In The Hot Sun
Fleeting happiness
My family had just finished eating ice cream. We piled back into the car to make our way to the next canyon and to the next National Park. We needed to “make time” before it got dark. I pulled out onto Highway 12 and headed east, toward Capitol Reef National Park, but something felt strange.
I couldn’t place it but I felt like I had been here before, all this felt too familiar. Then I saw a sign that read “Scenic Outlook, 1 mile” and my memories flooded back to me. I had been on this highway, east of Escalante Utah once before, but a long time ago.
I pulled my car into the scenic overlook parking lot and put it in park. My family asked me why were we stopping to which I replied, “You’ll see!” I got out, walked the edge of the outlook, and soaked it all in.
There, before me, lay the badlands of Grand Staircase Escalante National Monument, and in that moment I was happy.
Lately, I’ve been dreaming (fantasizing) about buying an old sailboat and sailing the world. I’ve been watching YouTube videos of people sailing across the Atlantic or Pacific oceans. Sometimes it’s a single person, alone in their sailboat for 20 days or longer. Other times it’s a young couple battling squalls and storms.
The thrill of the high seas is intoxicating. The videos and photos of sailing in perfect weather appeal to me! Sailing in bad weather? Not so much. I hear my inner voice say, “Dude, you’re almost 53! It’s too late!” I sigh and my mind begins to wander.
Other times I dream of buying a van or teardrop trailer and just heading out to the wilderness. I think of all the National Parks and places I want to go and just live in a campground. I want to rough it, get dirty, and not shower for days while I still can.
Yes, time is not my friend anymore. I’m slowly coming to a realization that the damage I did to my body as a younger man is catching up to me. There was a time period between school and my professional life where I had the youth, zeal, and energy to do anything I wanted to, but I sacrificed that for what was expected of me.
Then I turned 25, then 30, then 40, and soon 53. How did I get here, so fast?
Most Sundays I go to visit my mother. She’s been suffering from spinal fractures for over a year. Just when one fracture is fixed, she breaks another one in a different location. She’s crumbling before my eyes.
I often look at her when she’s resting. She’s lost so much weight and looks like a shriveled bag of bones to me. I wonder just how much she sacrificed herself for us? For my sister and late father? I wonder what dreams, wants, and desires she put on hold or gave up? Did she have regrets?
I asked once but she couldn’t answer me, she said it was her dream to be a mother to us and she had no regrets. I often wonder if the answer she gave me was one that she thought I wanted to hear. I know that everyone has regrets but to varying degrees.
My father came very close to confessing his regrets right before he died. He danced around the subject because the carefully crafted stability he and my mother worked on for decades would be upset if he did. The dysfunctional united front they would rally around would be exposed as a sham.
I love my parents but their relationship wasn’t great. They did what was expected of them, they sacrificed themselves for their kids, and for a way of life. They trapped themselves in a cage of cultural and societal making, and they tried to be happy but never succeeded at it.
They went through the motions of living but never questioned why. They gave up their happiness for what was expected of them.
“This is amazing,” my daughter exclaims as we look out over the badlands. The sky was deep blue and the clouds were whispy, hinting at a possible rain later in the day.
“Yes, it is,” I say, “I stood here 20 years ago and it still looks the same.”
She wanders off and takes some photos. The rest of my family is milling about looking at things, I just stand there.
I feel a warm breeze pour over me and down to the badlands. I feel it flowing over my ear, tickling it. There’s no noise, no cars, just the wind blowing. I see cloud shadows on the white sandstone below. It’s hot in the shade and in the sun it’s brutal. This is a harsh land.
My partner motions to me, indicating that it’s time to go. We all get back into the car and head down the mountain. The road twists and turns as we drop in elevation down to the badlands.
We continued our trip through Utah, Colorado, and New Mexico and eventually made it back home to New Jersey. The next day we all go back to the “grind”, preparing for school and taking work meetings. We get so busy with “life” that we forget again what it means to live. Then a year passes and memories start to fade.
Everything fades, including us. I think about this as I lay in bed. My mind wanders back to that day at the overlook and I wonder if I’ll ever be happy again.
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