recent trip to the woods and what a great set of woods the “Smokies” are. The trip was the first time out after spending months inside sheltered from a virus that our western culture had grown too arrogant to prepare for. For years we have failed to heed the warnings of some very smart people about our own unwillingness to prepare. We have languished in our own denial that anything like Covid-19 could exist even though we had ample enough evidence that these super bugs existed. We had even seen several different varieties of the same virus and we had seen the results of their deadly spread. But it hadn’t happened here. We made the decision that by not acting or doing much to adjust our priorities, our personal behavior, or our approach to disease prevention we would be untouched in our prosperous country. It may happen other places, poor places, already dangerous places, but it wouldn’t happen here. But it did. If you didn’t lose a friend or family member this time around, be thankful. Spending your time finding excuses in politics or false explanations won’t make any difference. Over 200,000 of our neighbors and millions more on this planet will have died by the time you read this. They weren’t all old. They weren’t all Republicans and surely weren’t all Democrats. They weren’t all from disadvantaged backgrounds. Corona viruses don’t see those things. The viruses only sense opportunities to grow and alter themselves and spread and they don’t argue about it. They do what they do and what they do is not good for what we do. So why the vista picture? Because looking at this scene without all the noise we have all been exposed to by so-called “experts”, and even worse, the politicians with little or no vision of the impact of their words or the press with only the absurd driven notion that their headlines mean anything but shit to the rest of us, it was easy to get clarity. A person doesn’t need a statistic or a count of the sick and the dying. A person doesn’t need a sensationalized politicized statement or conversation about what’s to blame or what to do about it. A person needs a moment to make the decision about what to do. I looked around the overlook where I had been standing for twenty minutes with my camera in hand. There were twelve people. Half of them were masked even though we couldn’t have been more outside. All were at least six feet away from each other. As people we can make decisions. It’s when we decide to waste air and anger debating why we make those decisions or we berate others because they make decisions on how to stay safe, that we lose just a touch of that thing that once made us so great in this county.

People Who Inspire

Jen Ripple DUN Magazine and Expert Fly Angler

For my seventieth birthday, the Divine bought me two days of fly fishing in Asheville, North Carolina. The first was a full day and at the end I was tired. We had dinner reservations at a restaurant we both wanted to try that night, but at the bar in the hotel before hand Jane noticed I looked beat. Per her normal considerate self, she put her arm around me and said, "We can cancel the reservation for tonight. Let's just order another bourbon and get a couple of burgers and eat right here." I asked the bartender for the drinks and explained that I had been on a trout stream all day and was worn out. Someone sitting next to me started tapping on my arm. I turned around and there she was.

"I'm sorry, did I hear you say you had been on a trout stream?" My name is Jen Ripple. I am also a fly angler and I own and edit a magazine about it." That was how it began with the dynamic Jen Ripple. She gave us two current issues of the magazine. Magazine doesn't even begin to cover it. They were more like coffee table books loaded with unbelievable photographs and articles all authored by women with fly fishing stories. This was no ordinary sports publication. There were stories about transition and stories about healing. There were stories by younger women, professional flyfishing women, and some were by people just starting out. There were the usual advertisements but not to the degree you would find in any other magazine. This was a magazine with a social conscience for preservation of the earth, its waters, and the peace flyfishing brings with it. Jen was in town to do a photo shoot for Orvis. I saw her in passing the next morning on her way out to freeze all day under a waterfall. I was getting coffee and heading out for my next day of fishing. She wanted pictures of my day and not just the fish. That was the beginning of what has now been a three-year incredibly close relationship with Jen and her partner Kurt Kopala. We consider Jen and Kurt family. We have visited each other's homes, met at major conferences where Jen was speaking, and at fly fishing shows where they both were exhibiting. Jen is one of those hallmark women in a male dominated sport that is helping the industry and the sport to find its woman's voice. She is a former chemist who traded her lab coat for waders and all-weather gear and her research reports for articles, interviews, and podcasts all centered on the prospect of introducing more women to the beauty, serenity and healing powers of fly fishing. She thinks nothing of driving long hours to spread the word or make an appearance or lead a seminar. It is her work. It is who she is and it is not all about the fishing. She has dedicated much of her time to making the industry better for all concerned, men and women.

