I’ve always dreamed of living a weird life. Not a self-destructive one. Not one of chaos and confusion. But, one of constant movement and interaction with strangers who became fast friends over a cold pint of beer or simply talking in a parking lot because I liked their T-shirt or they liked mine. That’s all.
There’s a reason I bring this up. A very big reason in my existence. One recent evening, alone in my humble abode one-bedroom apartment in downtown Waynesville, I re-watched the seminal 2007 film “Into the Wild.” It had been many years since I viewed that serene movie, and yet it still hit all of the deepest buttons within my absolute being: love, truth, and sense of self.
And I vividly remember the first time I saw “Into the Wild.” It was February 2008 in the very, very tiny town of Victor, Idaho. The population at that time was around 800. It’s a much larger place now since all the millionaires over the Grand Teton Mountains in Jackson, Wyoming, have been displaced by the billionaire class. Back then, Victor was three groups of folks: Mormons, ranchers, and ski bums. And me and my fleabags friends, too. My people.
I’m still friends with the other three people in that room who watched “Into the Wild” together. One of whom, Mike, still lives in Victor. I call him up every time I find myself in Teton County, which is about every couple of years or so. When I first met him, a fresh graduate of Dartmouth College, he was working in the local grocery store, selling wine and fish and whatever provisions were available just a couple blocks from my one-bedroom studio apartment attached to an abandoned double-wide trailer just off Route 31.
I was 22 years old then, also a fresh graduate from Quinnipiac University in Connecticut. I wanted out of the stale, rich nature of New England. I wanted to be out in Wyoming, in greater Idaho and Montana. This was way before the influx of “Yellowstone” TV show folks pig-piling into the Rocky Mountains. This was also before the real estate boom post-economic crash of 2008 and beyond, the kind of place where you could still get an inexpensive apartment for $500 a month, and with mountain views. My kind of spot, you dig?
I still dream of Wyoming. Shit, the state symbol, the bucking horse and rider? Well, it’s happily and proudly tattooed on my right leg. Of the eight or so tattoos on my body, that remains my favorite. It reminds me of not only when I lived out there and called the Tetons my home, but also why those mountains and those people and that place continue to haunt my dreams, regardless of whether I’m actually sleeping or simply driving the backroads of Western North Carolina. I left a piece of my true heart in those ancient hills, and I can only hold it when I return. I have to give it back when I leave.
So, lately, I’ve not only tracked down “Into the Wild” and watched it with immense perspective and purpose, now some 19 years since I lived in Eastern Idaho, but also my headphones and truck stereo have been playing the film soundtrack (by Eddie Vedder) and Kaki King’s “Dreaming of Revenge” album (she was also featured on the soundtrack). Those two albums were in constant rotation when I was roaming around the American West. Those melodies remain as powerful then as they are currently in my heart and soul.
And I’ve been trying to contemplate just why this film and these songs have circled back into my daily life. The same goes for the book (of the same name) that the film is based on, by Jon Krakauer. In fact, right after I graduated college in Connecticut in 2007, I remember picking up a copy of that book and being utterly mesmerized by it. This one specific memory of me sitting in Henry’s Diner in downtown Burlington, Vermont, devouring not only the breakfast dish in front of me, but also those pages. It inspired me to head west.
Is it the fact that I’m now over 40 years old? Is it the incessant urge to leave everything behind here in Southern Appalachia and disappear into the Rocky Mountains, maybe even Alaska, or even the northern woods of Minnesota, or even the desolate nature of Alberta, the serene peacefulness of remote Newfoundland, the kind of place and space that brings silence to a restless mind? Is it the fact that the world is organized chaos on a daily basis, and I’m simply tired of walking through it every morning? It’s all of the above, in truth.
Fall is slowly transitioning to the impending winter. My thoughts drift to days spent in Eastern Idaho. It was going for a late afternoon jog around Victor, right near sunset when the frozen landscape became quiet and tranquil, the last of the sunshine ducking behind the Big Hole Mountains. It was going for frothy beers and hearty conversation right around the corner at the Knotty Pine Supper Club. It was sweeping up the floor of the studio apartment on Sunday mornings in hopes of someday having company, a female companion to conquer the world with. I still sweep those floors here in Waynesville.
Another year is fading into the rearview mirror. The gratitude remains, always, that ability to, well, wander and ponder, that eternal quest to see what’s beyond the next mountain ridge, and what surprises lie right around the next corner. I also remain curious. I always will. It ties back to something I said to a dear friend recently, “The saddest thing is that I’ll never be able to talk to and write about everyone that I want to. There’s just too many people and such little time.” And yet, I continue each day to track down as many kind souls as possible. The clock is ticking and the sands of time are fleeting, but, for me, I’ll still do my best to track down as many folks as possible.
Thus, it’s once again way past the midnight hour. The incense I lit when I started this column is now long gone and dormant, but the candle I also set ablaze is still simmering atop my dusty bookshelf. The night air is oddly warm for this time of the year in the mountains, so the front door remains open for fresh air and for the sounds of the night: passerby anonymous vehicles, creatures roaming the backyard, the occasional breeze wafting in. And I’m here for it all, every single moment of every single day. Are you? I hope so.
Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.