No, I'm not being dramatic, though that wouldn't be uncalled for the aftermath of the election. I've expanded beyond the Blogger format, with my own website, www.lukemehall.com . Thanks for the years of reading, and go visit the new site for the latest work. peace and love, Luke. (photo by Bonnie McIntyre)
Luke's Bloggie Blog
A blog from Durango, Colorado's Luke Mehall. He has four books available from Benighted Publications: Graduating From College Me, American Climber, Climbing Out of Bed and The Great American Dirtbags.
Wednesday, December 7, 2016
Thursday, November 17, 2016
The Sensitive Climber Guy (The Opposite of the Pussy Grabber)
Times are
scary, and common sense decency seems to quickly be fading from day to day
life. We’ve got a presidential candidate that freely talks about “grabbing
pussys” and many people seem to accept that as okay.
But this is not a political article;
this is just a statement, an offering of hope, especially if you are an
outdoorsy woman who is just looking a little R-E-S-P-E-C-T. My friends, there
is a type. There is a guy. He is called The Sensitive Climber Guy.
In my thirty-eight years of life
I’ve never come across a more ethical group of human beings that my fellow
outdoorsy people. Time in nature demands respect, patience, and knowledge.
Holding your fellow human beings life in your hands on the other end of the
rope molds one into something different. The further you take the risks, the
more you understand.
This Sensitive Climber Guy will not
be hard to spot, but he may be hard to find. He may be overly polite. He may
start the fire, cook you dinner, and offer you his warm puffy should it be cold
around the campfire. He will lead some pitches, but he will offer your own
lead. He’ll check your knot, your harness, and your helmet. He’ll give you the
last bite of the clif bar. He will pick you flowers on the trail. He may even
write you a poem or sing you a song. He will listen, that is the mark right
there—see if he listens. Because even if he’s not talented in the realm of song
or writing, you are his muse.
There’s a surplus of these single
guys — many of them spend so much time outside for work and play that their
dating life suffers. They don’t know how else to live though. Many lament that
they don’t meet any women — polite as they are — while the “bad hombres” like Trump
run the world with such alarming masochism our instinct is to cover our
children’s ears when he speaks. We’ll never call you “our bitch” and we’ll
never grab your p****—well not until you ask us too.
I’ll never understand what it’s like
to be a woman. Your burden is greater than mine. I can only imagine a rational
women’s fear of this monster that is rising to power. I’m sure for many women
that have been abused and treated unfairly by men, he is a constant reminder of
fear and pain.
There can’t really be a solid
conclusion for this little blog piece. I just wanted you to know we’re out
there. I just wanted to say something sweet to as many ladies as I could reach.
There are monsters in this world, many of them, with Trump at the top of the
list. But away from the cruel world, on the fringes, in nature, there are good
men—surely not all of them, but many of them. I just wanted you to know.
Friday, November 11, 2016
The New Book: Graduating From College Me
When I was 33 I set a goal to write five books by the time I was
forty—for a while it was a nice thing to say at a party or on a date, but then,
damn, I had to do the writing.
So, I’ve been writing,
ferociously. Fortunately the writing gods have blessed my work with
productivity—writing is kinda like climbing mountains, you can blah-blah-blah
about it all you want, but the proof is in the doing. But I’ve sat down every
morning I’m at my home office and written. Nothing crazy, just solid consistent
effort.
“Another book?” is the response
I’ve been getting a lot when I’ve been telling people about Graduating From College Me, A Dirtbag Climber Grows Up. I get it, I just came out with my memoir, American Climber less than six months ago, and I don’t exactly
have the reputation as an excessively productive writer. But, you gotta make
hay when the sun is shining, and lately, well, the sun has been shining.
About the book—it is a collection
of short stories, vignettes, and poetry—and to me it is the rawest writing I’ve
ever done. The premise of the book is to write about life lessons I’ve learned
since I graduated college a decade ago. The book has more poetry than I’ve ever
published in a book, as well as a heavy focus on the American southwest desert
that has captivated my soul so much since moving to Durango six years ago.