I am inspired by such people. She followed her muse, that inner voice that said, I have a skill, I can create something new of value. I can do this and then most importantly, I will do this. So, whether she is coaxing a story from another accomplished female professional or landing a large tarpon, she brings that energy. She's one of those people who can take any piece of gear apart that she uses and put it back together. She inspires with everything she does. She does the work. And to think it all started when she happened to be sitting right next to us in a bar. There is a force that lives at a higher plane.

Jen Ripple is one of my heroes. You can learn more about Jen and flyfishing at dunmagazine.com. She is also on Facebook and Instagram.

At the End of a Fragile Limb

Vance and Gabriel Arnett Nantahala National Forrest: 1998

Just a preliminary note. This is composed of notes and writings in my journal during the period of my son's battle with cancer in the late 90's. When I found it, it gave me some clarity about how I measure my relationships with people and how I handle conflict and stress. Watching someone literally deal with their situation on a day-to-day basis is humbling. Now we could all be humbler. The following is a newer rendition based upon my scribble notes in a journal recently found. He has granted me permission to share this.

(Somewhere around 1998)

I have to write about this now because if I don't, there will be things I need to say that I will not be able to recall. All stories need a setting and the one for this one was the outer office of the State Attorney I worked with. I had just walked into his outer office for a meeting. His secretary stopped me and told me my secretary had transferred a call I needed to take from my son. I said something lame like, "I will call him back after the meeting." She shook her head. "It sounds like you need to take this now." Her tone was firm and she motioned me toward a file room with a phone. "I will transfer it in there." I stepped into the room and picked up the phone just as she quietly closed the door. "Hello Gabriel. What's up?" There was a pause before he answered. Later I would find that he was collecting the breath to power the next statement. "Dad, I have just come from the doctor. I have been diagnosed with melanoma. They say I am at stage 3 whatever that means. I looked it up. This stuff kills you. I just needed to tell you." Time freezes and motion stops right along with breathing. My job was to create words and ease people into new things. I was good at it but nothing came to mind in this situation. I was hearing something no parent wants to hear. No one wants to outlive their child. I gathered my scattering wits that were desperately headed in different directions. "What does the doctor say the next move is?" "I have to start on a course of drugs as soon as possible. He is referring me to a cancer clinic at Emory. I guess I will learn more there. Dad, this stuff is fatal in 75% of the cases. There will be a couple of surgeries. I already had one when they took the mole then I have to start chemo-therapy like granddad did. They are going to map every dark mark on my body and monitor everything." I'm not sure I am remembering this as it happened so I hope Gabe forgives me if he ever reads this. Hell, I probably won't even have the date right. "Do you need me to come up there?" Now, I see what a stupid question that was. It should have been a declarative statement. "I'm on my way." But it wasn't and later I would find out that shock is a horrible thing to try to "think" your way through and second guessing your actions are foolhardy. Gabe was more together than I was. "Maybe. Let's wait until I know more and then maybe. Right now, I have to get back to work but I just thought you might want to know." The next few days were a whirlwind. We had other conversations. I rattled on about how the statistics were skewed toward older populations and that he was young. Even though we had both been through the cancer grist mill with his mother and his granddad, somehow that had not totally prepared us for this or at least me for this. His mother and I had split up almost ten years earlier. Everyone had moved on. It seemed like just months earlier I had helped him move to Atlanta to find a new career. He was young, strong, independent, a good surfer and an active young man. He had received his education on his own through veterans' benefits. This wasn't supposed to happen to him, not to my Gabe. It finally dawned on me that there really was nothing to be said that listening was more important. He was assigned a mentor at Emory, a young guy that had been through the treatment before. That seemed to help. He had a doctor that was honest and straight forward and willing to use Gabe's strength and conditioning to increase his capability to fight the disease. They removed everything that looked like it was more than a freckle and some freckles were probably removed. Through all of this Gabe was particularly non-specific about what he was going through. I kept listening but he was handling this on his own terms. I was not doing so well. I would have moments when I couldn't function. I had a close colleague tell me how sorry she was and that I must be terrified. I wasn't. I was paralyzed, that deer in the headlights everyone talks about. I could still function but I know there are whole conversations I missed even with Gabe. My wife Jane, suggested that I just take Gabe and go somewhere just the two of us and try to relax. We had friends who had a house in North Carolina that they offered. I called Gabe and arranged to fly up to Atlanta and pick him up. I booked two full days of fly fishing. Mr. 