Road Trip Series |*|
An Exploration of Landscapes
Part VII: Arrival
*Hello! Glad to see you made it to the last two chapters. Now, if you’re one who enjoys reads that deliver an emotional punch to the gut, then hopefully you’ve read the previous chapters before reading this last Part. If you’re just curious to see what this is about, then go ahead and read anyway! Enjoy!
*This last Part has ~20 heart-filled ‘pages’ for you to read.
Road Trip Series
Days 65-74
Chapter 15: Flashbacks
RTS Days 65-74
Flashbacks
Chapter 15: Flashbacks
—6:14am. Darkness obscures the landscape; but the dawn is soon to break. I stand facing east. The day’s first light, soft and diffuse, starts to creep up over the horizon. I fill up my tank with fuel from an overpriced gas station, and drive west.
I spent last night at a lodge in Lee Vining, a small town perched on the eastern edge of the Sierra Nevada, and just outside of Yosemite’s east entrance. I started early, at dawn, then drove west along Tioga Road which traverses across the Sierra Nevada. I drove as the first rays of morning light seeped in the sky then angled down, its golden glow spreading over ever-changing scenery: on meadows and forests, on polished domes and peaks. What better way to greet the day than to witness this—nature’s grand awakening from the slumber of night.
Day 72
November 1, 2018
So. It’s the longest I haven’t written, and a lot has happened. I’ll try to recall what I can, or at least what’s important and what I want to remember. First off, after the Zion trip with my family, I decided to extend my trip so I could camp some more. I thought about Yosemite and got excited about it, so here I am. It’ll be a one-week camping trip. This will give me some time to really slow down, think about and reflect on these past few months, to see where I am now and where I’m going next. Plus I’d have immediate access to impossibly beautiful scenery and hiking trails of the Yosemite landscape. Though my aim for this last camping trip is to center down, seeking simplicity and stillness rather than rugged exploration. Still, the draw of the landscape is strong and I feel its tug; my pulse quickens and I sway; I shuffle my feet. I thought it would be a nice way to end the trip, back in the High Sierra where I started.
I drove along Tioga Road, cutting across the Sierra Nevada from east to west. I passed by Tuolumne Meadows and Tenaya Lake, then finally arrived at Yosemite Valley around noon.
I scouted for a campsite but the campgrounds in the main valley were already full; I didn’t really plan this out. But I found a good campsite at Hodgdon Meadow, north of the main valley. Here it is less crowded, less popular, yet still a decent campground. I set up camp just right at the edge of a grove of giant trees. After setting up camp, I sat on a rock to rest, looking over my new temporary home—a spot I picked out myself and a home I set up by myself—and I felt contentment settle in. In the background, just a few steps away from my tent, are the towering pines and redwoods, letting equal parts sun and shade fall to the ground. I felt lucky; I get to camp among these giants.
In the afternoon I went back to the main valley, stopped by a visitor center, and walked a short trail. Standing in the middle of the valley floor, you can see most of the well-known peaks and domes of this landscape. I started to get familiar with some of their names and faces: El Capitan, Half Dome, Cathedral Rocks and Spires, The Three Brothers, Sentinel Rock and Glacier Point.
Road Trip Series
Days 65-74
Chapter 15: Flashbacks
RTS Days 65-74
Flashbacks
* * *
—Michael Jackson’s Thriller plays in the streets and the zombies dance. Later the music goes on and the individual people break out into their individual moves; I dance.
Day 65-67
Denver and Boulder, CO
October 25-27, 2018. One of the places we visited was Vail, a small town nestled in the Colorado Rockies and home of one of the biggest ski resorts here in this area. It got me excited for the coming winter season. I can’t wait to snowboard again. We roamed around this quaint mountain town and ski resort, enjoying the views. We went to downtown Denver and got to enter one of the 12 branches of the Federal Reserve Bank, which I thought was cool, being an economics enthusiast myself (although it was actually just the museum that we entered and not the bank itself). I got to visit Rocky Mountain National Park again, did a short hike up a subalpine lake. And I now just realize why lakes are abundant here up in Rocky Mountains—those are the basins gouged out by previous glaciers which have now melted, additional snowmelt and rainfall trickled down from the mountain peaks and pooled into the basins, forming lakes.
Then on to downtown Boulder. We went there at night and it was the Halloween weekend; about 75% of the people walking in the streets, in Pearl Street more specifically, wore their Halloween costumes. Then there was an open street party. At first a group of locals were performing choreographed dance routines with songs like Thriller, and you can see them really getting into it with their zombie-like dance moves, appearance, down to their facial expressions. After that, the songs kept coming and everybody just broke out into their own dance moves. They all seemed so unselfconscious, each of them just doing their own thing and having a good time; it was a thrill to watch and you couldn’t help but feel the joy of the crowd that made you want to dance too—and I did. I love Boulder because of this. They were crazy fun, not the crazy wild of some parties. People were just being themselves, showing off their dance moves in pairs, solos or groups, but it wasn’t like they were trying to prove that they got the moves and that they’re cool. They were just having fun. And though everybody differed in the way they danced, they all belonged.
