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diaryland
if you lived here, you'd be home by now
01 June 2007 - 17:11
Few things excite me more when I am traveling than a new, expansive view. I remember the first time I approached Chicago, Seattle, San Francisco, L.A., Houston, San Antonio, Vancouver B.C., New York City, and even Detroit by car. The experience of coming face to face with a skyline I had only ever admired in photos or imagined in my mind lit me up each time, filled me with the kind of excitement a child has Christmas morning.
Every bit as exciting is the view a gain in elevation or a wide open area provides: Drop offs that are many hundreds of feet in the Colorado Rockies, the view of the Columbia River Gorge from the top of the Cherry Orchard Hike, the Palm Springs area from Highway 74, downtown Detroit from the top floor of the Renaissance Center, Arizona's Grand Canyon and Monument Valley, the view of Coit Tower from Russian Hill in San Francisco, Portland from Mount Tabor or Pittock Mansion, Tijuana and its flickering lights from the sands of Imperial Beach, California's Mt. Shasta from Interstate 5.
The last kind of view for which I travel is the stuff pulp novels and mood pieces are made of: the view of a place from the inside. Chinatown in Vancouver, B.C., New York's Coney Island, Philadelphia's South Street, New Orleans cemeteries.
My recent travels are reminding me that I live for a good view, a treasured vantage point. Even if what I'm looking at isn't beautiful. Just to see it and see it clearly means something heady and delightful to me.
I realized this week that there is a way to look at life experiences that imbues them with a bit more magic. It's true -- I haven't spent enough time exploring away from Portland as I would like, let alone the U.S. But each of my experiences, small and large, can be seen as new and engrossing vantage points. This is the vista of letting your cats multiply contrary to society's norms. This is the vista of a job interview that makes you so nervous you can't sleep for a week. This is the view you get sleeping on your couch for a few months so that your friend can have a bed. Here's your vantage point when you drop your laptop in the pool just for the hell of it. (Why do I want to do that so much?)
What is helpful about taking on this ... um, view, is that it highlights the newness and temporariness of experiences that may seem unpleasant or even boring, as well as my power to change what I am experiencing.
Don't like the view? Well, try over here. This experience is so awful! Now that I know what it's like, I can move on soon. I really wish I didn't have to do this. Part of me has decided to see what it feels like, and afterwards, I can go for a different perspective if I want. Maybe the experience I'm gazing at today will help me appreciate my experiential travels later on.
None of this matters all that much, outside of the view it gives me.
It's easy to be lost in preconceived notions and automatic reactions, fascinated by conflict and unpleasant experiences, but when I stop and really look around I can see that my life *is* exotic, rich, detailed, ambient, utterly unique, and irreplaceable.