'Efficient to the Rescue' here didn't even think about things like his stamina, or his eating restrictions or how nauseous a car trip might make him. I had never seen him vulnerable. He had already been through so much. I just plunged ahead and soon we were sitting in the living room on top of Scaly Mountain just outside of Highlands, North Carolina staring at each other. We had picked up food but we were both too tired to worry about much. As luck would have it, a hornet’s nest had taken up residence in a dear head hanging over the couch. Of course, he was sitting under it and was stung within a matter of minutes after the air started flowing. I panicked as he remained calm. He laughed as we put ice on it and found some Benadryl in a medicine cabinet. "Dad, take it easy. Believe me, this sting is nothing." The next day we met our guide and headed west for too long a drive for a young man on treatment. He later admitted he felt like he was going to vomit the whole way. We got there and the guy was not the perfect guide. He was frustrated with my rusty casts and Gabe was a novice. Even though he got his cast in fairly good shape, the fish were safe on the Nantahala that day. We had dinner that night but I could tell he felt lousy. He was a good sport about it and we decided that we would see what the next day held. One the second day, the guide was younger and I had a talk about driving distance and explained Gabe's situation. That day turned into magic. I stepped into the background. I let the guide take Gabe and give him the emotional support he needed. We went to reasonable places to fish within short driving distances and he insisted that Gabe ride up front. We took extra time getting into our neoprene waders. Remember, Gabe was a surfer so neoprene was much more familiar to him that my ancient Red Ball waders. I stood on the far side of the river just watching and snapping photos. You would have thought I had landed a prize trout when Gabe netted his first rainbow. I couldn't fish. I couldn't do anything but watch my son slowly lose himself in the words of his guide and the flow of the river and think about him. I felt like I was hanging on the end of a narrow branch of the family tree. Gabe was an only child by our choice. I had agreed to a vasectomy after his mother had endured a hard delivery. Several years later she would go through her own battle with cancer. She was a fighter and endured. I thought how much I hoped Gabriel had inherited that quality from her. But at that point, he was it. The end of the limb for my crazy mixed up lineage. He had already told me they had taken the necessary steps to ensure that if his treatment rendered him sterile, he would still have options. I can't tell you that was comforting because it was overshadowed by the darkness of the shadow that had created the whole need. I was adopted into the Arnett jamboree. Gabe was the one born into it and the thought of losing him and his future was almost all I could bear. If I hadn't been standing in ice cold water with a decent enough flow that I had to concentrate on remaining upright, I would have fallen in a heap. I wish I could say that trip ended great. It didn't. As we got closer to Atlanta and the reality that Gabe faced there, it became more and more difficult for him. I somehow was comforted by the anger because I felt it was a real reaction to where he was and what he was going through. I felt it would help him get through to the other side of treatment. As for my own thoughts, you never let go of that fear no matter. how many years pass after you get the all clear. The disease is like an unwanted house guest that refuses to leave totally because it endures in your memory. All diseases are a challenge and certainly there are people who are faced with more hopeless diagnoses than he had. It doesn't matter in this head or in this heart it is as real as air still. Cancer happens forever and it is up to everyone to resurrect hope in order to carry on. Hope and taking each day as it comes are the only tools you find yourself with. I remember him saying once if he didn't say it a thousand times, "It is what it is, right now. This too will pass." 2020

It did. Time passed but the elder had become the student. I learned a great deal from him during that time. He would continue to be monitored and have to go through more surgery and treatment for years. He never stopped moving forward with way more courage than I possessed from the sideline. He moved to New York City and received care from Memorial Sloan Kettering. He would meet the woman who would become his wife. They would fall in love, get married, and have four healthy beautiful children. To this day he gets checked regularly but with each year, the branch of that tree has grown thicker and more stable. Gabriel has not only become successful in his job but is a great father. He and his wife spend a great deal of time supporting their kids in the school and the community. The pandemic raged around them in the spring of this year. They stayed calm, kept the family focused and spent time making sure no one got too far behind. So why do I write this now? It gives me perspective for the current pandemic situation. As a writer, perspective is everything. It sets your characters, your scenes, the action, the process of your story, all of it. So sometimes, it is very good to check your own story. What lives and breathes there is the foundation of how you help others. Support can be active or passive and it doesn't have to be acknowledged. It just has to be to make a difference. So, what about that tree limb? At 72, I'm still hanging on firmly. I get to see him about every other year with his family. I get to see what the world would have missed if for one moment, he would have given in. I'm very thankful he didn't.