Road Trip Series
Days 65-74
Chapter 15: Flashbacks
RTS Days 65-74
Flashbacks
Yosemite, CA
Day 73: November 2, 2018
To copy the words of John Muir, today was a glorious Sierra day.
It was a cold night last night but I slept with one side of my tent’s rain fly open, so I could look out and see the stars—thousands of them pinned against empty space in every direction spread light years apart, each bursting forth streams of light particle and wave that somehow manage to converge right here at this exact same spot—how else could I see them? And whether I’m aware of it or not, it is happening anyway, so might as well witness this astonishing fact with my own eye.
I kept waking up throughout the night, a hazy blur of dotted lights filled my half-opened eyes, but I still had an excellent sleep. All those light particles poured into my mind and kept knocking on my skull, begging me to stay awake, demanding my attention.
In the morning, I went to see Tunnel View, which looks eastward down the Yosemite valley. What a sight to behold. I found myself pausing in the middle of the parking lot as I walked toward the viewing area thinking, this is in fact the land of the giants. Part of the Yosemite valley—not even the whole—stretches before you; sheer, massive granite cliffs line the perimeter of the valley floor, which is covered by a forest of pines and firs. Contrasting the scale of this view to the sizes of people in front of me walking around and taking pictures, I notice how strikingly small we are compared to what lay before us. Only a handful of people seem to pause to reflect and try to comprehend this truth; everybody else is busy looking through the framed lenses of their camera and phones (and the odd truth is, I later become one of them, too). But I have done my share of trying to make sense of things. The scale of these things are not easily comprehended with a fleeting gaze—El Capitan, which commands the western end of the valley, looks as if it has patches of grass growing on its top; but do they realize that those vegetation could easily tower over you by several feet, and that some of the trees at the top are the same sizes of the pines and firs that tower over you as you walk along the valley floor? They could easily be 10-15x our height and yet they only look like green carpet laid on top of massive rocks. The scale of things here are impressive, to say the least.
In the afternoon, I did two short hikes along the southern rim of the valley. One ending at Taft Point, which of course had incredible views and the other ending on top of Sentinel Dome. Every step and drop of sweat to get to either of these are worth it. Every sight is spectacular and offers no room for dullness, unless you have scales on your eyes. The top of Sentinel Dome, which is located on the south rim of the valley, offered one of those views that knocks you breathless, the kind that blanks the mind—you thought you knew what the world looks like but then you see this; a gap opens from within or around you; then a rush of air, of exclamations and exultation. You are filled, brimming with newness. Here your gaze reaches for miles and miles in any direction; a vast sea of granite peaks and polished domes stretches before you from horizon to horizon. Patches of evergreens contrast the gray sea of granite rocks. The valley floor is thousands of feet below. El Capitan, to the west, bathes in sunlight. It’s getting late. The sun is low on the horizon and everything outside of shadows is ablaze. I stand, exhilarated.
Today was a glorious Sierra day.
Road Trip Series
Days 65-74
Chapter 15: Flashbacks
RTS Days 65-74
Flashbacks
* * *
—The water is already waist deep, and it is cold. Behind the sheer cliffs of the canyon the sun is setting, and the river takes no account of the time that is passing. It rushes and cuts and slams on rocks, all day and all night long. We proceed to walk farther into the canyon but we are spent; water in fact provides resistance—the subtle, unyielding kind. It’s time to head back.
We spent about a half day hiking in the Virgin river in Zion Canyon. A mile in and you enter The Narrows. Here the trail stops—from here, the route is the river. It was tiring but fun. You walk on rocks and sand and wade through shallow waters, all the while being surrounded by towering sandstone cliffs colored in shades of brown, red, black and white. Hanging gardens are also abundant. And since it is Fall season, the varying colors of leaves set against the varying colors of sandstone formations makes this land come alive, breathing out fresh vitality and vigor. This piece of land fell down here from up above, and I am grateful for it.
Day 68-70
Zion and the Long Drive to Get There
October 28-30, 2018. Me and my family spent two days in Zion, driving around, exploring, looking at gorgeous scenery, and taking pictures. We had a great time. But before arriving in Zion, let me just recount what had transpired during my 9+ hour drive to get here.
After visiting Denver with my friends, I left for Zion early in the morning of October 28. The long drive was expected, the rewards to be discovered along the road were not.
So. The drive offered impressive views as I crossed the Rocky Mountains in Colorado and traversed deserts in Utah. I listened to music and podcasts but during the last few hours, I just silenced everything, which allowed my mind to wander and think about things. I can’t remember exactly how my train of thought went so that it brought me to the beginning of this process of self examination (my mind probably went everywhere, that’s why it’s hard to trace it now). I was thinking about my trip, what I’ve done so far, and that probably brought my regrets to the surface. I have already accepted them and moved on, and I have already forgiven myself. But a curious thing happened as I thought about this again during the drive. It suddenly dawned on me what the reason was behind the actions (or lack thereof) that brought about these regrets. I realized that it was this self-limiting belief that I was carrying. I saw it clear in my mind. I could picture it, even, like it was hiding in the attic of my head, behind old dusty boxes of half-forgotten memories. Poor thing, I must’ve caught it off guard and now I got it. I was able to pin it down and examine it. It was this belief that was holding me back at times from engaging in a conversation or interacting with others—that which was the cause of my regrets during the first half of my trip—from failing to talk or even say hello to this person I look up to, failing on engaging in further conversation to this person I found interesting, and lastly, missing that chance to make a lasting friendship with someone I met. I let the opportunities to make a lasting connection with them pass. Or at least the opportunity to try and make a lasting connection. It was this voice in the back of my head telling me, You would just look like a fool if you try to converse with them, or if you ask for their number, or whatever; or another version would be, You would just show them what a shy person you are and you’ll just look awkward if you engage in further conversation; and then it goes on to say, So why bother?
