It's a funny thing about human nature. It seems that no matter how bad things get, or how good things get, we usually manage to adapt to the situation. I mention this because it's been nearly a year since I arrived in the Grand Canyon. At the time I wasn't sure if I could last one month, let alone an entire year.
As my readers (both of them) might recall, I was recovering from some major disruptions in my life: Major depression and, more seriously, the homelessness that resulted from said condition. Despite the sudden shift in lifestyle -- going from being a successful, self-sufficient professional voice actor to being cast adrift in the street and finally washing up on the shores of the Salvation Army -- I found that, somehow, I could adapt to the situation. To be honest, I admit this with a mix of pride and horror. Yet it might explain how many people seem to stay mired in desperate situations: Somehow they adapt, and eventually accept those circumstances in which they find themselves.
In my case, I knew I wanted to turn things around. So to an extent I couldn't accept certain adverse circumstances. I expect that's what led me to follow through with SA's rehab program and continue through with this gig at the GC. Still, I found myself settling into the everyday routines of SA and their classes. I seemed to adapt and accept everything that came with it. Indeed, Your Humble Narrator came to accept things which, in his former life, would have too extraordinary to fathom: Being friends with ex-cons, druggies and oddballs of all sorts would be an example.
And along with that acceptance came a kind of subsumption in terms of attitudes and emotions. When I first arrived at SA I was emotionally numb and oblivious to the 'personal static'' that surrounded me (and surrounds all of us in our own orbits). By that I mean the everyday interference of events ranging from the personal (dealing with friends or loved ones), to the professional (dealing with co-workers or deadlines) to the relatively minor (dealing with the asshole at the grocery store who insists on pushing a a full cart through the 10-items-or-less aisle).
At first I ignored all that stuff. Gradually, it seemed to filter into my awareness. Then as now, I find myself paying attention to all that static. Including but not limited to all the attendant gossip, petty jealousies, backbiting, hand-wringing, disappointments and other manner of distraction that goes along with living our everyday lives. In a sense, I guess you could call it a return to normalcy, as it involves a kind of social interaction and communication. Maybe all that distraction is necessary to function in our society.
Here in the GC there has been much to adapt to as well. The 7000+ feet elevation, the relative isolation of the park itself (nearest 'major city' Flagstaff being 80 miles away), and ... another collection of oddballs, weirdos and freaks who inhabit the dorms provided by Xanterra. It's no secret that many of these guys (and gals) exhibit any and all manner of social improprieties. This can be evidenced by maladjusted behavior ranging from profane and/or physically violent outbursts in public (one cook, when dealing with an elderly customer, called her a "sack of shit") to extreme partying in the wee hours or using their rooms as a toilet. Their social skills are so lacking you might say they have a social disease -- so to speak.
In the dorm where I live, we have a guy who apparently showers 6 times a day (while having loud conversations with himself) and another guy who takes around 45 minutes to rinse and gargle (again, several times a day). Another guy limps around with a hideously deformed foot (which looks leprous) and whose job description must include sitting around all day and blasting music as loud as possible, because that seems to be all he does -- and of course he's my next door neighbor.
Many of these guys like to bitch and moan about how unfair Xanterra is and how much they hate their respective jobs. Interesting, because most of those whiners have been there for at least 3-5 years. I and others have conjectured that many of these oddballs probably can't cope with the outside world. So they hole up in the GC where can find a community of similar eccentrics (to use a kind term) and where their quirks are tolerated, to a degree.
So I've learned to adapt to that as well. And to be honest it can be fascinating. Where else could I find such a collection of guys who look like they wandered straight outta Middle Earth?