Age six in my Elvis Shirt at the Gulbranson in New Port News, VA

At three no way to reach the pedals.

Together

During a trip to the Maine Coast, I was fascinated with Puffins. We had the great fortune to go out on a day when the weather, and the puffins all cooperated. The day before they had seen five, the day we went, the captain and the guide estimated that we saw over 300. Until recently, not too much was known about the mysterious little birds. They are about the size of a can of beer. What was known was that once one showed up, it would not be long before others arrived. I was fascinated by this group. They moved together like a well-trained formation even down to the smallest of changes in course. They were connected by an invisible link and that connectedness was unmistakable. These birds live in harsh conditions wintering off the coast on the water where they breed. Through man's intervention and assistance and support they have begun to return to nesting areas on remote islands to nest and regenerate. Birds are a fascinating way to observe group behavior from murmuring where they all move as one in a flock or the annual highly organized migrations. There are many things unknown about all birds but not that if a flock is part of their existence, they share lots of connection that is invisible and mysterious. There are species of bird that are loners outside of mating. Raptors are a great example. But most birds are breathtaking moving together in coordinate ways to insure that the flock is protected and life goes on. We could learn a great deal from that behavior. There is no doubt that many have discovered recently just how much we depend upon friends and family to not just add pleasure to our lives but to enhance our very existence. What will be our next lesson? Will we be able to move as a coordinated group of puffins to make sure we survive? Let's hope so.

Working Together

All of a sudden, all the contact stopped. There were no more parties, or going to the games, or meeting up for a drink. There was no more out on the towns, or meet ups or hook ups. It was all so strange and going completely in opposite direction. All of a sudden, we could make each other sick and nobody who we would normally turn to anywhere had any information that could inspire confidence or give guidance. All anyone could do was tell us what we couldn't do. We couldn't be together. We couldn't work together, we couldn't play together and unless you were a family, and even then, if the disease got past the front door, you couldn't live together. We are not programmed for that anymore than we are programmed to have someone tell us what to do with our own freedoms.

Healthy people have learned new ways to interact, work, and live together. Aside from the "politicization" of the situation, the lack of leadership at all levels, and the confusion created by "experts" guessing rather than advising, we have learned and begun a transformation. We have picked a way to do things together even with the pandemic. We have stood up for human rights all over this world by coming together in at risk but safer ways. That is a very new phrase so I will state it again. We accept risk by working together to be as safe as we can.

As an older at-risk-adult I see it every day. I could see just the people without masks boldly defying government generated orders. Instead I see people without masks giving me room. I could be mad at young people clustering in bars and drinking. Instead I remember how I did the same thing at that age and how silly it is that someone in government thinks they have any sway other than asking people to care. For the most part, just like the picture above at Bull Bridge in western Vermont, one person waits while the other uses the bridge. We survive by working together not yelling at each other. We will prosper by finding new ways to interact, take responsibility, and support. But, as I said, I am an old guy. I got plenty of time to be careful and all the reason in the world anyone needs to continue to practice safe distance, wearing my mask, and drinking great whisky safely the people I love.

What Makes a Difference

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I think there are two types of people. There are those that live their lives secure and anchoring their dialogue in those things about their life that stay the same. They tend to feel comfortable in settings that have lots of familiar markers. When they look around, the look for the familiar, the constants, and the way its always been. The other type of person is one that centers the order of their universe on things that are different. They are comfortable in dynamic settings with lots of new input.

They often overlook the constants in lieu of finding the new. There is no great value judgement rendered for the two types. Both have equal capacities to do good and evil. But their world view, how they notice their comfort and fit in situations, alters what they will and won't entertain as possibilities.

I have friends that cannot stand change. I love them just as much, maybe even more, now that I have come to understand it better. They are loving, complete, wholehearted people just like the friends I have that can't wait to find the differences. I hold both types equally close to my heart. I suppose there was a time when I found it difficult to be around someone who always wanted things to be the same. I am no longer that way. I wonder if it is just because their reliance on the sameness is, in itself, just different enough from me to keep it interesting.