Mountain Living

Some people are beach people. They feel comforted by the sounds of the waves, the salty ocean breeze, and the feel of sand between their toes. Others prefer the hustle and bustle of a city, the ruckus of sirens and early morning trash trucks to lull them into relaxation.

I don’t know when I decided this exactly, but I’m absolutely enchanted by the idea of spending time in the mountains. Which, considering I’ve never lived near any, is kind of surprising. Nevertheless I feel like I can breathe easier just at the thought of an afternoon spent reading up on a cliff somewhere with a view. And so I plan my adventures to the highlands of Scotland, the snow-capped heights of Iceland, and the wild paradise of Glacier National Park in Montana.

For an afternoon I might wonder what it would be like to live there, to make my home somewhere lush and green and quiet. Then I’ll remember that I love the Internet and running water. I’ll remember that I’m deathly afraid of spiders and uncomfortable driving cars. So I’ll come back down out of my fantasy.

I don’t pretend to be a simple person, but I feel like my needs are actually quite basic. As much as I love where I currently live, I’m most creatively inspired by the idea of a natural silence, of endless stretches of time in which to just appreciate the gift that is life on Earth, the coincidence of biology that brought about natural diversity.

Too often I miss the small moments of my life by chasing after things that could be or might be and I forget to enjoy what already is. And for some unknown reason, I don’t have that oversight in my mountain-filled vision of the future. It is idyllic in my imagination, perfection in its possibility.

Would it be so bad to try it out?

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