I am sitting in a dimly lit dorm room in the middle of the Cascade Mountains, listening to the hail storm outside pummel the roof of this dilapidated shack I call home. I question whether this building can take this deafening applause any longer, or whether an ice rock will penetrate my window and thus my bedroom, allowing for a very crowded evening up here. Dinner is a short hike away and, should I choose to eat anything tonight, I may need to suffer a beating from Mother Nature, who has reared her ugly side very few times since the beginning of my sojourn.
Such is life at Crater Lake.
Two and a half months ago, I set off for the mountains of Oregon, for a world of less technology and less connectivity than most have ever known. Out here, days go by with neither the need nor the desire to turn on a cell phone of any kind. It is this reason that primarily attracted me to this place. After six years of college and resulting indecision, a little bit of wilderness can do the body very well. Since leaving, I've chanced upon several incredible insights of the subjects of love, manhood (I can grow facial hair!), career and sustainability, but none strike me so much as that which I am feeling right now: the wanting to return to my city boy roots.
In the city, it is hard to have a clear mind. There is too much noise, too much traffic and too much outlandish activity. The wilderness is not like that. At first, it is haunting to just listen to the wind and wonder why you're cell phone is not ringing. But it's something that must be embraced --at least to me -- to achieve that clear mind again.
But the truth is, a clear mind can go to waste in too much wilderness. Crater Lake is one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen -- just a blip on the grand scale that is the Great State of Oregon -- and it's a shameful day when one wakes up and is no longer impressed by its majesty. My feeling is that the human race is too far gone down the path of social networking for anyone to live now as I do without becoming a little stir crazy.
I have everything I need out here, but am feeling that crazy looming over -- even though I have the opportunity everyday to hike miles and miles of this beautiful earth. I am suffused these days with an energy that calls me home to a the city, to a place where much happens and nothing goes away unless preceded by a "Everything 90% Off" sign.
In a sense, I feel like this adventure of mine has had the opposite effect on me. I came out here because constant social activity and consumption of needless amenities had turned me mindless and impersonal. Turns out those items of interest are not only an imbedded part of my American spirit, but also a very necessary part of what drives me.
A journalist is essentially a contradiction to himself: While writing is a very personal career goal that requires a certain aloofness, a journalist also needs to feed off social connectivity and always be available. I'm doing my best to stay fresh out here -- to think and write often and not turn to drink out of boredom at 11:30 a.m. -- and by all means have succeeded, but I've developed a kind of appreciation for my other home -- the one not filled with 69 other wandering souls.
I'm excited to get back home next month. I want to run through the streets of Detroit and throw streamers in the air. I want to hug strangers in Dearborn bars and do an article for the Press & Guide about residents in bars that do like to be hugged by strangers. I want a city and a newspaper and consistent WiFi that lets me push my own selfish agenda.
I want to bring this energy home with me.
That is all.
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