And so I tried to tug at it, to see where its roots were planted, because now I see that
Road Trip Series
Days 65-74
Chapter 15: Flashbacks
RTS Days 65-74
Flashbacks
this has been limiting me as far back as during my late grade school days. Alas, it stemmed from the past; I thought of when we were kids, our parents would always tell new people we’d meet how shy and quiet we were, and I guess it just stuck to me. I mean, I know I can be shy, but this just reinforced things. Then there was the time when my parents broke up when I was about 10 years old, and my sister 7. This of course affected my self esteem; we were devastated. So I guess that’s part of the reason too. I also new back then that most of my schoolmates viewed me as being quiet, and shy, which again just reinforced things. I realized that most years during my late childhood I was thinking this at the back of my mind. I carried this label even though I didn’t want to. Because that’s who I was—a quiet nobody. At least that’s what I thought. And when I interacted with people and engaged in conversations, I was carrying this label, subconsciously. It limited me and weighed me down. But of course I wasn’t like this all the time. I got over my shyness in high school, and I became more comfortable with being relatively quiet; I just preferred to listen rather than to talk. I grew stronger and this label of being shy didn’t weigh me down as much, but the label was still there.
Now that I was able to see this self-limiting belief, pin it down and examine it, I don’t have to carry it anymore. I can just grab its worn out chains from my neck, take it off, and let it go. Because I know myself better now, and I know I’m not that. I was able to bring to mind all the things that disprove that self-limiting belief which made it even easier to just let it go. I also know that I’d rather make mistakes and look stupid than let opportunities pass. And that you shouldn’t worry about failure, but worry about the chances you miss when you don’t even try. I knew this even then; but I guess knowing is, or should be, followed by a perpetual process of practicing and relearning.
I’m glad and grateful for the arrival of this story’s conclusion—a story that’s been whispering, hiding in my subconscious, not wanting to be seen. I forgive myself for the opportunities that I let pass. This has been a learning opportunity for me that will hopefully benefit me throughout the rest of my life. This has been a valuable opportunity for me to examine myself as to why I was like this, why I have been like this since I was a kid, and as to how I can manage things differently next time, in the years to come.
It was as if a weight has been lifted from my body after this long drive. The following days after this were the happiest and lightest I’ve been since I drove back from the east, maybe even since the second half of my trip started. I got to hang out with my family in Zion and got to hike The Narrows with my sister. She got tired but I hope she enjoyed it as much as I did. On our last day exploring Zion, as I was driving, it kept coming to mind how happy I was—to have done this trip, to be with my family here in Zion, and to have realized what I realized during that long drive.
I’ve had great experiences and I’ve had some regrets and mistakes. But once I’ve come to terms with those mistakes and have learned to reap their lessons, the negative emotions associated with those seem to have washed away. The lessons that remained add to the pool of positive experiences, which are now all that’s left—an abundance of them—and which I will keep and be infinitely grateful for. This I can only describe as pure happiness.
That long drive made all the difference, and now I think I’m ready to go home. After this last camping trip in Yosemite, that is.
Road Trip Series
Days 65-74
Chapter 15: Flashbacks
RTS Days 65-74
Flashbacks
Yosemite, CA
Day 74: November 3, 2018
Rest day. But seeing Hetch Hetchy made me want to explore. I woke up early for the sunrise and drove to Hetch Hetchy. I got there about 7:30am but the gates were still closed and wouldn’t open until 8:00am. So I made coffee and I waited.
In the years between 1915 – 1923, a dam was built to make a water reservoir in the valley of Hetch Hetchy. The granite cliffs surrounding the deep blue water of the reservoir rise to about 2-3,000 feet. If the dam wasn’t built and the river was allowed to flow unimpeded, the views here would have been as grand as the ones seen in Yosemite valley, with vegetation growing on the valley floor and the great granite rocks would be showcasing their true height and splendor. Still, what an incredible view.
I walked about 2 miles into the valley, tracing the north shore of the lake, then headed back. The view of the valley becomes more impressive the more you go in. Granite cliffs flecked with vegetation, crowned with conifers, and a deep blue lake below. This was the backdrop as you hiked in the valley, shifting slowly from different angles, a new scene with every step. Around you are tiny meadows, golden from the dry heat of the sun. Boulders and sand and rocks of varying size and texture are strewn all over the landscape. The moraines left by glaciers are still here. Evergreens and deciduous trees stand surrounding you; some alive, some dead and fallen. In between the cracks of boulders and granite floors are what I assume to be subalpine flowers, the size and detail of them are so diminutive yet their colors shout with full vigor—yellow, purple, and white. And then there were insects, mostly grasshoppers jumping here and there. Birds soar up above you, a momentary tracing against the blue sky. All this, right here, in Hetch Hetchy—this is rugged beauty.
