I’m driving down the highway, and my cat, Flynn, is meowing like a baby. I read somewhere that cats have learned to imitate the pitch of human babies in order to get what they want, so when I say, “like a baby,” I mean literally. It’s almost eerie how human he sounds.
This does nothing to ease the anxiety that’s already bubbling up inside of me. I’m going to the mountains to a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Plenty of things could go wrong, and while I’ve carefully planned for most of them, there’s always more preparing I could have done.
It’s all in God’s hands now. Always was. Before, I just had more opportunity to lend a hand with my expert list-making skills. If I spent any more time preparing, my head would explode.
The pressure in my ears has built up, and I swallow to help them “pop.” I wonder if Flynn is experiencing the same sensation – he’s still yowling. If he understood English, I would tell him to swallow. Poor guy. The language barrier is just too great.
The worries spinning around in my head slowly pass as I take in the scenery around me. The mountains are my favorite place to be. They tower above me reminding me of my smallness, and those “life management” lists seem especially minuscule in their level of impact.
This is one reason I’ve run away to the mountains. Requested time off work, told my friends and family I’d be unreachable, and threw my books and journals in the car – all to experience the peace and quiet that my anxious soul needs.
Oh my goodness, I think as I put my hand to my mouth. To my left is a breathtaking view. I’m no stranger to the mountains, but this is truly breathtaking – an immense, snow-patched mountain so bare of trees that is must be a 14er. The jagged ridges rise majestically over pine tree covered “hills” – as we call them in Colorado – which roll down to meet an expansive, sparkling lake.
There’s nothing like a good view to take your mind off your worries. If I am ever to experience a tragedy, I’m hopping in my car and coming here. I’ll still be sad, but I’m sure to feel some level of happiness in the presence of such beauty.
I make note of the approximate location of my newfound “rehab center” and continue down the road.
I haven’t experienced any tragedies in my life. Not really. Someday I will, but I’m not waiting until then to write a memoir. That’s happening now. In fact, that’s what I’ve come to the mountains to do. I enjoy writing and am decently good at it. As a “professional observer” of life, I feel a strong urge to artistically communicate these observations through the written word.
So here I am. Me and my cat and my books and journals and a great view – not unlike the one on the drive in, but the quietness is like nothing I’ve ever heard.