The following is a transcription of some brief hand-written notes from a recent hiking expedition. This excerpt has been revised and edited for your digital reading pleasure.
I found myself a comfy nook out in a nearby nature area, up high among the trees and cliffs. It's a sunny 70 degree afternoon, just me and the dog. We went for a little hike, got ourselves wet walking across the creek and trekked our way up a cliffside pathway to discover this moment of reprieve.
Sometimes, I wonder if I'm on the wrong path. Have I traded in a prosperous future for these present comforts that allow me to take off for a weekday afternoon in the wild? As the sun shines on my face and the cool breeze caresses the back of my neck, it's difficult to imagine that this isn't the point of being alive. Why do people bargain away 40 hours of their life every week indoors just to go spend the rest of their time inside another confined space?
I often find myself wishing I could be more like the animals—carefree, ever-present, taking the moments as they come. The detriments of hindsight and foresight keep me from being a full participant in the moment. These beautiful landscapes I've immersed myself in resemble a detached slideshow of sensory inputs, they don't feel real. Somehow, even out here surrounded by nature, I don't feel like myself.
My goal in coming out here is to unplug from the feedback loops that dominate indoor living. I feel more focused out here, not bogged down by distractions that interrupt whatever mental tangent I'm on. There's a certain amount of effort and willpower to get to this place, both physical and mental, but it always seems to be worthwhile. I wonder what it would take to make the inside world feel more like this. I'm not sure where to even begin, or if it would even be worth thinking about.
Looks like the clouds are moving in. The dog is getting restless. My time has been cut short. Guess I'm going back to that place, again.