Scott and Ted’s Excellent Adventure: Part two of a journey into unknown parts.
I was given the rare opportunity to celebrate Ted Knutson’s life.
I felt that humility, honor and responsibility when Teddy’s family handed me a little blue urn with his ashes in it.
I felt it when they asked me to take Teddy on an adventure, and spread what remained of him in the world.
I felt it on January 1st, 2021, at 9:00 AM when we signed up for the Moab 240 mile endurance race.
I felt it every day that followed.
Every single day I trained. I felt it when I ate. I felt it when I was dealing with fear. I felt it when I didn’t want to feel it.
I felt it on the starting line. I felt it over 4 days and 240 miles.
I felt it so intensely at the finish line.
I felt it when I was letting Teddy fall out of the urn and land gently on the bright red Moab sand.
Then I saw Teddy outside the blue urn. And I felt something very different.
Ted was some white material lying there. That’s it.
This human I loved was indistinguishable from table salt or baking powder.
Cue the cliche Kansas song “dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind.”
Will Farrell singing it behind me just like in Old School. Frank the Tank yelling,
I wanted to laugh. My laugher was a bit broken up.
There also wasn’t a Walter and Dude moment where I wore Teddys ashes on my face.
Just the big confusion and the overwhelming feeling of being an extremely fragile human, and realizing that white substance will be me someday.
It’s hard to take yourself serious in that moment, and it’s hard not to take what’s left of your life serious in that moment.
That’s some serious spiritual humor.
When I was looking at Teddy on the desert floor these thoughts came to me. And they attacked me.
What did Ted mean?
What do I mean?
What did this mean?
Why so serious? Said the Heath Ledger “Joker” in my head.
Maybe the hard answer to those questions is nothing.
Or Baking powder.
I don’t know. Maybe I’m not suppose to know.
What you have to do is McGyver together the best solution you can with what you are given.
I’ve given myself the rare opportunity to celebrate Teddy’s life everyday, again.
That’s the new way I look at it.
I feel that humility, honor and responsibility to keep alive the things I loved most about Teddy.
I loved his laugh. Everything about it.
How hard Teddy would laugh. How loud. How he sounded exactly like the cartoon dogs Precious and Muttley. All three of them had the same laugh. How is that possible?
How he would cry real tears, take his glasses off and wipe his eyes, just to prepare for another round of laughter.
Teddy loved to laugh.
I now feel a deep honor and responsibility to create and express more laughter.
Maybe that’s what all this means.
We just try and become the things we love the most about the people we lose.
I’m just asking myself to spread that in the world now.