Finding Me

It was one of those days: the days where your eyes fill with tears every time you turn a corner, the days where each breath is more difficult than that last, the days where anything and everything feels like its going wrong. The noise in my head was so loud that I couldn’t hear myself think. The self-doubt quickly became self-hatred and I needed to run. I got in my car and went to the place where breathing always comes easy: the woods.

My favourite trail was busier than it normally is. Usually I’d turn around and find a different spot, but today was different. I needed to be there. I needed to feel the peace. I needed to find my air. I began my walk down the path, but every 20 metres or so, someone passed by. People were friendly – as they always were – but I desperately needed to be alone. I’ve been through this trail enough to know my way out so I made the decision to leave the cedar-chipped path and trek deeper in to the woods. About 500 metres in, I found a small meadow with a fallen tree to sit on. I examined my legs: bleeding and itchy from untamed branches and tall grass. Taking a sip of water, I felt it: alone and peaceful. I was able to breathe again; to feel myself coming down from the anxiety attack that had been building for days. I closed my eyes and let the breeze flow around me, the sounds of the birds soothe me and the sun warm my cold, wet skin. The few minutes I spent feeling my surroundings took away of the pressures of my life. I felt ready to face the obstacles that were suffocating me an hour prior.

When I opened my eyes, I noticed something that didn’t belong: a dry bag, neatly sealed and tied to the trunk of a birch tree. Normally, I leave the forest just as I found it. However, this bag obviously didn’t belong a half kilometre off of the trail and my curiosity was too deep to just ignore it. I gently unclipped the bag and rolled it open. Inside was a black notebook. I wanted to roll the bag back up and clip it back to the birch as I didn’t want to invade anyone’s privacy. But I couldn’t. I needed to see what was inside as much as I needed to breathe.

I checked inside the cover for a name, a phone number, anything that would tell me where this book came from. I found nothing. So I began to read, looking for clues as to why this book was here. The first three pages contained a list: swim with dolphins, bathe an elephant, volunteer at a homeless shelter, etc. It quickly became clear that this was a bucket list, filled with the hopes and dreams of whoever wrote it. Every item on the list was checked off, having been completed. I kept reading, imagining myself in each of these scenarios – a life of bravery, adventure and freedom. The third page contained a folded piece of paper as a bookmark and one item at the very bottom of the page that was not completed: teach someone to live after I’ve died. That was it. The next pages were blank. I still needed to know more. Who was this person? Why did they leave this book here? What happened to them? How long did it take them to complete Grouse Grind?

Still searching for answers, I carefully unfolded the small piece of paper. The air that I worked so hard to find left my lungs. My vision narrowed and I heard a ringing in my ears. I truly couldn’t believe what I was seeing: a cashier’s check for $20, 000 and a note.

To the lost soul who was brave enough to travel off the beaten path, curious enough to read this book and desperate enough to find calm in the forest,

I gift you this twenty thousand dollars under one condition:

You must use it to live. Use this money to have adventures, to see the things you’ve always wanted to see and to do the things you’ve always wanted to do. I want you to create your own list and use this money to help fulfill your dreams. And while I will be long gone by the time anyone finds this, I will be watching down on you, waiting to see the happiness that comes from leading a life of adventures.

Thank you for living,

The adventurer.

I read and reread the letter, trying to grasp what was happening. After the sixth review, I was beginning to comprehend. I tucked the book, the letter and the cheque back in to the dry bag, rolled down the top and clipped it around my waist. I started to run. I ran the 500 metres south back to the trail, through the untamed trees and tall grass, leaping over logs and puddles. I ran the 2km of trail back to the parking lot and only stopped when I barreled in to the side of my car. I got in and drove straight to the bank. I deposited the cheque, sweaty and panting with my shins still wet and bleeding. Once the $20 000 was safely in my savings account, I went back to my car and took out a napkin and a pen. I began to write my list.

It has been three years since that terrible need for air lead me to this book. I have learned to sail, flown over Banff, and hiked the Bruce trail and so much more. I have lived – really lived. But it wasn’t the money (as much as that helped); it was the courage. The bravery that letter instilled in me is what gave me my freedom. The need to fulfill this person’s dying wish that drove me to live my life.

Three years ago today, I had my last panic attack. What I found in the woods that day was not just a book filled with money. What I found in the woods that day was myself. And while I’ll never know who it was that changed my life, I am eternally grateful that they did.