Posted November 26th, 2003 by Michelle

Wednesday, November 19th

There is no winter where I sit. A chained-down picnic bench, dusty and cob-webbed from neglect, vibrant green shoots of grass, quiet, gently ebbing waters of Lake Berryessa- but no winter. I hear only two birds, one singing, one chirping, but the rest is so silent I can hardly bear the sound of my fingers hitting the keyboard.

Twice now I’ve gone in search of hikes, and twice now have found awfully beautiful spots but no trailheads. I’m told there is tons of hiking around here but so far it eludes me.

It is just under 70 degrees and the sun is soft through the trees. I’m not far away from the car as my dad’s sporty little Beamer is certainly incongruous in this land of pickup trucks dragging motorboats. Every tree glistens with cobwebs. I almost can’t believe how beautiful it is, right at this spot twenty feet from the shore. There are a hundred cigarette buts near this picnic table, and when I bushwhacked up the hill in search of a path I stumbled on empty bottles of Corona. This made me sad not because I wouldn’t drink beer here, but if I did, I would certainly take the empties with me.

My drive here, to this Lake, took about forty-five minutes even though it is less that twenty miles from my home. The roads are small and windy, the land gorgeous on either side. About five miles ago I came across an old wooden barn-turned-winery, sadly closed for the season. I love this. I’m reminded of last summer, months spent in the wild, sleeping under the stars every single night. I always chose to pitch my tent or throw my tarp near water; it sung me to sleep.

I miss this, I want this in my life. I often wonder if I am really too old to go fight fires for a summer in Wyoming, or to go to Niger for two years, or to take next spring and summer to wander around the world by way of Vanuatu when I go visit Anastasia. My good friend Kellie is 34. She just moved to New York six months ago and she is one of the most well-adjusted people I know. She has spent her adult years travelling and she has balance and conviction like few people I know. If I were to go to the Peace Corps in the spring or summer, I would still be younger than her when I got back. I would not miss my brother’s wedding.

I just don’t know. I’m determined to give this place, my new home, a fair shot. My life here is peaceful and fun and good. But the question is: do I want a peaceful life?

In the very bottom of my gut, no. No, I want an extraordinary life. Challenging, hard, weird, helpful. That is the life I want. I just have to decide where I’m going to find it, and also figure out if it is something within rather than without.