That’s the trouble with getting outside, it’s as bad a reading a good book. It’s dangerous. It fills you with longing. But at some point, getting outside or reading a good book also fills the longing.
I’d rather go hiking than pay for 50 minutes of therapy.
Either way, the first 45 minutes consist of working through stress and with hiking you usually get a bonus hour or two of enjoyment after that.
Sometimes, when I go hiking, I am so overcome by the beauty of my surroundings that it makes me weep. Sometimes, when I go hiking, my thoughts are so deep they make me weep. Sometimes, when I make music – or hear music – it makes me weep with the sheer beauty of it all.
But I’d rather cry at beauty, than to cry at ugly.
A couple weeks ago I staffed an outdoor event for a weekend in Escalante. On the way home, I stopped at a public piano in Tropic, pulled out the chair and proceeded to play my heart out for about 10 minutes. A woman of my generation – a gracefully aging flower child – sat on the park bench close by and applauded encouragingly.
When I had done and went inside the market to purchase a snack, the woman found me and engaged in conversation. She was touched by the beauty of music and confessed to videoing my mini concert – seemed to ask permission. We talked about beauty – the unexpected beauty of music in surprising places – the beauty of the world and her habit of picking up ten pieces of trash each day – the beauty of the souls who had allowed her to sleep in her car in their parking lot overnight.
We exited the door together and as I cut diagonally toward my waiting auto I heard her squeal of delight at discovering a large praying mantis. It was indeed a magical day. But what happened next was ugly. A large overall-clad man (Overalls on a Sunday morning – so don’t blame the Mormons for what I am about to relate) descended from his big truck and called, “What is it?”
“A praying mantis,” she replied in wonder.
“Well, step on it!” he snapped, “they don’t do anybody any good.”
I know this is not true. I have also learned that I am not called to set the whole world straight; to backtrack 30 feet across parking lots to be a know-it-all because of something I overheard. All the same, I felt guilty about abandoning that lovely hippie to the ugliness of yet another stranger.
Subdued, I continued miles on down the road, contemplating. I hung a left into Bryce Canyon City and on into a park where natural beauty and wildlife are respected and protected. I took a hike – a long hike – and my spirit was restored.
I would so much rather cry at beauty than at ugly.
