On the Outdoors
I'm currently sitting on my condo's little balcony, swaying gently in the breeze in my hammock that I've (somewhat sketchily) rigged up to the balcony rails. The light is coming across the deck, peeking between the plants of the little garden paradise I've created here. And I'm contemplating the meaning of the outdoors.
I love to be outside. I love to feel the sun, the rain, the wind, the snow on my face. I love to smell the earth, the damp soils and the pine trees. I love to hear the roar of the brook. But as much as I love the outdoors, I also love what it makes me appreciate when I return from it. A hot shower at the end of the trip, my stove and my fridge, my air conditioning. I love the outdoors both for what it shows me while I'm there, and the gratitude I feel for my modern conveniences upon my return.
As I sit here, I'm thinking on Instagram. I know that sounds silly, but keep reading. I am an Instagram fanatic. I don't post all that often, but I love that I can peek into this whole culture, all these strangers' experiences that I never would know exist without it. I can see someone's summit pictures, their stills from their GoPro footage of a rafting trip. I can see the amazing one room cabin they stayed in last summer, or the views of Everest base camp that they trekked past. I can take it all in. But I've learned recently to take that all in with a grain of salt. It's wonderful to see all this, to experience it in some small way, but I found myself comparing my experiences (or lack theirof) to what I was seeing on my iPhone screen. Suddenly, sitting on my porch on a warm Sunday afternoon seemed unimportant. It seemed miniscule. It didn't seem enough. And that's a terrible thing. Because maybe I don't have the time, money, or inclination to trek to Annapurna. Maybe I'm not brave enough to freedive in Bali. Maybe I want to just sit and swing and drink my coffee, the soft scent of basil in the air as the guy next door mows his lawn. And that's ok.
Although the Instagram experience may seem grand and majestic (not to take away from anything amazing these people have done, because those trips are grand and majestic), I should learn to revel in my own tiny victories. For today, I'm not sitting on the couch binge watching Netflix. I'm not sitting on my phone scrolling past mindless Facebook posts. I'm outside, getting a little fresh air. And while this might not be the greatest adventure, for today, it's my adventure.
I love to be outside. I love to feel the sun, the rain, the wind, the snow on my face. I love to smell the earth, the damp soils and the pine trees. I love to hear the roar of the brook. But as much as I love the outdoors, I also love what it makes me appreciate when I return from it. A hot shower at the end of the trip, my stove and my fridge, my air conditioning. I love the outdoors both for what it shows me while I'm there, and the gratitude I feel for my modern conveniences upon my return.
As I sit here, I'm thinking on Instagram. I know that sounds silly, but keep reading. I am an Instagram fanatic. I don't post all that often, but I love that I can peek into this whole culture, all these strangers' experiences that I never would know exist without it. I can see someone's summit pictures, their stills from their GoPro footage of a rafting trip. I can see the amazing one room cabin they stayed in last summer, or the views of Everest base camp that they trekked past. I can take it all in. But I've learned recently to take that all in with a grain of salt. It's wonderful to see all this, to experience it in some small way, but I found myself comparing my experiences (or lack theirof) to what I was seeing on my iPhone screen. Suddenly, sitting on my porch on a warm Sunday afternoon seemed unimportant. It seemed miniscule. It didn't seem enough. And that's a terrible thing. Because maybe I don't have the time, money, or inclination to trek to Annapurna. Maybe I'm not brave enough to freedive in Bali. Maybe I want to just sit and swing and drink my coffee, the soft scent of basil in the air as the guy next door mows his lawn. And that's ok.
Although the Instagram experience may seem grand and majestic (not to take away from anything amazing these people have done, because those trips are grand and majestic), I should learn to revel in my own tiny victories. For today, I'm not sitting on the couch binge watching Netflix. I'm not sitting on my phone scrolling past mindless Facebook posts. I'm outside, getting a little fresh air. And while this might not be the greatest adventure, for today, it's my adventure.
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