You may not need education, but I wouldn’t kayak without it

This is a response to Tim Shuff’s article We Don’t Need No Education: Credential Overproduction in the Kayaking World, which appeared in the Fall 2015 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine.

Full disclosure: I’m a millennial. I’m of the demographic Tim Shuff characterizes as “busy paying off the student loans for the PhDs on their Starbucks resumes.” I may not have a “Starbucks resume” (and isn’t entirely certain what that is) but I’m trying my hardest in a world where the generational divide can seem downright cavernous. And over the past year or so, I’ve become a kayaker. I’m writing this not to argue, but simply to share my viewpoint. Still reading? Good on you for your willingness to listen to a millennial!

Shuff makes a lot of excellent points, and his overall message (as I understand it) is valid. Kayakers, especially those new to the community, get bogged down by all the training and certification hoops they’re asked to jump through. The wall of intimidating acronyms (ACA, IDW, IT, SEIC, and on) is large and stands prominently in the newcomer’s path down to the water.

Veterans of the sport understand that it’s not the only path. That there’s another route to becoming a kayaker: the “caveman” route. The figure-it-out-as-you-go route. The option to quietly side-step officiality and simply trot down to the surf. So why don’t we millennials take this simpler, nobler path?

The thicket of acronyms is so unavoidable that newcomers might not even see that other route. Maybe that thought has genuinely never occurred to them. Or maybe it has. Maybe they know that the “caveman” route exists. But here’s the thing: that path isn’t free of barriers, either. It comprises lots of obstacles that exist in the lives of us youngsters. There are emotional barriers. There are social barriers. There are financial barriers. We didn’t choose to put those hurdles there, but there they are.

Let’s address the helicopter in the room. Yes, I am one of the earlier products of “helicopter parenting.” My parents were concerned for my safety, and wanted me to know that they were proud of me. And yes, I’m now rather insecure. I’m anxious, I’m timid, I’m nervous. I don’t blame my parents; I had a great childhood and I love the person I’m growing to be. Being helicoptered made me sensitive, thoughtful, and honest. It also made me too terrified to buy a boat, drag it down to Lake Erie, and hop in. What may sound like an adventure to some sounds like a cold and watery grave to this helicoptee. Blame my upbringing, blame my generation, blame whatever you want – still, I could never do it.

Certifications give me something I value above thrill: peace of mind. They give me confidence in my ability to be safe, to live to paddle another day. The confidence they afford me allows me to actually relax and have fun while paddling, rather than worry with each stroke. At the end of the class, the instructor gives me the pat on the back that I need to feel secure. If it weren’t for a class, an instructor, a credential, I’d never have the gumption to get out on the water. Credentials empower the Meek of Heart to conquer the intimidating emotional barrier to paddling.

Classes help with the social barrier, too. You may be thinking that I don’t need an acronymed instructor for that – I should just go out and find some kayaking buddies! Well, maybe that’s feasible in mystical places like The West Coast, where there’s a kayak shop on every corner and paddlers on every pond. I live in Toledo, Ohio. There’s a paddling shop an hour away. There’s one small livery just out of town, but they offer no instruction. There is a relatively new kayaking club, which is a haven and a blessing.

I wouldn’t have found that club, though, if it weren’t for my ACA class. The class was a gateway to meeting the very few fellow kayakers in my area. And given what I’ve already told you about being helicoptered, you can probably guess that I’d prefer not to paddle alone. For people who live in places like I do, the social barrier is a real obstacle to paddling. It’s classes and instructors that welcome us into the sport with open arms.

But even if I could find paddling buds on my own, I’d still be up a creek without… well, you know. When Shuff said that my ilk are busy paying off student loans, he was absolutely right. I was ushered directly off the high school graduation stage and into an expensive 4-year program at a big, impressive (and credentialed!) university. I graduated with a little over $33,000 of debt. I make about $23,000 per year. I live in one of the most affordable cities in the nation, and my monthly bills total about $1000 (that’s with minimum payments). All told, if I want to make meaningful progress toward getting out of debt, there’s not much left over for buying ‘yaks.

So I’m left looking for a boat to borrow. The most economical option is to rent from a livery, but as we already discussed, there’s only one in the area (and that one stretch of river will get old pretty quick), and I’m nervous to just head out on my own. Once again, credentials are my answer. I can go out with a certified instructor for a fraction of the cost of buying my own gear. I can take an ACA class, which is a bit more expensive, but still within my means, and ultimately empowers me to explore other options. Of course I want to buy my own gear someday. But for now, these options are the only ones that make financial sense to this debt-saddled millennial.