As with anything raw in nature some of the writing in this book
is embarrassing to me. There are chapters about love I’ll never read aloud to
an audience. When I skim over them they surprise me by how honest I was, which
is exactly what my job is to the author—to deliver honest writing. So, instead
of hiding them away somewhere, I decided to go on and publish them, with hopes
they might help someone else relate to my own struggles.
In addition to writing about
love, I’ve realized how much I love climbing. These words, from the final
series of vignettes in the book about Indian Creek sum up where I’m at with my
climbing these days, trying to keep it personal, to break through my own
ceilings, and in the end, realizing when climbing is done for the love of it,
it is the best.
Climbing is this yin and yang
thing. Knowing when to fight and when to back off can be the difference between
life and death, success and failure. And, never forget that the best climbing
moments kinda feel like floating anyways, a profound act of trying without
trying. Just doing. Like love. Becoming one with something else.
Graduating From College Me, A Dirtbag Climber Grows Up.
Graduating From College Me, A Dirtbag Climber Grows Up.
The Weight Or Not My President
I
could feel the weight of what was happening a hundred feet from the door of the
Powerhouse, a sort of instinctual dread. The air was thick, he was winning, and
his lead was growing. What many thought would never happening was happening:
Donald Trump was becoming our next president.
I initially started the night off at
a local pub, my head on a swivel as I turned from my phone to the TV; trying to
make sense of what was happening. There were four split screens with different
channels, and each had a separate count for the electoral vote. I was with my
friend Jennaye, she’s my go-to when I need a drink and a smile; my BFPF (best
female platonic friend). But this would not be a night with very many smiles.
The tension was already building
around that table of friends and new friends I just met, and we decided we
needed to go be with the Democrats as they gathered in the Powerhouse Science
Center. I’ve never really considered myself a Democrat, more of an Independent,
but I was rooting for Hilary Clinton to win. The state of our nation depended
on it, I thought.
The night started with pleasantries
and beers, but quickly I became anxious and fixated on the results. Nothing was
making sense, I knew Hilary needed a certain amount of electoral votes, but I
didn’t understand exactly what states she needed to win. I knew my roommate and
friend Micha would know, and she was at the Powerhouse.
Cutting through the air of anxiety
and despair I found her—we might lose—was the jist of it. My heart sank. Was
America really about to elect an openly racist, misogynistic, liar to the
presidency?
The night carried on. I was too
nervous to even drink another beer. I knew it wouldn’t help. I already had a
splitting headache because I’d been in the desert for several days before, and
didn’t drink enough water during the day for proper recovery.
The vibes in the air got worse, and
I went into writer mode. I knew this was going to be a moment in history I’d
remember for as long as I live and I wanted to crystalize it in my brain. I
studied the expressions on people’s faces. Some cried, others were transfixed
on their phones following other races in the Senate and House. My phone died. I
don’t know what use I really had for my phone at that point anyways.
I wasn’t the first to leave, and I
wasn’t the last. By the time I left though I was no longer surrounded by
friends. Everyone seemed to need to grieve on their own.
I slumped out of there, and rode my
bike slower than ever before as I contemplated what had happened. I felt
sadness, but for what? For whom?
If I am being truly honest, and as a
journalist and poet at heart that is my job, I was sad for myself. For the last
eight years I’ve felt as though Barack Obama truly represented my interests and
values. I was proud to have a black president who was full of integrity. I
thought America was headed in the right direction of everyone finally having a
voice. I feel like Hilary represented many of my values as well. Sure, I wasn’t
as excited about her as Obama, but I knew she would be a continuation of his
vision. So, I was sad because who I wanted to win did not win.
There’s a deeper sinking feeling past
that, and that hit home as I sat in front of the computer screen and constantly
refreshed the New York Times website.
The financial market was already crashing. I understood that the anxiety of
women, people of color, Muslims, recent immigrants and hopeful immigrants, were
feeling, but I did not feel it myself as much as they are. I realized I am the
privileged, educated, Middle Class white man.
