And yet... I couldn't get the longing out of my head. So I booked a hotel room (I am many things but a solo-camper is not one of 'em), got my oil changed, packed some clothes and groceries... and following a work brunch on May 28th, I drove out to Death Valley.
I'm not not a birthday person. I do enjoy celebrating with closed friends and, if I'm lucky, family. But this year I sought to be grounded, connected, gloriously free–all at the same time. I needed to lighten the heaviness of difficult memories and current events.
After checking in, I ventured to Artists Palette... then Dante's View to watch the sun set over Badwater Basin. And just as the desert became completely blanketed by stars, I arrived back at my hotel room. I grabbed a beer, pulled a rocking chair out into the darkness, and gazed. Every breathtaking sight instilled the most serene awareness of my minuscule, and all the while, worthy existence.
The next morning, after accidentally waking up early, I watched the sun rise with Letters to a Young Poet, and ~20 photographers.
There aren't words to describe how spectacular an experience, nor how special it felt to be a part of it. Happy birthday to me.
I went on to meditatively walk the Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes before heading back to the hotel for avocado toast and coffee. And that was that! Almost. I stopped for a quick hike through Mosaic Canyon and drove up to Aguereberry Point on my way out of the park.
Twenty-eight sounds old to me—not in a "ugh, I'm so old!" kind of way (how obnoxious), but in a "wow, I've lived a bit, huh? cool." And waking up in the desert at 28 was perfect. The wide open space and relentless dry heat and pristine towering peaks above the below-sea-level basin were everything I'd been craving and more.Now, at a time when I'm so disappointed with the government's inability to pass effective legislation and humiliating political rhetoric, I'm trying to hold onto that sense of privilege and delight. Happy 100th birthday, National Park Service.