There were warnings of mountain lions in the area, but I did not see one, which is a very good thing. On my way back I stopped and sketched a view of the valley. I didn’t really finish it as I wanted to go back for lunch. Drawing, like writing, makes you really pay attention to the details. It’s been a while since I drew something. And I’m glad I did today. Now I’m back at my camp to rest, and write, and think.
In the evening I had dinner with friends I recently met, my neighbors here at camp. We shared food and shared stories over camp fire. It was nice, just talking or listening to people without needing to do anything else. It was getting late, so we put out the fire and cleaned out the dishes. Time to sleep.
Road Trip Series
Days 65-74
Chapter 15: Flashbacks
RTS Days 65-74
Flashbacks
* * *
—The engine revs up as the gear shifts down; it’s a long road uphill. I reach the crest of the road and let the car coast down, round a turn. A flash of the sun then—emptiness. Open land spread in every direction. I let the car coast down until the road straightened and leveled out. A vast and stark scene now fills my vision: dirt and asphalt below, the cloud-streaked sky above, and a hazy blue sliver of distant mountains in the horizon. Looking out in front of me, I see the road stretch, taper, then vanish as it followed the arc of the earth. I look at my rear view mirror and not a car was in sight. I look at the fuel gauge; less than half a tank. A feeling crept up, and something sank in my gut. I couldn’t tell whether it was fear of the unknown or the thrill of infinite possibilities. There was no sign of civilization in sight and the open road stretched and stretched. It slipped off my mind that today’s drive was across Nevada. And now I’m in the middle of a desert with less than half a tank of gas; but I’ve got time.
Day 71
The Open Road
October 31, 2018. Day 71 of the road trip—and supposedly the last. Today’s the day where the official plan for my road trip ends. I never got this far in my planning; I knew I had to end this trip sometime around this point, but I also wanted to keep things open. You never know what may arise, so it’s always nice to keep spare time in your pocket. Spare change, you know.
Yesterday, my family left after our final excursion in Zion in the morning. I stayed, still sifting through what I could possibly do or where I could possibly go. I finally decided to spend one week camping in Yosemite, before I head home. I did some research on the Yosemite area—how to get there, current conditions, campsites available, trails to hike, and of course, current budget available. Then I did laundry and prepared my things for the trip.
It was a calm and quiet morning the next day, October 31st. There were only a handful of people in the hotel lobby, mostly staff. Of course, I thought, it’s Halloween; people were at their houses, preparing for tonight’s party or trick or treating, and I’m here in this quiet Halloween-themed hotel lobby, eating pumpkin waffles. I bid farewell to the costumed concierge and packed my gear in the car. I packed my things—my temporary home—for one las time.
I left Zion around noon and headed west. I drove through desert, crossing Nevada, and almost didn’t make it through. That was today’s Halloween scare. I was already prepared to sleep in my car for the night if I ran out of gas; I’ve got some food, I’ll survive. It frightened, but it also thrilled, like a part of me was secretly wishing to get stuck there, to seek adventure in the night, under countless stars, careening, dancing, in the vast nothingness of space to the pulsings and beatings of time. I pulled my car over and stopped by the side of the road, in the middle of the desert. I stretched my legs, took pictures, and wandered around; the spare desert landscape amused me. An hour or more passed before I got back on the road. I drove and continued west.
Road Trip Series
Days 65-74
Chapter 15: Flashbacks
RTS Days 65-74
Flashbacks
I could go anywhere: that’s what I thought as I was packing my things in the car, as I drove west, as I wandered off the side of the road in the middle of the desert. In paper, where I had my itinerary, it was the end of the trip; but in reality it was a junction of forking paths, of infinite possibilities. A start of something else. Yes, money was in fact limited by this point, but I could figure it out; time was more important. I couldn’t multiply the money I had but I can stretch the time I still have by being deliberate on how and where I use my money—I could spend 4 days in Europe, or 10 days in SE Asia, drive north and extend my trip, or spend 3 weeks simply just camping.
One of the things I made sure to account for when I planned this trip was spare time, making sure to cover necessary expenses at home for a few extra weeks, because I really did not know where I would end up after this. And now it’s paying off.
Suddenly, time was not a constraint but a platform. I felt as though I stood on open field where the air is light and I am buoyed; I can just run. I can just run full speed to where I please, or I can walk; I’m in no rush. This is as good as it gets, as close to true freedom I can imagine. But here is the catch, the trade-off, there always is: no matter the number of possibilities, I know my happiness lies in choosing and sticking to just one. But it is a price I’m willing, and will happily pay, for that moment where something opens, freedom and possibility pour, and you are exalted.