I feel asleep with my computer still
on in my bed and then was wide-awake at five in the morning. Normally a good
sleeper, I knew I couldn’t go back to bed because I was again ridden with
anxiety. I wondered if I would get out of bed all day. I checked all the news
sites. I cried a little.
I avoided checking Facebook, I knew
there would be anger from my friends, and voicing anger on Facebook is kinda
like shouting at the wind. I had my own anger—mostly for the white populous
that voted for Trump and their ignorant ways. I felt pure hatred for a minute. Instead of sending away all our immigrants and Muslims why
don’t we just send the miseducated angry white people away? I hear Mars is
looking for residents.
Eventually after hours of depressing
news stories, I found my way to Facebook. Of course there were some angry
posts. A lot of them.
Through the anger and the hate there
were some voices of love and truth. Many people expressed their desire to leave
the country, but then realized how much America needs people who want to accept
everyone and love everyone regardless of their skin color, religion, or sexual
orientation.
One voice, one voice rang out over
all. It was from Andrea Stanley, a Native American woman, whose perspective I
have appreciated since meeting her this past summer. The post read, “Good Morning! It's a
good day to be Indigenous! Remember, this is nothing new when we think of what
our ancestors endured for us to exist today. This country is founded on stolen
land, genocide, colonization, and slavery. I appreciate honesty in any form and
now it's proven to y'all who didn't already believe that we live in a white
supremacist country. We will continue to fight for mother earth and the sacred.”
More and more, I am reminded of the
privilege that being white and male means in America. It looks like for the
next four years those of us who appreciate and honor diversity will be on the
defense in the political arena. No matter how much I fight though I will still
be white and male—the ideal skin color and gender for the world Trump hopes to
create.
I finally found the courage to get
out of bed. I had to write, I had to. It’s what I was born to do. Then, I heard
crying outside of my bedroom. It was Micha. I figured I’d just let her have a
cry, get it out of her system. But she just kept weeping. So, I went out and
talked to her. She was crying for all the energy she put into the election that
now seemed like a waste. (Just yesterday after knocking on doors all day, she
practically collapsed next to her bed saying, “why won’t people just vote?”)
She cried for women, and what a misogynistic leader like Trump means to all
women. She was exhausted and frustrated. I just listened, and realized I was
not as sad as her, or many people, because his presidency will not affect me as
it does other people.
Like many, I have thoughts of
leaving. I have friends in Mexico and Canada. I’m still contemplating it, but
again, it is a privilege to be able to consider it. And again, I’m going to
leave you with words from someone else, from Durango writer Page Buono, and her
post this morning, “For hours now, roughly twelve of them, I've been plagued by
the intense desire to leave, to find some other place to call a home, because
certainly in the wake of last night's results, this does not feel like my home.
Where else can I land? A deep forest, a lonely canyon, another county? But I
realize that the desire and genuine opportunity to leave is a product of my
privilege. For so many, there is no other country, no other home. This is it.
Our task now is to carve out our place in it and hold firm to the welcoming
spaces we craft. There is nowhere else to go. We have to turn toward each other
and keep fighting to make this a space we are proud to call our own.”
This piece was originally published in this week's Durango Telegraph.
My memoir American Climber is now available in e-book format and print.
This piece was originally published in this week's Durango Telegraph.
My memoir American Climber is now available in e-book format and print.
Tuesday, October 11, 2016
I'm with (common sense)
The other week
when the fall colors were poppin and the leaf peepers were a peepin, I drove
over up to Telluride, and then up to Gunnison. I had a book tour event in
T-ride and then a wedding in Gunnison. As I witnessed the amazement of the
changing of seasons and the colors that accompany it, I was startled by
something else as well, the amount of Trump-Pence signs off the side of the
road.
My urge when I
see those signs reminds me of my teenager anger, I wanted to throw eggs at them,
or spit on them, or tear them down. And, I would, but, well, I’m an adult. The
pen ain’t mightier than the sword, but I can still remind each and every Trump
supporter that you are un-American, and you are a disgrace to our country.
