With nothing to guide our path but light from the waxing moon, a friend and I climbed to an elevated point in the foothills and just marveled at what we saw. City lights sparkled beneath a clear night sky, the perfect canvas to shooting stars and constellations. Once down below, we hiked near a pond and listened attentively to the low bass of a bullfrog’s call and the stringed chirp of crickets’ wings.
Were we inebriated? Surely. But we’d had no booze, we were simply drunk on the view.
Were we on a trip? Of course—but one of a different kind—one fueled by adrenaline.
When was the last time you really felt something? I mean, really felt intense joy, elation and excitement in every fiber of your being—without the help of some adult beverage or illegal substance?
When did you last pluck a dandelion from the grass and blow its seeds into the wind, laughing with delight as they flurried in all directions?
How long has it been since you blew bubbles?
It seems that, as adults, we seem to lose our childlike sense of wonder. We begin to need synthetic stimuli in order to experience pleasure or numb our pain. But children don’t slurp stiff drinks; they gobble up the syrupy sweet taste of rainbow sno-cones. They don’t snort lines; they instead breathe in the aroma of freshly cut grass as they skip and tumble in the lawn with neighborhood friends during games of freeze-tag. Kids don’t need a drag off a cigarette to feel good; simply the wind in their faces as they swing at the park is fresh air enough.
Life, dear friends, even with all its accompanying anguish, anxiety and heartbreak, is beautiful. It offers billions of dandelions, a virtually limitless supply of bubbles, and a sno-cone can be had for little over a dollar. So, next time I want to feel good, I’ll think twice about drinking down that third Red Bull vodka. I might just go for a midnight hike in the foothills, instead.
And I’ll run through the sprinklers upon my descent. Again.