I recall a passage from Thoreau’s journal: “The really efficient laborer will be found not to crowd his day with work, but will saunter to his task surrounded by a wide halo of ease and leisure. There will be a wide margin for relaxation to his day. He is only earnest to secure the kernels of time, and does not exaggerate the value of the husk. . . Those who work much do not work hard.” I live by this truth. In this busy life, we focus on the external apparatus, the money earned, the busyness of schedules. But those things are the husk, which more often than not restrains rather than frees, obscures rather than clarifies. The illusions of perspective go hand in hand with the opaque filters of society. Loosen up a little, shift your perspective; the kernels will show. Time is the essence of the living, the infinite canvas where anything and everything is played and painted. Time is a medium, you are the artist; choose your palette of colors wisely. Or time is the elusive spirit that pulses and beats, seek it if you dare; put yourself in the path of its passing; and dance.
I made it through the desert. I am now in Lee Vining, a small town perched on the eastern edge of the Sierra Nevada. Tomorrow, I’ll be in Yosemite, where I hope to center down and seek simplicity.
Road Trip Series
Days 75-78
Chapter 16: Landscapes
RTS Days 75-78
Landscapes
Chapter 16: Landscapes
Yosemite, CA
Day 75: November 4, 2018
8-Year Plan for a Remarkable Life
It is sometime in October of 2026, and I just turned 35-years old. I wake up on my bed without an alarm at 7:00am, and I feel that familiar feeling of possibility rise up from nowhere. I am excited to start the day. But I lay there for a few more minutes not worrying about wasting time, as if I have an abundance of it . . .
Spent the whole day mostly at camp. I stayed to write; morning, noon, and night. I finally finished that writing exercise I’ve been wanting to do ever since I learned about it from a podcast with Debbie Millman. It’s called “My 10-year Plan For a Remarkable Life,” except I did an 8-year Plan, because that would put me at 35 y/o instead of 37; I prefer the square-ness and symmetry of 35. The exercise asks the person to write an essay, however long or short, about what you think, or hope, a single day in your life would look like 10 years from now (or 8). It asks you to dream big—anything you wish to accomplish, or do, or be—without worry of failure; to pour it all on those pages, details and all, to hold nothing back. It’s cheesy, I know. But I believe in the power of the will. And I need an exercise to hone my writing.
So that’s what I did today: writing interspersed with simple tasks of simple days. And the day stretched and stretched. I managed to fill out 5 full pages in my journal for that writing exercise; I’m happy with it, content. I don’t intend to share it here; you’ll maybe get bored with the details. But that’s OK, it’s mine anyway.
Yosemite, CA
Day 76: November 5, 2018
Valley Loop Trail
A beautiful, sunny day. Woke up before my alarm at around 6:30am. Left camp and headed to the heart of Yosemite Valley to do the Valley Loop trail. I didn’t get to complete the full loop, which is 13 miles, but I did wander off path a lot. I walked the whole day, ‘til sundown, stopping only for snacks and water breaks. The trail loops around the perimeter of the valley floor, tracing the bases of the north and south rims of the valley. You walk through woods, on paved and unpaved paths, under leafy canopies, on beds of fallen leaves and carpets of moss, by the river Merced, across asphalt bridges, on granite rocks, alongside sheer granite monuments, up and down hills, through sun-dried meadows, overlooking Yosemite’s famous peaks and domes, hanging valleys and misty waterfalls, at times with strangers, at times just by yourself, always with birds and insects, sometimes bears. It’s a self-contained world here, down in the valley. I walked around in a loop, in a spiral, hoping to find a center. There’s much to think about.
The soft warmth of morning sun complements the cool morning air. My jacket is put on; a cup of coffee in hand; I start my walk.
It was long and meandering. It gave me some time to think about where I am now, what my situation is. It’s kind of a follow up to that thing I wrote about before, the twists and turns that brought me here. I wanted to see where I was standing, in order to plan out a route to where I needed to be. If I didn’t do this—to pause and look around—I worried that the infinite rush of things will just toss me about here and there, moving always but never going anywhere. And so I walked and dove deep in thought.
I enter a field of dried grass, bleached by sunlight. Tall pines cast long slanted shadows across the field, blemishing its uniformity, adding depth. I walked, my strides long and silent; I’ve got a long way to go. I walked, in and out of shadows.
Road Trip Series
Days 75-78
Chapter 16: Landscapes
RTS Days 75-78
Landscapes
It was October of 2014 when I moved to this country, and the emerging out from school life—from being buried in textbooks and exams and thesis—was like an emerging out from a long, narrow, albeit comfortable tunnel, out into the sweeping panorama of this real world.
There was a shift in perspective, a taking in of a wider view, and I suddenly realized the urgency of my family’s financial situation, made more urgent by my desire to be successful: my mom, who was already 50 around that time was just starting out to save for her retirement, having only $20,000 in savings, and just renting a room, and my sister hasn’t even started college. This sense of urgency, of wanting to improve our situation drove me into getting serious with finances, and that’s when I stumbled upon Early Retirement. Realizing the profound benefits of it and how simple it is to save up a decent sum of money and that it can be done, I was determined to work hard to get there as soon as I can.