It’s time to go
somewhere else if you think that he is a proper leader for the most powerful
nation in the world. You are a sucker and a damn fool if you think that man is
a decent human being. Hilary Clinton isn’t perfect, but she is exponentially
more qualified than a man who (among other things) taunts and insults the
parents of a dead U.S. solider.
This whole
piece could be a rant against Trump supporters, but I’m fairly certain most of
you don’t read above the second grade level, so why bother. (Please prove me
wrong and write an intelligent letter to the editor of why he is a qualified
candidate.) I want to riff on something else as well, someone that Trump has
clearly paved the way for: Kanye West.
Last year at
the MTV Video Music Awards, Kanye aka Yeezy, announced that he was going to run
for president in 2020. Of course, everyone kinda viewed that as a joke, even
Obama himself made fun of him, but now that Trump has risen to power, we have
to look at Yeezy a little differently. I mean think about it: two men with
insanely large egos, who say the most outlandish things just to get reactions
out of people, and in turn get a ton of publicity for it. They both say they are
geniuses. The difference is that Kanye actually is a genius, a musical genius
that is.
Of course,
Kanye would have to be a Democrat. You can’t be hip-hop and Republican. You
just can’t. We believe Obama when he says he has Jay Z on his iPod. If Bush had
said that we never would have believed him. (Side note, even Bernie Sanders has
a little hip-hop in him, and teamed up with rapper Killer Mike during his
campaign.)
Oh, but maybe
this is the problem here. Republicans aren’t adapting and changing with the
times. Please don’t think this is a rant against all Republicans, I know some
of you are good and moral people, and right now with this presidential race, I
feel sorry for you. Perhaps the good and moral Republicans are simply not in
the majority anymore. The racist, ignorant, misogynistic, hate mongers seem to
be in charge these days.
I know Hilary
Clinton is favored to win this race, and you can be damn sure she’s getting my
vote, but let’s say something happens, and the Russians hack our voting system
and god forbid, Donald Trump is our next president. This sets the stage for a
battle. Trump versus Yeezy.
And maybe in
2020 if our country still even exists, and Trump didn’t get impeached for doing
something highly illegal, we will change the presidential debates into rap
battles. (Trump’s style is more suited towards a rap battle than a presidential
debate anyways.) Note: if you don’t know what a rap battle is get on YouTube
and come back to this article. Or, watch 8 Mile with Eminem.
Basically in a
rap battle practically nothing is off-limits. You can diss the opponent’s
mother, their wife, their offspring, anything. It would be PERFECT for him.
It’s just his style.
They would
argue whose penis is bigger. They would argue whose wife is hotter. They might
even mention killing their opponents. The sad reality is that in his own way
Trump has already done all of these things. Trump is more suited for a rap
battle than the presidency, and so is Kanye. But I bet Kanye would tear Trump a
new one if they battled, just like Eminem did to his opponents in 8 Mile.
At this point
in the conversation a lot of folks are bringing up the third party vote,
especially the die hard Bernie folks. They don’t like Hilary and they don’t
trust her. I’m not going to try to sway anyone from voting from who they think
should be the president, after all this is a free(ish) country. But, you know
what, Bernie wants you to vote for Hilary, so does Obama. As a country we need
to ensure Obama’s legacy, we are in much better of a place now than when George
W. left office.
Most
importantly we need a leader who embraces the diversity of the United States,
and knows how to operate within the world of foreign policy. Building a wall is
not a solution. The position of commander in chief is a job, not a reality
television show. There is only one person who is qualified. In the words of the
Atlantic, who recently made their
third endorsement for president in their 159 year history, “Trump is
not a man of ideas. He is a demagogue, a xenophobe, a sexist, a know-nothing,
and a liar. He is spectacularly unfit for office, and voters—the statesmen and
thinkers of the ballot box—should act in defense of American democracy and
elect his opponent.”
Word.
This article is published in today's Durango Telegraph.
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