We took to Colorado in my Jeep Cherokee—a vehicle that we weren’t entirely sure could make the trip, but that’s part of the thrill.
I think back to that road trip often, in part because I spend a lot of time dissatisfied with the present. Instead of engaged in the now, I imagine myself riding motorcycles somewhere, or back in the Jeep barreling towards the purple haze of mountain ranges. As if that is the end goal: on the road, and never really sleeping.
That’s the raw truth. I practice mindfulness—for a little while—but fall off the wagon like eating healthy or exercising. And when I do strike that balance, if only a stop along the way from teetering between two extremes, I am content. Content with whatever the future holds and content with today.
That balance looks like waking to the view of a still lake fogging in the early Colorado morning. The only sound that penetrates the silence is the hollow rush of wind caught in the wings of the flock of geese flying overhead.
That balance looks like firing up the motorcycle. Not really bothered by the way the gas fumes are soaking into your jacket or skin, or the oil leak that you can’t seem to fix.
That balance is never really thinking about the future at all. Not about Colorado or what I will do when I move to Finland, or into a van, or back to the West like everyone before us has done. The fleeting West. Fleeting like balance, but sweet like gas fumes and the piney forest framing your foggy lake.