I planned to visit five national parks this week, and spend every night under the stars. I start to rethink this decision on the second night as I lay in my car in Arches National Park, watching the shapes my breath forms in the air.
I had originally planned to drive to the Washington and Portland coast, but with snow making the roads treacherous, I traded trees and ocean for more sagebrush and desert, much like my part-time home in northern Wyoming. For the past few weeks, I have been craving to be surrounded by lush greenery much like my home in Massachusetts. I miss the scent of trees in the air that changes with every season; winter brings the light crisp scent of fir and spruce, and fall brings the musky earthy scent of decomposing oak leaves. Seeing as the roads were not going to let me slip through, I traveled south to Utah and decided to enjoy the heck out of it; after all - I was free to wander wherever I pleased in nature so I better be thankful for it.
My first stopping place is in Salt Lake City, a 7ish hour drive from my starting place, where I am overwhelmed with happiness from all of the vegan food options. At a lovely place called Zest, I get tacos for dinner with an "antioxidrink", a drink made from gin and green juice (It was great), and for dessert two scoops of peppermint hot chocolate and candy cane brownie ice cream at a delicious all-vegan place called Monkey Wrench. I wander the streets of the city that night, and found myself drawn towards the sounds of Christmas music and laughter. As I round a corner, I saw tall trees dressed in Christmas lights, surrounding an ice skating rink filled with people with smiles as wide as that cat from Alice and Wonderland. I stand at the edge of the rink and watch them for a bit while "White Christmas" plays. My mind wanders back to college when my Harlem Renaissance professor said matter-of-factly that "White Christmas" was an obviously racist song - We all nodded in urgent agreement, some of us because we wholeheartedly agreed and others because she was black. I wonder about this idea while I watch the people ice skate. Whether the song is racist, ignorant, or neither... I'm going to carry on because this isn't the blog article for that. Kids weaved in and out of the adults and chase their friends, couples cling to each other like it is life or death, for some of them it looks like it might be. A dad picks up his kid and puts him on his shoulders causing the kid to produce a squeal resembling a distressed guinea pig, a group of 20 somethings skate by in a large group laughing at something that brings a few of them to tears. I don't see anyone skating by themselves, and even though I am by myself, I don't feel alone watching all of them. I felt like I am watching a movie, and I can feel the warmth radiating from the group. As I walk back to where I am parked, the Christmas music slowly fades, and the warm Christmas tree lights are replaced by the cool fluorescents of the street lights. On the side of the street, laying on the steps of a storefront is a person swaddled in a blanket. There are a few more in similar states scattered on this street. The warmth that I have been feeling from the skating suddenly turned cold as I noticed the harsh contrast between these two scenes that I was walking through, a spectator in each. Two very different experiences, only separated by a city block, some music, twinkly lights, and an entire life history.
The next day I drive 4ish hours to Arches National Park. I arrive in the afternoon, and hike until the sunset. The next day was supposed to be very rainy, so I wanted to fit in as much as I could. The park is beautiful of course, as one might expect Arches to be. I find pleasure in the sensation of cupping the red clay earth in my hands and feeling it squish between my fingers. Walking on the clay/sand is soundless, further enhancing the other senses. The day is overcast until I reach Delicate Arch, and the sun breaks through the clouds to illuminate the arch in a cinematic moment. It is absolutely wild how sound bounces off these rock walls. I stand underneath the arch, and I hear a kid across the way say to his dad, "Make that person move! I want to get a picture of the arch!" I smile to myself, and scoot around to the back of the arch, the part facing out into the valley. There is a pretty severe drop off, but I see that I had enough room to stand. Clutching the arch, hidden from view of the family, I wait a few moments then scoot back around. "Got it?" I yell accross the gap. The family just stared at me, their faces too far away to really make out. Apparently they didn't get it.
On another trail, I speed walk past a couple, and as I walk away from them I hear the guy say, "Wouldn't it have been so funny if she had just rammed into you? Like the Gladiator. Like WHAM!" Yeah that would have been pretty funny, I want to say.
