My 1995 self would be shocked and disgusted to find out that I am not and never have been a kayaker. Back then, I was on the fast track to kayakdom. I'd taken college courses in canoeing. I hiked at least once a week. I was a vegetarian. I kept a journal. I read Thoreau recreationally. I was a classic case for a kayak.

Then something happened. I don't know what it was for certain, but I'm sure it had something to do with alt-media, local music, booze, working for the government, a nighttime lifestyle, and several other things that led me to a decidedly non-outdoor, non-recreational, non-sporty, non-kayak existence.

I had fun, it's true. But at heart, I'm a kayak person. I just know it.

My idea of a great day is this: I wake up. I put on my North Face vest. I hop in my Subaru (with kayak already mounted on my roof rack) and I head down to Lake Superior to paddle away. I do this for about two hours. Then I pack up, eat a burrito at Luce or an omelet at the Chester Creek Cafe, and then go to work.

Could life in Duluth, Minnesota get any better than that? No, I think not.

Unfortunately, I don't own a kayak or a Subaru. Or a roof rack. I don't even own a North Face vest, nor do I typically wake up early enough to actually do any of these things. I wake up at 1:30, down a pot of coffee and devour a bowl of microwaved oatmeal, and then drive 70mph to work. I am a complete failure.

This year, I resolve to kayak. If not regularly, at least one or two times. Because when you live in Duluth, Minnesota, and when you are me, not kayaking is completely ridiculous. I may not own a Subaru, and I may not own a North Face vest, and I may not own a chocolate lab named Jake, but I will definitely kayak. And hopefully, I will go as far as to own a kayak and kayak regularly.

But let's not get crazy. I have a nighttime lifestyle to reluctantly maintain, afterall.