meeting rocks, thinking about time, thinking about my friend

Two weeks ago I went to Moab and got my steps in. In Moab, trees grow out of rocks, and the coffee is a pretty normal price. The merch is really good, and the rings you buy have big green stones set in sterling silver. The air is dry and hot, you’ll need to sleep with the window open. Then you’ll wake up in the early hours from the neighborhood cat fighting a coyote. The next morning on you’re hike, lizards wait patiently for you to pick them up and then run away when you finally try.

In Moab, trees grow out of rocks, and there are wild deer at night that watch you as you drive home. At the entrance to all the major hikes, there are signs everywhere about bringing enough water with you (I didn’t).

In Moab, it feels like you are somewhere else. In Salt Lake City, it still feels like somewhere you could live there because there are gas stations and starbucks everywhere. There are taco bells and highway signs. In a place like that, it’s still possible to run into a celebrity (I did).

In Moab, there are no celebrities except for the rock that everyone wants to stand on and so a line forms. See below for Aaron and the celebrity rock (his hall pass).

When you are someplace that feels so far from your everyday landscape, it can feel like you are far away from other things too. Far away from stress and responsibilities and dishes and also good things too like your uggs and your favorite blanket to watch tv under and the good ice cream in the freezer.

When I was in Moab, my friend called me and told me something. I had lost a friend. My friends had lost a friend. I stood at the edge of a beautiful view, looked out over the canyons, and started thinking about my friend. I haven’t stopped since then.

I walked slowly with Aaron along the edge of one of these rock formations. I thought about parties and dinners and walks. I thought about how cold Dartmouth was in the winter and how it forges a certain type of person. A type of person I really enjoy being around. I thought about how groups of friends are like roads weaving across each other on a map or trees in a forest with roots that criss cross underneath the soil.

I didn’t have any service on these hikes. So I would think a lot and then I would talk to strangers. Aaron would go climb rocks I didn’t want to and I would sit in the dirt waiting to meet someone like Tina from Idaho. “My Dan, he’s like a walking map” she told me. We talked about being from the midwest and how it means we talk to people. “It means you were raised right” she told me. Tina says she has no sense of direction and that she wouldn’t know what was up from down if not for Dan. Tina told me I was smart for taking a break when I was tired. When Dan came back for her and they started to make their way off we introduced ourselves for the first time. “Were you close?” is a hard question to answer. Especially with people like Tina or my friend Ellie who made everyone close to them feel close to them. Tina from Idaho would probably say it’s because she was raised right. And I would agree.

As I sat in the dirt and ate just the chocolate pieces out of the trail mix, I listened to how everyone around me measured how much time they have left on their hike. Everybody had a different answer to the same question. 10 there and backs. 2 laps on a track. Half a mile. Whatever it took to reassure themselves that they could do it. Whatever it took to help them understand how much time was left.

We measure our time in a lot of different ways. Laps on a track. Songs on a playlist. Minutes, seconds, hours. Lately I have enjoyed thinking about time in terms of how close we are to my birthday. We are only one day away. I wish my friend could be there. She would love the theme. She was at my birthday last year, and she made it fun like she did with everything. It all meant something to her so it meant something to you. That’s just how it worked with my friend Ellie. I will be thinking about her on my birthday.

It was so hot in Moab I often exclaimed to Aaron “I hate this.” But I didn’t really. (Really, I didn’t). But my friends were far away and I missed them and wanted to be close to them.

I finally got to the front of the line for the local celebrity rock and told him I was a huge fan. He was honestly kind of distant and weird about it. Never meet your heroes. I got a picture anyways. See below:

Lately I have been wondering if this loss has made me more gentle. Willing to forgive. I’m being nice to people I don’t even like. In fact, I’m being nice to people I actively dislike. I’m doing yoga and talking to birds. I’m asking the city to send me gloves and garbage bags so I can pick up trash on my walks. I am noticing the dashboard of a mover’s truck - an inhaler, a burger king bag, and a gorgeous ombre hydroflask. I guess I like who I am being but I am sad about the reason I am being it.

I hope this wasn’t weird or bad it is just something I wrote because I have been feeling weird about writing and the only way to not feel weird about it is to do it I’ve decided.