I enter the woods in the middle of the valley floor. The ground is blanketed by fallen yellow leaves, the sky covered with more leaves hanging, empty spaces filled by soft winds—all engulfed in stillness.
I was determined to work hard and save. But then something happened. I had a lot of free time before I started working, and I got to know myself more, or again. My curiosities, kept by the child in me came alive and my long forgotten interests resurfaced. I had a lot of things I wanted to do, places I wanted to see. There was a time when, while waiting for call-backs from employers, I considered the possibility of maybe not continuing down this career I picked when I was just so young and clueless.
Behind the south rim of the valley the sun is rising. I look up and see the shadowed outline of granite cliffs, curved, crowned at the rim by pines and firs, their considerable sizes dwarfed by the rock they stand on. Heavy lies the crown made of granite and wood—a crown only this land can rightfully carry.
I considered other possibilities. But again, something happened. I stuck with the default and work eventually started. And I was robbed of my time—12-hour days 5 times a week? I recovered on weekends just to get tossed about again in the rush and busyness of work on Mondays. Having tasted the sweetness of time in abundance, I knew this wasn’t for me. 2 years passed. I kept working still.
The soft rustle of leaves on the ground with every swing and step of my leg. The rush and susurrus of running water by the river Merced, brushing up the banks, gliding over rocks.
I kept working long days and the tension built and built, stretched my gut taut and ready to break: on one side was my acute awareness that I did not want this, all this time just slipping by, and I knew in my gut I needed to do something to change this; on the other side was the reality of nothing changing, why am I still here?
Friends, of course, made it fun. That’s beside the point but I just wanted to mention it.
Yellow, brown and rust colored leaves, lobed and pointed, are scattered over a gathering of polished stones dressed in moss. The gloss of water as they glide and weave over, under, in and out between the gaps among rocks forming intricate streams, silent, on their way to the river.
All the while this was happening, there was another tension building up inside. This one’s more personal, a relationship I held close but knew I had to let go. It was subtle at first, costly at the end.
Road Trip Series
Days 75-78
Chapter 16: Landscapes
RTS Days 75-78
Landscapes
I step into a section of the woods painted in rust, broken only by the rough lines of dark tree trunks and branches, and the pale blue sky. Thousands of these rust-colored leaves strewn on the ground, thousands more hanging breathless on trees.
I walk up and down hills, and I see a man standing, with one of those old school analog cameras perched atop a tripod. He stood there; I walked. I recognized we’re in the same business—this business of waiting. He captures it with a camera; I capture it wide-eyed and keen-eyed, deranged, hollowed, empty.
There is a problem with breaking away from the first tension: the job I have pays quite well, it’s my ticket to Early Retirement, my best shot at it. But I wasn’t sure whether staying in that job was worth it, if I drain all my energies along the way. And there’s another thing. I have been learning about the value of the present moment, of living now—doing things you want to do now like say, pursuing writing, or traveling—instead of putting them off in the future; I’m learning about it, and I want to practice it.
Staying in this job significantly limits the time and energy I would like to spend on other things I want to try out; but breaking away from it completely will cripple my chances of reaching Early Retirement rather early.
How could I possibly want these two things—working for Early Retirement and Living Now? This is the paradox I’ve been trying to figure out these past months, how do I go about this puzzle? How do I align them? There is a solution to this I’m sure. There is something at the roots of these two things that is born of the same seed of truth. I know it but just can’t articulate it yet effectively.
There was a bear behind a tree. It caused me to veer off the path. I value my life more than finishing this trail. He was walking slowly, then he picked up speed. Thankfully, he ran away to a different direction.
And so where am I now? I quit my job (sort of) mid-2018, which marked the beginning of my 5-month vagabonding; the relationship ended prior.
Twigs were sticking up from the ground. I looked closer at one and was struck with what I saw—baby sequoias! A seedling about 4-5 inches tall, partially concealed by autumn leaves on the soil. Its tiny leaves flat, grain-like and overlapping. Only a couple years old, maybe. Is it that easy to cripple something that could eventually be called indestructible? One wrong step and that’s it? It is chancy out here; so I walk with a watchful step, or I try.
The tensions are distant, the walls have broken down; I stand on open field. And soon this big trip I’ve planned a year ago will come to an end. Nothing’s written down after this. I think of my situation now as having been privileged with a blank page for a new chapter, left with nothing but the boundless possibilities that lie ahead.
I step out of the woods to find myself standing on asphalt. Cars were passing by. It’s a curious thing, this marrying of the old natural world with the new modern world.
The sun starts its descent, the air slowly cooling. One foot in front of the other, repeat and repeat, tired, but happy feet.
Possibilities poured. But I know now what I want to do. The next chapter will be this: To focus on designing my life (my life for the time being at least) in such a way that would align with my goal of Early Retirement but at the same time never letting go of my belief in not sacrificing the potential of the incontrovertible now for a questionable future. The details on how to design this kind of lifestyle I don’t yet know. Like I said, it’s still a blank page, and I’m excited to work on it.
