On Camping and Loving It

Patrick has left Cambrie and me for a grand adventure for a few days. He's been packing and planning and preparing, mixing trail mix, sharpening knives, and now he's off, with all he needs for survival strapped to his back. That's right. He's gone camping.

Really this isn't a huge camping trip at all. The Boy Scouts ages 14 and older are heading up to some campground... Pine Mountain, I think?... for a day and a half camping and hiking trip. Patrick is one of the assistant leaders for the 14 and 15 year olds. But from the day he found out about it (two days ago), Patrick has been like a little kid--he couldn't wait to head out this morning.

Patrick's life for the past two months has been job searching, and there have been few, if any, tangible results. This opportunity to retreat to the great outdoors without stressing over his employment status was a welcome one, but that's not the best part. I love watching him get so excited about something he loves. When we first started dating, I remember a conversation we had about what we were passionate about. Here's my problem--I am so ridiculously passionate about so many things (piano, jazz music, great literature, beautifully made things, new places and cultures, poetry done well, cooking or baking something delicious, etc.), that sometimes I feel like I'm positively oozing latent excitement, curiosity, and zeal for the things around me. I think it can sometimes be a little overwhelming. Enter Patrick, who's answer to the "What things are you passionate about?" was more like, "Ummm, well... I mean, I like Brazil [where he served his LDS mission], and I like the outdoors. I guess those would count."

While this might make us sound super-incompatible, believe it or not, we're not. (Thank goodness.) I've decided that the difference lies here: I am a very wordy person. Thoughts, feelings, passions, everything could launch me into a deep discussion about the intricacies and convolutions of everything we're discussing. Words are very much a part of who I am. Not so, with Patrick. He really likes discussing things, but he doesn't feel the need to justify every decision (like why he's decided to wear one shirt over another) via a five paragraph essay. Words aren't the medium he lives and moves in. Things are simpler and more clear-cut for him. No unnecessary complications. Is this a guy thing?

Whatever it is, it means he may not spew on for hours about how much he likes this thing or that, but when I see him rolling up his half-shelter, and he starts explaining to me how he hopes he can find trees to hold it up, but he's bringing poles in case he needs them, or he starts thinking out loud what he's going to bring for dinner, or he mentions how he wants to find time to camp by himself for a week on his Granddaddy's extensive land, I can tell how much he loves it. I guess being passionate about something doesn't require an exposition on why, exactly, you find it worth loving. Maybe you just need to continue to actively find joy in it. That makes sense to me.