So yes, there are two routes to the water: taking the path through the certification jungle, or hurdling the emotional, social, and financial barriers that exist in the lives of people my age. So what’s a girl to choose? Sure, the certification route is time-consuming and bureaucratic and not right for everyone. But the other obstacles can be bigger, badder, and real-er. Certification isn’t the only way, but for some, it might be the best way.

Should we be admonished by the elders of the sport for choosing the route that makes the most sense for us? I think not. After all, no matter what route we take, we’re getting ourselves down to the water. Whether it’s the fast and furious dash of Shuff’s generation, or the slow, methodical crawl of mine – new people are paddling. Isn’t that what we all want?


The best-laid plans…

…I can’t even finish this lead-in. Sigh. Another plan going where best-laid plans go.

The first day of a New Year glows with the best of intentions. Sometimes we state them very clearly, as Measurable Objectives. We craft intricate plans, with bullet points and spreadsheets. Other times, the intentions are fuzzier around the edges, more like Goals than Objectives. (Is it at all obvious that I’ve been writing lesson plans all week?)

Whatever the flavor of plan, it will most likely fail. The statistics, as usual, do not lie. I could quote some here, but you already know the punch line. The overwhelming majority of New Year’s Resolutions fail. And then how do we feel? Awful.

I’m no exception. I made pretty lofty plans for 2015! Plans for a new job. Plans for learning my kayak roll. Plans for a relationship I treasured. They were great plans, and the idea of their fulfillment made me very happy, and so I became attached to them.

Turns out that those plans weren’t so attached to me, though. One by one, they were swatted from my grip by the great cosmic hands of the universe, or whatever. And as most people are when their plans are dismantled, I was left feeling frustrated, heartbroken, disappointed – in short, 50 shades of not great.

So what, then, should be my resolution for this fresh and glorious new year? After the spectacular failure of my plans for 2015, one might think that it would be to never make another plan again. But should it?

A certain quote from CS Lewis brought me comfort in many times made dark by the Great De-Planning of 2015. Lewis said:

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”

Love is really just a different species of plan, I think. To make a plan is to be vulnerable. To make a plan is to create an opportunity to fail at that plan. And that failure could bring guilt, despair, and any of the other 48 shades of not great.

Plans are like love in that way. They’re also like love in that we can’t simply stop making plans just because we know that they might not work out. What would we ever accomplish? From the tiniest plan to feed your cats, to the hugest plan of starting a family, we must have goals. We need some greater vision to move toward, even if the movements are a little disjointed and clumsy.

The problem comes when we become attached to our plans. Sometimes we allow our plans and our visions of achieving them to become an integral part of our happiness. When we cling so tightly to our plans that they become part of our identity, that’s when we’re totally devastated by their failure.

So this year, I’ve decided to do something simple but important: to just approach the year with a sort of nonchalant warmness. I’ve decided to have a goal, but to not attempt to plan out every little strategic move toward that goal. And I definitely won’t be getting attached to any theorized means to my end.

I want to make 2016 the Year of Me. I’m going to build my own identity – one that doesn’t rely upon having a fancy new job, or living in a hip new city, or performing feats of athleticism, or even having a romantic partner. I’m going to just be me, moving toward a goal of self-love and general happiness, no matter what path I end up taking to get there.

I’ll admit that I had big plans for today. Map out my workout plan! Apply for the latest awesome job I found! Finish editing the first episode of Yet Unnamed Podcast! All of these plans represented things that are important to me and my wellness and my betterment. All of these plans were Objectives to support my Goal, my commitment to making 2016 the Year of Me. These plans were laid well.

But when push came to shove, I realized that today just wasn’t a day for plans. At least, not those plans.

I realized that today, what I actually needed was to watch a lot of Parenthood. I needed to eat a lot of Christmas cookies. I needed to take a nap with my cat. I needed to make my bed purely so that I could lie down in it and watch more Parenthood. I needed to attempt to make a really nice dinner, fail miserably, then have a protein bar and a glass of V8 and call it a balanced meal. Oh yeah, that happened in my bed, too. Deep, deep into Parenthood.


Season 6 is on Netflix. Haddie’s finally a lesbian. Can you really blame me?

Am I incredibly proud of the noble contributions to humankind I made today? No. But do I feel totally awful? No.

And because I didn’t feel awful when my little Objectives for the day ended up falling through, I know that I still worked toward my Goal. I didn’t become so attached to my To-Do List that I feel woefully incompetent for not crushing it. I still took steps toward happiness, even if they weren’t the steps I’d planned on.

I feel like this is the place for a nice, shiny, pull-it-all-together concluding statement. But not right now. I have some more Parenthood to watch.