In the last hour of the sun’s reign when the sky is clear everything is golden. You see it anywhere you look; you see it on meadows, on rock walls and wooden bridges, on the faces of strangers, you see it on your own weary skin. And something else, there is a kindness to it that renders the edges and roughness of things soft with a glow.
A mule deer sits on a meadow in these last moments of sunlight, watching over the landscape of sheer granite cliffs. I crouch down and inch closer. He turns his head to the onlookers taking pictures. Disinterested, he returns to his business of chewing and ear-twitching. I pocket my phone and watch the scene; I quiet down, settle, and still.
Road Trip Series
Days 75-78
Chapter 16: Landscapes
RTS Days 75-78
Landscapes
Yosemite, CA
Day 77: November 6, 2018
Questions and Overview
Last full day. I’m at the brink of this trip. I was writing down just earlier the list of things I was able to do during this trip, all the highlights, the good and the bad. Then I wrote a list of questions that I’m pondering now, mostly on how to design my life for this next chapter I’m facing. Milan Kundera writes, “Indeed, the only truly serious questions are the ones that even a child can formulate. Only the most naive of questions are truly serious. They are the questions with no answers. A question with no answer is a barrier that cannot be breached. In other words, it is questions with no answers that set the limits of human possibilities, describe the boundaries of human existence.”
And so I stand facing such questions. They have no answers, none yet. I am no expert but I consider myself an explorer, and living is my frontier. Moving forward means to probe its elusive edges, to attempt, with a flicker of hope and unwavering will, to answer the questions that stand in the way. I have mine written down on a list, kept close. Where are yours?
I left my camp for the valley in the afternoon, and I stayed there ‘til sundown. I spent my time looking over the valley—this giant of a landscape the scale of which still takes me some time to grasp. I thought of how it was formed, a process of destruction simultaneous with creation spanning many millions of years. . . .
—It starts with a rumble, deep and omnipresent. At the western coast of North America, the Pacific plate converges with the North American plate, an indefinite suicide merging between two land masses. The Pacific plate slides under the other, both unyielding in their direction of movement; pressure builds storing energy fit to ignite a thousand volcanoes. Pressure builds. The convergence ensues until parts of their edges meld and melt; magma rises from out of this violence. All the while in the surface up above, a stretch of land running along the eastern edge of California lifts and tilts westwardly; It splits and breaks and it crumples, like bunched up dried skin, like a backbone protruding from the land. Smoothness replaced by roughness, flat lands rising into peaks—the Sierra Nevada is born. A few million years pass. The molten rock underneath has now been cooled by relative inactivity—the granite bed that will become Yosemite’s monuments now rest and wait. Continued uplift pushes the granite bed up higher, vaults the peaks of the Sierra to new heights, and further breaks the skin of the land. Now the stage has been set for erosion to come into maximum play; earthquakes help loosen up the ground too. Rivers run, forming intricate networks, softening the land. Rivers run, like scalpel cutting into land, forming V-shaped valleys. Rain and wind go hand in hand, performing a fitful dance on the skin of land; they loosen, shake, dislodge, winnow, and wash away. An act repeated down through eons of time—an act considerably gentler than other natural forces, but unstoppable just the same. All these happen until the overlying layer of ground thins out, until the underlying granite is partially exposed. All these happen still, to this day. The valley that will be Yosemite starts to deepen.
The Ice Age hits. Winter after long winter snowfall accumulates, never melting; they layer, compress, and solidify, forming masses of ice. This stretch of land of mountains and valleys and canyons, now elevated to colder heights because of continued uplift is blanketed by a vast, unfathomable field of ice thousands of feet thick, broken only by the highest of granite peaks protruding, like icebergs in the sea. Half Dome showing only the last hundred or so feet of its sloping top. . . What silence, what stillness must have enveloped this desolate scene of ice and snow and bitter cold.
Road Trip Series
Days 75-78
Chapter 16: Landscapes
RTS Days 75-78
Landscapes
Time passes, as swift as it is patient; the earth warms, thinning the ice field, breaking them into separate rivers of ice, glaciers. The glaciers are weary; you hear them grumble and creak. You might even hear a sudden slam like lightning, or a booming thunder, the calving of ice. Then they start to move. The glaciers recede, downhill, down the valleys, driven by their weight and pulled by gravity. They carry chunks of jagged rocks, boulders, on their sides and undersides—the tools they’ll use to sculpt this land. They grate, quarry, and carve. The glacier occupying the main valley where the Merced river ran moves westwardly. It is one of the largest glaciers here. It recedes completely and melts away, leaving its finest work—you are now looking at the bare bones of Yosemite Valley. A U-shaped valley stretching for miles made of the granite bed that once lay beneath, now completely exposed, streaked and polished, glinting in the sun.
