There was a dream once that was Colorado. It’s mostly unspoken – it’s more feeling and intuition and mysticism than it is anything articulated in a book or conversation. It was more the never-ending feeling that at any moment you could be on top of a mountain, with endless room to run and be free. Free from shame. From shackles. From judgment. From blame. From drama. From the doldrums of the actual world. Free from society. It sounds more Chris McCandless than manifest destiny. Maybe a blend of both. But all in good spirit and good faith. You took from the land, the karma bank, but you gave it right back with respect, loyalty, and taking full advantage of the beautiful playground God or Allah or Muhammad or anyone else built. It was pure. It was un-surrendering. It was equal in judgement. It gave back what you put in. The best judge and jury there ever was. None better. No constrictions. No chains. No bars. No cables across your heart keeping you in. You could run 1 mile or 50. It was your choice, weather pending. As I find myself back in the bars, the chains, I realize that all the shit we make up in our heads – currently thinking of the war of words we as Americans like to play; the never ending rabbit hole of who’s land is who’s and what rights we have to think what we think – we miss the point. The point is that there isn’t any point. There is no end game. The ideal of the American spirit was never meant to have an end game. It was meant to inspire. Inspire freedom. Inspire liberty. Inspire absolute foolishness and play. That’s the point. Do we miss the mark sometimes? Or rather, do we not live up to that 100% all the time? Yes. Nothing’s perfect. But the point is that was never the intention, to be bad, to be racial, to be hating, to be divisive. The American spirit lives out west. It’s freedom. It’s open skies. It’s living as you see fit, other view points be damned. It’s accepting the fact that there are differences, but the more you call out those differences, judge them, they just get wider. Did we not ever learn that focusing on your negative aspects increases them while focusing on your positive aspects boosts your overall well-being and morale? Acceptance is a powerful thing. Accept that it’s not perfect, and strive for the ideal in good faith and that’s literally all you have to do. That’s it. That’s the secret. Put down the swords and go for a god damn hike you mother fucking Twitter and Snapchat nation. Just fucking do it. Forget about why. Forget about pictures. Just fucking do it and stare at an elk off yonder. It’ll do more wonders for you in two seconds than a lifetime of Snapchat will do. We’ve forgotten that, I think, because we think it should be so much more complex. But that’s the secret – it’s not. And we don’t do it because we’re scared that we might find out we’ve been living all wrong. All sideways. And that’s a feeling not many can take. That you might have to then decide to end relationships. End jobs. End something. And start anew. But ahh, it’s never too late, no matter what Instagram says. It’s never too late to be whoever you want to be. Want to be happy on your death bed? Fuck everything and go outside and RUN. Run until you can’t fucking breathe. Run until you trip. Run until you fall head over heels into a bed of pine cones and aren’t even mad because you smell the fresh pine scent and it makes it all worth it. Go fucking run. Run until you get to the top. The middle. The bottom. The side. The up. The down. Wherever you find that little spec of mystical that makes it all worth living. Fucking run. Hike. Walk. Crawl. Wheel. Climb. Send it. Send it up. Send it down. Send it through. Send it somewhere other than the never ending hell we currently put ourselves through at the expense of our minds and our livers, all for a little sliver of IG heaven that never lasts. You know what lasts? Photo albums and trail runs. I ran across the sky in Jasper National Park for 29 glorious miles and never felt better. Guess what? There’s a girl in here who ran 3/4 of a mile yesterday, and in comparison to all the medications and therapy she’s receiving, that’s the best she felt in a week. You can too. Just go fucking run.
