The gifts of presence. (Road Notes #1: Colorado)

“Attention, taken to its highest degree, is the same thing as prayer.” - Simone Weil

By the time you read this I am on my way to Wyoming and South Dakota. I will be answering emails and comments with delays :)

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I have only been on the road for a week, but already the trip feels like a teacher. The more present I am, the more hidden treasures I discover.

I am also still stunned by how quickly life can change once we commit.

Until last week, I lived in a small one-bedroom apartment in Manhattan’s East Village. $2,500 a month about to go to $2,700 — too much for me but still not expensive for New York City.

On Thursday morning I moved my remaining belongings into storage. Later that day, I took a plane to Denver and bought my first car. A Subaru Outback with a casual 100,000 miles on the odometer. (Fingers crossed and a shoutout to Carmax for a great experience so far.) Then I headed for the mountains.

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Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I think: ‘Oh Lord, you've given us huge forests, infinite fields, and endless horizons, and we, living here, ought really to be giants.’ ― Anton Chekhov, The Cherry Orchard

I get it now. Colorado is really pretty.

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On the Peak to Peak highway, heading from Boulder to Estes Park, I did what a tourist does: pull over to soak in the unexpectedly gorgeous views.

Before I could get the phone out to take a picture, I stopped. I closed my eyes. The air was overwhelming, rich with the scent of pines. Around me nothing but trees and sky. Dead quiet. The ground was covered in pine needles and bits of bark, soft like a blanket. Everything felt warm and inviting. A place to sit and just be.

So, I sat on a tree stump and watched the clouds.

Life in New York had become stimulating but narrow. I was attached to being a ‘writer’ and let my mind fuse with books and screens. Don’t get me wrong, it was important to go deep, both in finance and writing. We have to enter the thicket of nuance to find the patterns that repeat themselves across domains. It takes some work to learn that, in a way, Everything in the world is exactly the same.¹

But I was missing the opposing forces creating balance: the open sky, encounters with strangers outside the bubble, unpredictable days . . . wilderness, a dash of chaos.

Frankly, time in the wordless space had made me more sensitive. The city’s energy felt relentless. I felt the density invade my body and build up tension — in the jaw that had to keep quiet (neighbors!), in the chest aching for the deep breath of expanse, in the legs that yearned to walk, walk, walk.

I struggled to stay centered while immersed in the pulsating current of ambition and ecstasy. It was time to take the next step on the soul path and jump into the unknown.

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This is the real secret of life - to be completely engaged with what you are doing in the here and now. And instead of calling it work, realize it is play. ― Alan Watts

I’m just no good at visualizing spaces.

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I am learning, again and again, to slow down, to listen.

I am re-discovering how to have meaningful conversations with strangers.

Perhaps it’s the nature of a solitary road trip. I spend time hiking and driving in silence. My social battery is full when I encounter shopkeepers, waiters, landlords, the people who tend to blur into the background if one is preoccupied with the group. I have time. I’m curious. Maybe I am even eager to break the silence with conversation, though I would never admit that!

I find that patient and undivided attention acts like a magnet for stories. Enter someone’s room, literal or metaphorical, with curiosity and warmth and you get the chance to catch glimpses of a stranger’s soul. Having an extra five or ten minutes can turn a transactional conversation into a meaningful encounter.

This can pay surprising dividends. It’s like the world bends in your favor in barely perceptible ways.