Moraines—rubble pushed aside and piled by glaciers as they receded—dammed the valley, and here the waters from melting glaciers pooled into the valley floor, forming a large but shallow lake. Silt and sediment from erosion filled the lake, and it eventually dried up. Lake Yosemite is now replaced by a rich and level soil bed for vegetation to grow. Now a mile wide and about 7 miles long, the Yosemite valley runs its length from east to west. Rivers of ice turned into streams of water. The Merced river runs at the bottom of the valley. Commanding the western end is a granite slab 3,000 feet high, solid, divine in its form—El Capitan. Running along the North and South rims are peaks and spires interspersed with the splendor of countless waterfalls. Half Dome rises high on the southern rim. Then there are the hanging valleys, from which some of the waterfalls flow from. Imagine a valley cut in half, showing off its cross section—a V, with a stream of water flowing at the bottom. Now raise that high and perch it atop either the south or north rim of the main Yosemite valley, a few thousand feet higher than the main valley floor. That’s a hanging valley, the stream of which now needs to plunge down a great height, spraying mist and bathing the rock walls, to seek its main body down below, the river Merced. Waterfalls—they add freshness to the scene; they cool the eyes and skin.
Plants flourish and spread, anchoring their roots, settling down; We now have forests, meadows, wildflowers, all adding texture and color to the scene. Oaks, pines, firs, and sequoias race to the sky. A prickling forest of greens thrives on the valley floor; the river Merced snaking down, weaving through trees and rocks. Animals move in, adding thrill and drama; they animate the scene. Mammals walk in all four limbs, they leap and pounce; birds swoop in, or they soar; fish swim up stream and down; insects crawl under, over, below, up and down, sometimes they bore, or they flutter; frogs hop in and out of water; reptiles slither, or scurry from rock to rock. Predators stalk or starve; preys nibble what they can, until that sudden, unexpected dimming of light seizes them, teeth clenching tight on their paling, straining throat. . . .
—Now zoom out: This is Yosemite.
Erosion continues its performance: A little rain here, then a downpour; a gust of wind from nowhere; the river Merced cuts, and its tributaries follow. Tucked away at the highest elevations the last of the glaciers are still working. Rocks are chipped away and polished. Life also flourishes amid all these. Trees grow.
This landscape is ever-changing, a story unfolding. Can you see it? Here we are, alive at this time, and standing in the middle of its telling—this intricate interplay among all things created, this extravagant symphony of wildness and beauty. Will you see it?
I get up from my seat and stand; these thoughts send me reeling. But I feel the granite under my feet and it holds me steady. I left the valley, thankful for the abundance received.
* * *
Road Trip Series
Days 75-78
Chapter 16: Landscapes
RTS Days 75-78
Landscapes
Home
Day 78: November 7, 2018
Home at last. And I’m still reeling; a mixture of relief and longing, to just drive north, or anywhere at all. I stopped by the coast on my drive south, and sat by the ocean. It’s the longest I’ve been away from it. The time I spent in Yosemite has allowed me to really slow down and examine my thoughts and experiences. I made my days there as simple as I could. That being said, I did not get to explore much of the hidden gems the land had to offer. But I’ll save that for next time, for I will surely be back.
Last night, as I was getting ready to sleep, looking up at the stars I noticed this very bright object, too big to be your average star, I thought. It glimmered, trembling with vibrant colors. Observing it through my binoculars, it shot out rays of green, blue, white and pink, nuanced by other varying hues. At first I thought it was a plane, but it stayed there in its spot, never getting bigger nor smaller. It stayed there pinned to the night sky, a live dot pulsing with colors; and my eyes stayed pinned to it, locked in gaze for half an hour, transfixed by its mystery. Then I thought, with a reasoning of a mind in naivety—it must be a supernova! What else could it be? A planet doesn’t twinkle, and you can’t see a black hole. I went to bed, excited with this thought in mind.
Later I would find out that it’s not a supernova; it is in fact Sirius, the brightest star in the night sky. Trace a line from Orion’s belt from right to left, keep going, and you’ll find it; or simpler yet, just look up. An observer from the northern hemisphere will find it positioned low on the horizon at this time of year, and its rays of light passes through a thicker layer of atmosphere because of this. The result is a further scattering of a star’s light, a fragmentation of its white beam to a rainbow ray pulsing in the night.
In almost all my mornings in Yosemite, my waking up was usually accompanied by the sounds of a hawk, circling above the woods where I camped, and it is such a happy thought knowing you are that close to nature. I open my tent and the slant of morning light rushes in as if eager to greet me, and I it. I had tea earlier, on my last morning there, as I ran out of coffee. I spent my morning reading, listening to music, and thinking about my trip and where I’m headed off to next.
I started dreaming up about this trip almost a year ago now. And now it’s over. It feels like a proper close to this (short) chapter. That which started with daydreaming a year ago, then on to saving up for it, looking forward to it, and hoping that I will follow through. Then on to the planning of the specifics, testing out the budget and looking at maps, saying good bye to friends and family, then to the actual trip—what started out to be an idea of a 6-week road trip turned into almost 3 months. An adventure I’m proud and happy to have done. All that time spent exploring, observing nature, meeting and interacting with people, and structuring my days from scratch has given me a lifetime to be grateful for—experiences good and bad. All of which has led me to where I am now—happy, content, carrying with me the takeaways of this trip and excited to meet the next adventure ahead.
The mountains are Home.
Bona fide hustler I’m making my name.
And I’d appreciate your help by sharing!