Of the Mountains and the Sea
I wrote this piece in April of 2020, and wanted it published as a marker of growth as we move into the new year.
This past winter I moved from Summit County, Colorado, back to the California coastline. All things must end, especially the fantastic ones, so I parted ways with my beloved mountains and began the trek down the continental divide towards the setting sun.
As I made my way from the desert into the Sierra foothills just outside Reno, I took in the West. Strong multicolored sedimentary cliffs stand against the icy turquoise blue of the Truckee river. The land here is just as foreboding as it is inviting to exploration. I leaned back in the seat that had supported me for the last 12 hours, rolled the windows down and took a deep breath of the beginnings of spring. Throwing my head back, I drove the curves of I-80 like a racer, my indie playlist assigning meaning to every bump in the road, making me grin. It was delightful. Around the corners I went, zooming through the canyons at tremendous speeds. I slowed as the song changed, just in time to see a small herd of wild horses on the other side of the river. They drank deeply, their heads bowed and furry winter coats shiny in the late afternoon sunshine. Their little ears perked at the traffic on the other side of their world. The moment was so simple and pure. My heart caught in my throat and saltwater leaked out of my eyes.
Then, with a blink, I entered the outskirts of Reno. Billboards, lights, and brazen casino signs greeted my eyes. The contrast to the wild that surrounds the area made me emotional. How strange this world, where the bright yellow arches of McDonalds dominate the eyes, steering them away from the clay and sandstone arches that sit just outside the city. And why?
From my understanding, most people want essentially the same things: fulfillment and peace. Yet, when we design things for the masses, this individuality is left to the wayside and we, as a people compartmentalize ourselves. “Everyone should have everything!” we cry, though secretly thinking we are above everyone else because we think this. But the cost of accessibility is nearly always ignored. This does not mean I don’t support initiatives to help people in need, but I am criticizing the way we have gone about helping thus far: bureaucracy, fear, and force are not the means by which to be at peace and fulfilled. Such is duality. We cannot have something for everyone, or we would have nothing for anyone, and we’d be in the same place we started (as illustrated in fast food). It is the differences that make things interesting, the differences that allow this play of life.
At the end of the day, it really doesn’t matter. Do or do not, be or be not, the world keeps spinning and you continue to be accountable for your own happiness.
But I like things this way. I like the wild, and the wilderness of life.
I like surprises, and I like exploring the little universes that exist in each leaf, each eye, each microbiome. For this selfish reason alone, in pursuit of what I find joy in being, I am. I, we, the explorer, the consciousness, the ultimate creator and destroyer live every second of it. How joyous this world, with so much to discover. Do what calls you, and if nothing does, thats fine. You can always kill yourself, but why end the story just when it’s getting interesting?
