In previous writings, I said that Yellowstone has treated me well. The park is beautiful and striking and I am enjoying my work and the opportunities that may come from my employment. These things are true. Nevertheless, the experience isn’t what I thought it would be. Daily, I grapple with my perceived shortcomings of paradise. Happiness ebbs and flows and I’ve done much thinking to discover why.
Before I go further, I offer an apology for my absence over the last few of weeks. During this time, I’ve struggled to organize my thoughts into a finished product. I lied to for too long, telling myself that I had writer’s block. Truthfully, I was hell-bent on exploring my perception of this summer in Yellowstone. I had to be careful not to sound unappreciative of this grand experience nor did I want to sound like a sad sack. Not until I addressed this theme, would I be able to write freely again. Of course, I am under no obligation to publish but my purpose is to share these experiences with you. My intentions have always been to provide an honest rendition of my experiences. So here it goes.
What are these shortcomings of paradise?
Yellowstone isn’t as wild as I had hoped. The last time I was here, ten years ago in September, the busy tourist season waned and we had the park almost entirely to ourselves. Jill and I visited for a few days — not enough time for the novelty to wear off. Spending my summer in Yellowstone, I’ve grown weary of the hordes of tourist that clog Yellowstone’s roads and trails. I can find no escape without venturing deep into the backcountry or leaving the park. Then, even in the vastness of the western landscape, I find it hard to find solitude. Unexpectedly, I grew disenchanted with the megafauna that has become habituated to humans. These are not wild beasts and they give little regard when in the presence of people. Any given day, I find them strolling through Mammoth with the tourists or lazily wasting a summers hot afternoon on the lush green lawns. They hang out by my dorm with little care. I liken these great animals to deer back home. Sure, they are beautiful creatures but rarely would anyone stop traffic to observe them. However, every so often, a deer is caught in the right light or encountered while walking alone in the forest. You stop and admire. The experience means something more and it is all your own. Only during these times can I truly admire these animals here in Yellowstone.
Then, I chide myself for these thoughts and I feel guilty that I took this experience for granted. However, I must be honest with myself. I do appreciate this experience and I am happy to be here. Nonetheless, I would be exercising ignorance if I did not explore what causes my melancholy. First, I used introspection to begin my analysis of this theme. Soon, I discovered that what I said is only the surface. Second, I understand that I cannot find all of the answers in my head. I had to compare my perception with those around me.
In all of Yellowstone’s grandeur, I fantasize about the forest back home. On a summer afternoon, I may disappear into the dark woods. Days will pass without seeing another soul. The broad leaves provide relief from the hot summer sun. A great oak or white pine provides a beautiful place to rest. Here, I may sound a unique tune on my mouth harp or fall asleep with peace in my heart. Constantly, I think of my little woodlot back homes. Over the years, I’ve come to know the inhabitants quite intimately. I can tell you about the individual trees. I keep note of the forest herbs and their transition throughout the year. Every visit, I search for sign of new visitors. I yearn for the familiar. I am not alone in these thoughts. For many of my peers from the northeast also miss the deciduous forest back home.
One night, on a rooftop bar in Gardiner, we had a conversation about freedom. The twenty-something crowd often finds sovereignty away from home. This may be attributed to a coming of age, where many of this cohort have recently graduated from college and are living their lives outside the shelter of school and parents. Conversely, on these grand adventures, I lose freedom. I surrender my solitude. My living conditions are often communal, providing little opportunity to be alone. My creative endeavors are on hold. My woodshop sits idle, hundreds of miles away. My relationships are inaccessible. Sure there are texting, phone calls, and video calls but the intimacy of present conversation is absent. I miss the coffee shop conversations with loved ones or the intellectual jousts over some drink. While away, I am not free to make love to my wife. I miss home. In all fairness, I am in a different place when compared to most of my counterparts.
There, I said it.
While all of these things are true, I’ve grown to realize that peace and happiness is defined in our minds. How we interpret and react to our world is a matter of perception. We have the ability to change the way we perceive our world. It is impossible to find peace in places, objects, people, and experiences. These things provide enrichment and help to shape us. Instead, peace and happiness is a result of our perception.
Thus, you will find me in good spirits. These are challenges that I face and I will meet them head on. I will make the most of this experience and decide for myself how I will let it shape me. Every day, I grow stronger.