Adventures LOGBOOK
A Matter of Perspective Regular backpacking trips are the key to contentment.
can feel the cool air coming off the lake as I exit my tent. The morning light is soft and inviting, casting reflections of pine trees on the water as I walk along the shore gathering sticks for another fire. Last night I was grateful for the heat of the flames, content to just stare into their heart. Later, I lay out beside them and looked up at the stars. I slept well, with hot soup in my stomach and a hot water bottle on my belly. Wise folks have told us that less is more for centuries, but nothing drives it home like a backpacking trip. And boy, did I need the reminder. I recently bought a house in Palisade, Colorado. I moved here from Honolulu to get closer to the mountains, but lately life stresses have had their way with me. The vortex of being a new homeowner is indeed real and seductive. The list of things you “need” to do never ends, and everyone has an opinion or suggestion that adds to it. I love my family and friends,
36 Backpacker
| SUMMER 2022
but sometimes the people closest to you cause the most frustration. Every time they come by or call, they ask about my house as if it’s a patient in the ICU. What are you doing about the backyard? And the kitchen? Any plans to fix the bedroom? This way of interacting is pretty normal for society—I’ve done it to friends myself—but it drives home an unpleasant message: What you have is less than ideal and you can’t possibly be settled, fulfilled, or happy until you change it. I took everyone’s critiques to heart and set my mind on “fixing” everything in time for the housewarming party. I made a huge list of projects: Redo all the landscaping and garden boxes; patch up the backyard fence; put in new screen doors; sand and stain the kitchen cabinets—the list went on. I made diligent, humble progress, and things were looking up. But then, just a week before the party, a phone call. Home Depot. The stain I ordered was delayed, and wouldn’t be in for
another week. The cabinets—the centerpiece of the kitchen—wouldn’t be done in time. I felt the thought of it in my chest. All the built-up stress came flooding out. I’m embarrassed to say I had tears in my eyes after hanging up. I placed so much pressure on myself; I felt unsettled in my own home, stressed and overwhelmed, all because of what? Appearances? Pleasing everyone else? How did I become this person? Now I’m camped out at one of the 300-plus backcountry lakes atop the Grand Mesa, the largest flattop mountain in the world, far from even the thought of an unstained kitchen cabinet. I have a new home, and this is my new home away from it—a place to remember that, at the end of the day, a simple life is a happy life. In the backcountry, it’s easy to appreciate the little things: A clean, sturdy tent. A hot drink. A simple meal. Today, a morning fire. No distractions or temptations, and no such thing as a time-wasting task. I easily perform skills like tending shelter and preparing food
P H OTO BY
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R O B E R T WA LT M A N / I S T O C K / G E T T Y I M A G E S P L U S
BY WILL MCGOUGH
