As you can tell by our facial expressions at the start of this adventure, there are two sides to every story…

We each wrote our sides of the story – my take is below and Brad’s take on this entire mess is linked below! Be sure to check out both of our stories about this latest shared experience (it’s all my fault…) –

Julie’s Take

As I drove up the highway and then onto scenic, winding side roads, I prayed for rain. I wished for rain. I pleaded for rain. And not just your basic, everyday rain – I wanted torrential downpours, sloppy puddles, and mud so deep and sticky that your sneakers risked being left behind with each step. I needed that level of rain with a desperation that was unmatched – for today was THE DAY that we were going to do A Very Scary Thing. 

I contrived The Very Scary Thing and rebranded it as a Potentially Scary But Exhilarating Thing – and somehow sold this idea to the only other person equipped to experience and understand the depth of this alongside me, my collaborator and friend, Brad. As with most of my ideas, I am ready to charge ahead and think about the logistics later, as I am a self-proclaimed devotee to the motto, “Damn the consequences! Full speed ahead!”. Luckily, when Brad is on the receiving end of the madness, cooler heads tend to prevail – but this time, somehow, I managed to convince him to undertake this side quest with me with promises of treasure (beer) and loot (fries) waiting at the end. 

We pulled into the parking lot of a state park that has unpaved trails that wind up and above the majestic rocky coastline of the Maine shore – the quintessential ocean view that holds magic and secrets of shipwrecks and adventure and captures the imagination of even the most hardened visitor. The views are breathtaking regardless of the weather – and while most would prefer to visit on a sunlit day, I was hellbent on experiencing it during a rainstorm. 

Without a raincoat. 

No umbrella in hand. 

In the absence of sensible shoes. 

And without my hearing aids in. 

(And by default, because he was getting dragged along into this heady mess – Brad was also going to remove his hearing aids – but his side of the story is his to tell, and you can read about it below…) 

As the leader of this ill-conceived and likely irresponsible expedition, I pushed down my anxieties and fears and led with confidence and an easy smile. I didn’t dare let on that the second my foot hit pavement after leaving my “ears” in the dry warmth of the car I was filled with an inexplicable terror and almost lost my nerve completely (while simultaneously appealing to any spirit that would listen that the car please not be broken into or stolen in our absence because our hearing aids were in there). However, having been raised in a “football family”, I drew from the words of famed coach Vince Lombardi, “Winners never quit, and quitters never win!” – then bravely took those first few steps into the misting rain. Intellectually, I was very aware that my hearing aids were out but I still defaulted to checking myself to make sure that they did not get wet – old habits, it seems.  

Brad was on my right side as we started walking, and considering one of his 6’ 2” strides are equivalent to 4 of my 5’ 4” steps I was praying that he would match my pace and not stray too far ahead because at this point neither one of us were capable of hearing the other one or pretty much anything else. This brought up some questions in my mind about the sanity of this undertaking, safety considerations that I really hadn’t considered, and set me into a state of hyper awareness that I have never experienced before or since. I also quickly realized – as the talker of the group – that my incessant and nonstop chatter and ongoing commentary had come to a screeching halt because we had both been plunged into sudden silence. (In retrospect, for Brad this was the best gift he’s ever been given considering I am a running stream of consciousness – I lasted 2 exits worth of not talking on the drive up). 

We carried on, hitting the unpaved trail, and I started to lean into the experience a bit more and released some of the anxiety that we were going to suddenly be attacked by hoodlums springing from the brush, and instead shifted my focus to observing what was around me during this rare quiet moment in an otherwise ordinary day. There was an emerging exhilaration in my realization that I was finally able to be out on a rainy day with no care of my hearing aids getting wet – and with that realization my trepidation turned to excitement and I was able to convince myself that this was the best idea I have ever, ever had. Ever. 

As we continued on our stroll, my eyes took over for me more than ever, and I found my attention drawn to plants, sticks, and rocks that I have passed countless times over the years on these familiar trails during my charge forward to reach my favorite outlook spot over the ocean. I was truly shocked at how much my singular focus of only experiencing the ocean each time I visited this park clouded the natural life around me – it was truly as though I had stepped into a completely different setting than one that I had frequented in the past years. The colors of the flowers seemed brighter, leaves were shinier and the muted colors of the rocks sprang to life in an unexpected contrast. 

We reached the bench where I typically pause and it was here that I looked out on the ocean fully and the realization hit me that I was in a world of impermeable stillness and silence – as there were no noises that I could hear, not anymore. For years, without my hearing aids in, I was able to pick up on ambient noises including my dog barking or a door closing – but in the past few years those sounds had been slipping further out of reach as my hearing has declined substantially. I had mostly accepted this as a part of my hearing loss, but it wasn’t until I was gazing out at the mighty Atlantic when I realized that I could not hear the ocean, at all. 

For those that know me well, my heart belongs to the sea – and the sound of the waves crashing is my soul song. There was a profound moment of disconnect where my eyes could see the ocean but my ears were seeking that soothing heartbeat I craved as the waves crashed on the rocks – and then there was a silent breaking of my heart when I realized that I could no longer hear it. I was on the verge of tears as grief swept over me as I fully acknowledged that at some point either in the near or distant future, due to the type of hearing loss I have been gifted, the world will likely become very quiet. I steadied my breathing and focused my energies on returning to observing the natural world around me in an effort to avoid dissolving into a full on dramatic meltdown that only I am capable of executing with a flair that is unmatched by even the most accomplished actress – with the exception of Ava Gardner, of course. 

As we continued to sit and observe the ocean, each having our own individual experiences during this shared undertaking, there was a mutual, nonverbal understanding when it was time to rise and return to the parking lot, the car, and the safety of once again inserting our hearing aids and rejoining the chaotic, complicated world that wears both of us out on a daily basis through the level of exertion it takes for us to participate as fully as possible. 

Once we were settled in the car with our respective aids, notebooks, pens, and snacks my world felt like it had righted itself once again on its axis. I quickly scribbled out notes, observations, and revelations carefully avoiding revisiting any deep emotions lest I started wailing into my protein shake and popcorners snacks. Instead, I took a deep breath and exhaled gratitude for the technology that I have been blessed to access on a daily basis that allows me to hear the ocean for at least one more day. 

Author’s Note: 

A very special thank you to Brad for even considering this idea, never mind being willing to step into the void with me sans hearing aids, being open to documenting his own experience in a companion blog post, and his exercised restraint in not nudging me off the high rock ledge where we took the above picture capturing our individual feelings about this latest adventure – 

For Brad’s Side of the Story – Be sure to check out:

https://bradmckenna.wordpress.com/2024/08/19/misty-mountain-hop/