Friday, October 1, 2010

Idyllwild



Do you remember your dreams when you were in college of what adulthood would be? Do you remember the things you thought would make you happy?

I remember. I remember sitting in Harvard Square eating a chocolate croissant and sipping coffee and reading the New York Times, and feeling so extravagant and grown up, and thinking, if I could have this, just this, every day, I would be happy.

Then, I remember how I loved hiking with some of my best friends: Natalie, Athena, Jill. We hiked all over California. We backpacked and got lost and had grand and crazy adventures. I did not live here then, nor had I ever gotten to see National Parks. Those trips made me insanely happy. And then, I thought, if I can always return to these beautiful places with people I love, I will be happy. If I can sing and tramp along a trail and talk about life, that would be enough.

But life goes on, and it starts to get confusing.

Well, this past weekend, I was in Idyllwild. Due to circumstances too mundane to go into here, I was driving up alone. I sat through traffic and incredible heat, but finally I was off the 60 and driving across huge plains and up into the mountains. I had the windows rolled down and the hot, piney wind was ripping through my car. I was driving fast and listening to the Michael Franti station on Pandora, and every curve brought a new spectacular view of mountains that look like the Sierras but are only two hours from L.A.. My heart was soaring. And I remember that period, when I said, if one day I can have a car, with a great stereo system, and I can roll down the windows and listen to my favorite music and sing along at the top of my lungs, then I will be happy.

And you know what was weird. I am 43 years old, life is so much more complicated, but those moments climbing the mountains listening to that great music, knowing that the next day I would take my water bottle and hike up to the highest peak and see forever, I was happy. I was so extraordinarily happy.

And I wondered: Did we know better, more clearly, what made us happy when we were 20 than we do now? Do our dreams and our happiness barometers get scrambled by life in the city, worries about bills, status, our shifting notions of success, our kids? I always think "No." I know myself and I am true to that.

But driving along, feeling the purest joy, I thought, I have forgotten. I have forgotten that of course I care about meaningful work, and a nice house, and social activisim and the rest of my grown up life. But beyond all of that, those simple pleasures of life that thrilled me when I was 21 still do make my heart sing. I still love an espresso, a perfect chocolate croissant and a few great newspaper articles for breakfast. I still love the parks and feel like the wild places in California never, ever let me down. I love these parks and mountains like John Muir. They inspire me and leave me in awe. And I still love that feeling of freedom that comes from blowing down a highway on a hot day with the windows rolled down, blasting your favorite tunes, singing at the top of your lungs, and breathing in the mountain air.

It's just good to know.

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