This journal entry was found in a yellow notepad dated 10/20/09:
I just finished watching “Where the Wild Things Are” which made me think a lot about childhood. It’s sad to lose that imagination/viewpoint on life. Why can’t we stay like that? Everything seemed so simple. If you wanted a treehouse then you built it. You also gain some kind of fear with age. I’m often scared of being in my home alone, but I used to walk through graveyards at night. It’s somewhat sad. I just want to live a life worth living with excitement and adventure, yet I seem to be settling. If my writing is any indication of an adventure coming, I would say that is not likely. I’m afraid of risk or failure. “I think about the implications of diving into deep. (Overkill by Colin Hay)” …It may be our over-analyzing that gets to us. We make everything so complicated. We hit puberty and start doing complex math problems and, Bam! There goes our ability to create kingdoms out of hedge bushes. I hate that we are forced to maintain a responsible job to get income which gives us enough money to live out the remainder of our hours not working in some type of routine maintaining homes, cars, bills, food, and other items in order to satisfy those around us socially/ourselves mentally. WHY? Isn’t this insanity?! We crave the times of nothingness/numbness! We drain our brains to avoid contemplation and decisions and analyzing. I often find myself desiring TV, food, video games, internet, or anything to avoid thinking. This is probably why I am currently venting. I need an adventure; I need some risk. I cannot afford not to get outside of this mundane routine existence. I need authentic relief. How do you act like a child in mind while living as an adult?
What does one do when confronted with the echoes of the past? When faced with the yearnings of a former self, desperate for an escape from the mundane?
Nearly 15 years later, I found myself leafing through old journals, and one excerpt resonated more deeply than the rest. Why? I can’t say for certain. Perhaps because I empathize with that older version of myself, or perhaps, even worse, because I find those sentiments even more prevalent now than ever before. It took me some time to pen this response, as my initial reaction was clouded by emotion and needed time to settle. What was that reaction? Disappointment. I was disappointed to find that my fears have only grown, accompanied by an ever-present anxiety that has surged since becoming a parent. Disappointed that I still feel ensnared in the confines of a capitalist system with no apparent means of escape. Disappointed because the craving for adventure remains unfulfilled, nowhere in sight. Ultimately, I was disappointed to realize that I seem to be stuck in the same place, with little doubt that 15 years into the future, I might find myself repeating the same cycle.
So, I decided to take my son camping. What better way to embrace adventure than by starting fires and sleeping under the stars? I booked a glamping site in North Georgia, a wooden A-frame tent nestled within walking distance of a communal luxury shower and toilet. I envisioned how the night would unfold: roasting hot dogs and marshmallows, engaging in heartfelt conversations about life, and maybe even a game of soccer. No YouTube, no VR, no Roblox, no Minecraft. Just the raw embrace of nature! Initially, everything seemed to be going according to plan. We built a roaring fire, kicked the soccer ball in an open field, and explored the nearby creek. But as the sun dipped below the horizon, I sensed a shift. My son realized that we would be sleeping alone, far from the comfort of home. His initial excitement waned, replaced by a growing unease. Despite my attempts to reassure him, his panic escalated until he was in full-blown distress. We packed up in the dark, and we made the journey back home that very night.
Yet, that’s just one version of the story. The reality is that I too found myself miserable. My envisioned adventure had fallen short of expectations. It would be easy to lay blame on my son. To say he was scared or bored would be accurate. But I was scared too. Fearful thoughts plagued my mind, conjuring scenarios of danger lurking in the darkness. I even sent a text to my wife, disclosing our whereabouts as a precaution. The silence of the wilderness gnawed at me, punctuated by sporadic sounds that sent shivers down my spine. Yet, more than anything, I was consumed by an acute sense of boredom! While my son remained device-free and content, I found myself grasping for reasons to check my phone, whether to check the weather or research hiking trails. What was intended as a liberating escape into nature had swiftly turned into a stark reality check. I was not ready for this!
As we drove home that fateful night, the journal entry from 15 years prior flooded my mind. I longed to convey to my younger self that the pursuit of adventure was but a fleeting dream, a vanishing fantasy. There was a slight sense of peace in accepting my current circumstances, recognizing that life need not be defined by the ceaseless pursuit of excitement and wild exploration. But that peace was short-lived.
The following morning, a deluge of Instagram content served as a jarring reminder of the adventures I was not embarking on. Photos of exotic locales, drone footage capturing majestic waterfalls beneath the ethereal glow of the Northern Lights in Norway—each post an indictment of my mundane existence. It prompted me to question why I was willing to disappoint the 85-year-old version of myself, lying on his deathbed, lamenting that I never quit my job and ran away in a camper van while teaching my kids all they should know like an episode of Magic School Bus. The influencers had done their job well, ensnaring me once again in the suffocating web of shame and guilt for living a life filled with monotony—work, chores, schoolwork, and mindless screentime. Once more, I found myself steeped in disappointment.
Then, about a week ago, I stumbled upon the movie “Everything, Everywhere, All At Once.” Initially uncertain of its premise, I had heard murmurs of its worthiness. While the film’s stunning visuals and quirky humor left a lasting impression, it was its underlying message that resonated most deeply. In the face of both everything and absolutely nothing, the greatest value lies in the present moment. Though the sentiment may sound cringey, reminiscent of a bazillion Instagram posts exhorting mindfulness, it carried a newfound weight after viewing this film. Why? Because the protagonist, Evelyn, never realized her aspirations and grappled with profound disappointment in her life’s trajectory. Her marriage faltered, her daughter resented her, and her family business teetered on the brink of collapse due to tax fraud. It was only upon glimpsing alternate realities, each path untaken, that she realized her deepest desire was simply to cherish fleeting moments of connection. Whether her life amounted to little more than mundane tasks (filling out tax forms or managing an underperforming laundromat) or grand adventures was inconsequential. Looking upon her daughter, Joy, she uttered the words: “No matter what, I still want to be here with you. I will always… always… want to be here with you… we can do whatever we want. Nothing matters.”
Following that viewing, the world took on a different hue. Stepping into my backyard, I felt the warmth of the wind and the fragrant scent of grass more keenly than before. Every now and then, the magic of existence smacks you in the face, transcending the mundane and touching the very core of your being. That evening, disappointment gave way to a sense of contentment, coupled with a profound curiosity about the unfolding present. Were my kids glued to their screens for an inordinate amount of time? Yes. Did I succumb to the allure of Instagram once again? Yes. Did I cease dreaming of adventure and breaking free from the shackles of capitalism? No. I have not yet reached enlightenment! Yet, amidst it all, a quiet serenity prevailed, reminding me to cherish these fleeting moments unfolding in the here and now. Most importantly, I’ve come to remind myself that life need not adhere to any predetermined script. I am here today because of the choices I’ve made, and in this present moment, “I can do whatever I want.” As long as I remain rooted in the now, nothing else truly matters.
Will I hold onto this lesson and embrace the moments as they unfold? I’ll check back in 15 years and let you know how it goes.