That night I hunker down in my car in the park, with approximately 5 layers on my upper body, and 3 on my lower. I am pretty toasty. It is only 6pm, but it is black outside. I journal for a bit, read my book, then get into my sleeping bag and glance at the clock, 6:30 pm. I can't go to bed at 6:30, who does that? When have I ever done that? I stare at my ceiling, and realized that this was the first time in a few months that I have been this noticeably unstimulated. Recently I've always been occupied by something, not as a means of distraction, but just as a byproduct of life. I immediately feel guilty, then a bit nervous. I have always been one to run directly at pain, discomfort, and fear - So I stare at the roof of my car some more and let my thoughts run free. I finally fall asleep around 7, and sleep imperfectly for 12 hours.
I awake to dark skies, and clouds looking so heavy and saturated that they may fall out of the sky. I quickly get on the road and complete a few hikes before the cold rain starts kissing my face. I leave the park early and visit Canyonlands National Park. It rains the whole time, and the sky was so dense with moisture that I can hardly see the canyons, but I still sit at Mesa Arch for a long while, enjoying the solitude in a place that is normally packed. On the way back, I pass a little girl who is screaming her face off, clearly unhappy with the howling winds and cold rain that pelts her from every angle The determination of the mother to make this hike work regardless of the weather reminded me of my mother. In middle school after a long flight to Paris we got off the plane and headed straight to a museum. my friend and I, dressed in our pajamas and half asleep, walked like zombies through that place, remembering little.
I get back to my car and stare at Apple Maps for an hour, looking up the distance to LA, Sedona, Arches, Death Valley, San Diego.... looking up the weather too. My original plan was to head to Zion and hike Angel's Landing, but they had gotten a bucket of snow, and were continuing to be dumped on. That trail was probably near impossible at this point. My eyes strain from the screen. Everything is 7 hours away, and I am tired, and now cold. But how could I not? I have done so many road trips before, camping and hiking for weeks. Why am I feeling such a burnout now? Maybe it was the coldness, the holiday season, or the fact that I wanted to escape to the trees and instead am surrounded by endless desert. I eventually asked myself the toughest question, "What am I trying to prove, and to whom?"
Everyone has different identities that they give themself, and that others give them. This trip was something that I had told myself for a long time that needed to happen, and I still think that is the case - But the nature of the trip did not have to follow my normal hike-camp-drive cycle that I judicially follow. I really do believe that I and others thrive and grow in discomfort and pushing your boundaries. However, there are times you should rest and times you should struggle. I started to realize that I was kind of going through the motions of traveling and adventuring rather than truly reveling in it, for whatever reason. I was fighting my body's desire to take it slow, and instead was hiking all day in rough weather and sleeping restlessly in my car. There are times where this feeds my soul, but that was not this week. What I really wanted was to be around loved ones, friends, my dog, and drink hot drinks by the fire. I initially felt weak and the opposite of a badass for admitting that to myself. I had constructed this idea of an on-the move-adventurer - Which I am, but identities are not cookie cutter. We must remember that we are multi-faceted individuals who don't need to mold to any one thing.
So.... I find myself back in the Salt Lake City area in Park City, a cute ski town filled with coffee shops to sit in endlessly to write and people watch. Fully leaning into my whole rest and relaxation angle, I get my first ever massage and energy work treatment done last night (I know some of you are shaking your heads at the energy work part). She put stones on me, spritzed essential oils around the room, and told me that I should be single and that I should improve my self worth - All of this deduced from not conversation but hovering her hands over my naked body with her eyes closed.
So here I sit, sipping a matcha latte in a dream-like cafe, watching the snow fall outside, writing, and perfectly content. None of this in no way was me complaining - I realize the extreme privilege of taking a week off from life to do whatever. This is more of a reminder to myself and others to allow yourself to listen to your mind and body, and not to fall into a cycle in life where you are mindlessly following the actions of this identity created either in your head or by others. We are all fluid beings who are capable of having multi-dimensionsal identities that may change two, or one hundred times in our lifetime. Do things because your body and soul call you to do them, not because it's what you think you should do. There are times that the beauty of the natural world takes my breath away, and times where I also want to curl up on the couch and watch a Christmas movie. Both are wonderful, both have their time and place. Listen to yourself, and go forward with intention.
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