You may be questioning my perspective. My motive. My feeling. In fact that’s all I’ve heard the last 4 years anytime I’ve spoken and grain of truth or emotion or fact or anything in between – well that’s just your perspective. YA?!? It is. You’re right. But you’re not. Because what you’re really implying is that it’s wrong. That it’s not “well rounded” or “race sensitive” or “gay-friendly” or blah fucking blah. Jesus. Get a grip. In reality you’re just defensive because you have no fucking clue what to do yourself. And you’re afraid I or anyone else different may be right and how could you possibly be wrong because that would lead you to question your entire existence or job or blah blah blah and from the aforementioned writing, most don’t have the courage to do that. Am I well suited to offer a good perspective? Well I think so. It’s not perfect. But it’s real. Because I’ve seen the mountain top and the Death Valley and everything in between. Ive seen the rapes, the suicides, the almost suicides, the attempted suicides, the darkest of thoughts, and the darkest of demons. I’ve watched people wander off into the desert not wanting to be found, sometimes found, sometimes not. Ive watched someone drive a car to the edge of the Grand Canyon and wander off into the abyss not ever wanting to be found, picked up a mushroom the size of a human brain while searching for that someone and became utterly traumatized at the vainness and absolute insanity of life that would make someone want to do that; that he didn’t feel like he could stomach one more second of the IG world that 120 degree temps and sand storms with no water was better than facing the society that had torn him into less than nothing. I have been laid off and not wanted at a job after putting your entire life into it. I have felt the despair of friends departing, never to be seen again. Relationships departing, never to be seen again, with sometimes you bearing the responsibility. But I have also watched people run 100 miles, assault mountain tops in speeds that are incomprehensible; seen desert sunsets filled with the most red, orange, and rust given hue you’ll ever see. Ive been to the top of Mt. Whitney and witnessed the most beautiful sky of stars and the most impressive sunrise through a crack in the rocks that it makes your heart hurt. I have seen the wildflowers in Aspen, the fall colors burn across the Valley in Crested Butte, sank into a hot springs in the middle of a mountain valley naked, and I have seen skies so blue set against grass so green it looks photoshopped. I have felt the cold river water from a mountain stream after a 20 mile day in the mountains – your feet torn apart but the most rejuvenated they’ve ever been by the cool mountain water in the middle of wildflowers in the middle of an empty valley. I have watched the sun come up & had sex during a 5am sunrise with wine bottles and glasses spilled all over the floor from the never-ending night before. I have seen how the outdoors can bring everyone together; no ones unhappy at a trailhead I say; I have seen the different races, ethnicities, sexualities, genders, religions, faiths, spirits, mystics, gypsies, witches, wizards, gays, bis, straights, and everything in between and they’re all happy and they’re all talking. You realize it’s not actually that hard right? We just make it hard on ourselves because we get bored and we feel like making up bullshit just so we have something to do. Were scared of being stagnant. Of not MOVING somewhere. Always moving, never ending, never satisfied, never actually living, just being angry to live, and living to be angry. We wouldn’t know what to do if we didn’t have anything to do; so we make it up. We see a news clipping about THE BIG BAD GOVERNMENT situation and OH MY GOD, the WORLD is ENDING. We MUST END RACISM. When in fact all the things we continue to bitch about have already gotten better, simply by going to a trailhead and having fun. It just isn’t that fucking hard. But god we’re hell bent on making it so.
I don’t mean to be so angry; it’s just, damn, if we we’re just nice to each other we could all just go home and go to bed and have sex and then wake up and go for a run and do it again. Maybe its not so much anger, as it is just FUCK, we’re doing this all wrong, folks. Pent up anger that cares though; wants you and everyone else and the world to be not a better place necessarily, but just more real. I can take all the pain and the anger and the trauma and the OCD and all the ills that go along with it, I just can’t take the fakeness. The idealized nature of everything. The excitement we try to build up when in reality, some things just suck.
I checked into a residential trauma treatment center two weeks ago and am working on some things. It’s nice; a beautiful area and full of good people and hard stories. There’s something about the mentally ill or the sufferer’s trauma…there’s an authenticity to them. A realness that comes from those experiences, even if they are by way of a horrible experience. The situations and experiences, for their direness, bring wisdom. Wisdom that says really, nothing much matters. Family, friends, going out and having fun, enjoying things when you can, being real with each other…that’s really it. All the other stuff is just cyclical. It just goes round and round, just with different names and different narratives every few years. The only thing thats permanent are mountains.
I wish you all authenticity, to be real, and I’ll maybe write soon.
The Search for Gratitude 