“The search is what anyone would undertake if she were not sunk in the everydayness of her own life. To become aware of the possibility of the search is to be onto something. Not to be onto something is to be in despair.” —Walker Percy ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Really excited to have a photo appear in these pages! Check out the @natgeoexpeditions page for their seriously awesome trips like this one at the Pacuare Lodge in Costa Rica.  “All great and precious things are lonely.” ―John Steinbeck ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Why aren’t you crying?” the x-ray tech asked at the military hospital. It was Saturday night, and I had just been moved to the military hospital after I was hit by a truck riding my motorcycle in Honduras the day before. I lay on a metal table, while two Honduran guys helped me twist into unnatural positions with a tibial plateau fracture, fibula fracture, sprained ankle, fresh stitches from one side of my leg to the other, road rash across my lower back, and dark purple bruises up and down the right side of my body. I was on a highway, riding at 60 mph to Tegucigalpa when a truck drove across the road in front of me, too close to react. Suddenly I was rolling, over and over and over, and heard the screech of metal— my motorcycle sliding across the asphalt. If the truck was going a little faster, it would have been a head-on collision, and I probably would have been killed instantly. Instead, my motorcycle clipped the front of the truck, and slammed sideways into the cab before taking off at a mad spin across the highway on its side, while I was thrown in the opposite direction. In the bright sunshine, on the side of the road, I struggled to pull off my helmet and gloves, finding my jeans in tatters, my boot pulled halfway off my right foot, and seeing blood and bone protruding from the open flesh on my right knee. It’s been almost 4 months since the accident— 15 weeks of wheelchairs and stitches and crutches and uncertainty. 15 weeks of being inside. There are only two ways forward— to be angry, or to move on. I moved on. Even though this careless guy in a truck changed my life in a split second, every adventure has risk, and a life without risk is no kind of life at all. I flew to Medellin, Colombia this past weekend to spend the next few months working, recovering, and learning to walk properly again. There’s a lot of crazy in this world, but also beauty— I still can’t be as active as I’d like, but from my bedroom window I can see the clouds rolling over the mountains in the early dawn, and the sparkling lights of buildings in the darkness. That I’m here to appreciate them is beautiful.
 “It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.” —Dumbledore (aka J.K. Rowling) ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Trusty boots. Gear. Go time.  "There is a saying in Tibetan, 'Tragedy should be utilized as a source of strength.' No matter what sort of difficulties, how painful experience is, if we lose our hope, that's our real disaster." -Dalai Lama XIV See that brace? I don?t need it anymore! I found out Friday, as of now, I don't need additional surgery. Nothing is certain, and if I don't get more movement back in my knee it's still a possibility (ah the complications of being hit by a truck). All the exercises and buckets of spinach have paid off, and now I have another 6 weeks to heal before I see the surgeon again. The hope is I'll be walking without support end of October, and another 5-6 months until I can get back to normal activity (jumping off rocks, backpacking, trail running). Thanks for all the support, messages, and shared stories fellow Instagrammers!
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