100 Nights

I had a long night a few weekends ago. It was the night before a Teton summit and I was setting up camp with a friend in an alpine canyon in Wyoming. The Weather Channel told me there was a zero percent chance of rain that night, and the sky seemed to agree. Like many nights such as this particular one, I decided to forego setting up the tent, unrolled my thermarest, and prepared to fall asleep under the stars. However, within a few minutes I heard a slight scratching noise on my pillow. I assumed it was my face rubbing against the pillow's surface and continued to drift out of consciousness. A few seconds later, the noise returned, followed by the sensation of a small rodent crawling up my neck. The realization came quickly: mice were thwarting my attempt to sleep. I sat up immediately, brushed my neck off twenty or thirty times, and hoped I had scared them away. Yet the same sequence of events continued throughout the night. I'd drift halfway into sleep, vaguely open my eyes, and make out the image of a mouse twitching his nose and inching his body up my sleeping bag. I'd brush the mouse off, roll over, catch five minutes of sleep, and repeat.

Since I wasn't sleeping much that night, I had a lot of time to think. While lying on my back cursing the mice, half hoping they wouldn't return, and half hoping they would so I could scare them away, I came to the realization that I had spent over 100 nights outside in 2007. Nights in thunderstorms near the Mexican border, windstorms near the Canadian border, in tents, under the stars, on river beds, sidewalks, picnic tables, boats, parking lots, bus stops, and softball fields. The pavement in the middle of a seasonally closed highway in Colorado with a friend from Sweden, on a bench at a bus stop in London, on a picnic table in Phoenix, under the stars on a Norwegian lakeshore, and in the middle of an active sprinkler system on a softball field in Utah.

One thing I found throughout these 100 plus nights spent outside was the ease of life lived under a roof. For example, this morning's temperature was in the mid 30's. Yet I woke up comfortably in my bedroom, threw on a pair of shorts, strolled into the kitchen, and put on a cup of gourmet coffee. I heated a bagel in the toaster and drank a cold glass of orange juice. It is supposed to rain throughout the night tonight, but I don't have to make any preparations to keep my food dry, to make sure my rain fly is staked down securely, or stay in my tent and read until I'm tired enough to fall asleep. I can take it easy and coast through the evening with leisure or go down to the pub with a few friends.

Another thing I found is that civilization can be just as interesting as living outside, and vice versa. They each have their strong points; they are not mutually exclusive. It is possible to enjoy them both and live both lifestyles. I enjoy every second of my time spent outside adapting to the elements, but I always love returning to civilization. There is nothing like falling asleep next to a raging river flooded with spring runoff, waking up to a pink sunrise radiating off the face of an unnamed mountain, or being eased into consciousness by the sounds of birds rather than car alarms, but it is always enriching to return to civilization. There's no need to limit myself to one style of living. Rather, I prefer being comfortable not only in the outdoors, but also when returning to the city, traversing familiar intersections, exploring statues in an unfamiliar megalopolis, or communicating in broken English and hand gestures in a foreign country.

The problem I'm running into is that there are too many good options to pursue. Should I move to a remote mountain fold in California for the winter? Of course. Should I spend a few months in Argentina learning Spanish and immersing myself in an unfamiliar culture? Absolutely. Should I find a job in downtown Seattle and spend my evenings amongst the wide variety of cultural opportunities? Indeed, I should. Are there dozens of other options waiting around the corner to lure my attention? Most likely. The time to make a decision is approaching, and I'll soon need to choose amongst the growing list of destinations. Like many coolworkers, I'm unsure of where I will be in November. However, I've got a strong feeling that I might stray out of the woods and venture into the city for a while.