Home in Understanding

I walked down here about two hours ago with the intention of writing. Yet during those hours, I wrote not a single word. Rather, for two hours I have been calmly sitting on a rock outcropping overlooking the Pacific Ocean. I am not alone here. There is a middle-aged, bald headed man to my left, about fifty yards away, doing the same thing. He, however, is wholly naked and wearing sunglasses. Completely at peace. To my right and below me, there is a girl sitting alone on a single rock staring into the ocean. She looks at home. At peace. Beautiful. There is another individual to my right about 75 yards, reclining on a rock, studying the waves. He is wearing boots, pants, and a winter parka with the hood pulled over his head. A dozen other individuals dot rock tops and patches of sun around me. A confused but confident seagull has been sitting with me for the past ten minutes, either expecting a hand out or admiring the endless sets of waves breaking into the rock wall below me. Beyond these dozen and a half individuals, there is nobody except for the occasional couple that has strayed from the Golden Gate Bridge parking lot a mile away to grab a quick photograph. They quickly leave to head back for their vehicle, likely eager to catch all the sights of San Francisco they can handle in one day. I don't blame them. San Francisco has more things to do than any local could handle in a lifetime.

But at the moment, I am in no hurry. Right now, I am completely at peace. I could sit for another two hours and watch the waves crash against the cliffs to my left and right, creating lingering yet impermanent clouds from the sprays of mist they send into the air. I could listen to the swell rumbling itself into sets of ten foot waves for hours or continue to feel each wave in my feet and legs as they smash into the cliffs below me. I could sit and see how long it takes for the fog brewing a few miles away to reach me. And I just might.

I left Montana three weeks ago and was homesick within an hour. I felt at home in Montana, and I regularly stumbled into places that put me completely at peace. It was a strange feeling, leaving. I have never had a difficult time with it before. In fact, I've quite enjoyed the life of constant travel. Perhaps it was a subconscious idea that Montana is my peace, a place that fits me. A place in which I can relate to most people I meet. A place where most people are at peace. Perhaps it was the idea that no other place could move me the way Montana moves me.

This homesick feeling compounded as I reached Yosemite. I strolled into Yosemite Valley on an October Saturday. Yosemite's "slow season." I wandered through the valley, near some waterfalls, and up some boulders all day, but I didn't really see anything. People were everywhere, few of whom seemed to have enough time to do whatever it was they needed to do. The business and busy-ness of Yosemite Valley gave me a tunnel vision that distracted me from really seeing any part of the 3,000 foot cliffs that surrounded me.

A few days later, I found myself in Kings Canyon. I had never been before, and I was unprepared for how amazing it is. Deep cliffs, mirror-like rivers, giant sequoias, waterfalls, quietness. During my stay I saw about fourteen people. All of these people seemed to have all the time in the world. They wore smiles, were eager to talk with a stranger, and were happy being where they were. I spent one morning on a secluded river beach, reading a short book cover to cover. Another afternoon, I walked a few miles upriver and seemed to have the whole park to myself. My thoughts weren't focused on, "I wonder what Murphy and Genie are doing right now... they're probably drinking coffee in Missoula... I wish I was in Missoula," or, "I bet it snowed in Montana today." Rather, I was happy being where I was. My thoughts were good thoughts, amazed at how many places in the world can be so incredible, and glad that I'm lucky enough to be able to visit so many. I was happy by myself. I would have been happy with friends, family, or fellow travelers enjoying the peace Kings Canyon offered.

They say that solitude is lonelier in public places. Given my recent experiences with the crowds of Yosemite, the tranquility of Kings Canyon, and this specific cliff on San Francisco's west side, one could assume that I would agree with that statement. But I don't think I agree. I have some company today on these cliffs. They do not make me feel lonely. Actually, they make me feel happy. I know they appreciate the beauty of this location and are content with soaking in the scene for hours. No rush. No imperative business calls. No necessity of keeping up with the Joneses. They are here, and they are happy. I am within the city limits of one of the most famous cities in the world with a metro area population of multiple million, yet I do not feel the loneliness. I feel an understanding with the people with me on this cliff. They make me feel at home.