Possibility

Dusk.

I lie on the ground in the open, among the tall grasses and short saplings. I don't stand; only crouch or lie down to avoid presenting my profile. I'm apart from those who pass by mere feet, those tourists and workers and who knows who else, but “them” nonetheless.

A light, a sound; I freeze.

I am not in dire circumstances, mind you, but these are precautions I take nonetheless. I just don't need a concerned tourist reporting a “strange man in the grass” to the law enforcement rangers.

The sound becomes sounds, and the light sweeps spastically. I hear voices, and now footsteps. They're getting closer.

I have willfully placed myself in this particular situation. There are alternative locations, but I am here, several paces from a path, in scrubby foliage. My camouflage is dubious.

Foolish, you say? I suppose. Lazy? Most definitely, but those are my hallmarks, and it simply would not do to contradict myself at a time in my life when I am looking to define what I stand for.

There's also a certain exhilarating feeling that accompanies me during these times of heightened insecurity.

It's that familiar feeling of possibility. Its the sixth sense of knowing your life could take a momentous turn, possibly or probably for the worse. It is the precipice.

The precipice is the most exciting place to be. As a moment of time, the precipice ranks as one of my favorites. It is that special place that allows for the most imagination. It is the the point in time that strikes the most superior balance of allowing you foresight to your possible future, but without resolution, which is the key to unleashing your imagination (and sometimes trepidation).

You cannot fathom what you are unaware of, therefore you must know where your circumstances are leading to enjoy a certain level of prescience. However, once set on a course, by nature and virtue of being on a course, you know where it may lead—how it may resolve. Inevitability carries its own significance, but I don't enjoy that feeling, not nearly as much.

Of course, the precipice is also where you begin a climb. And when you stand at the base of a great precipice, your mind can run wild with possible outcomes. Certainly, you may wish for a certain conclusion, and the fact that the precipice sets up the possibility of mutually exclusive outcomes is part of its allure.

I live now, more than I have before, in a continual state of being on the precipice.

The light is fickle and momentary, then gone. The children, the tourists have crunch-crunched the gravel all the way past me. Their high-pitched chattering fades. I am alone again.

I feel like I'm going feral. This would be a good thing. It feeds into my pre-existing self-concept. I have playfully over the years thought of myself as a “manimal” (credit to me, though I think I've seen the term used before), with man used in the general sense. I would describe the feeling like this: you operate comfortably and naturally in primitive conditions. I'm trying to relate the idea that sometimes you can surprise yourself with your innate ability to adapt to a wild environment. It's an almost animal quality. I think that may be why travel shines so bright in the eyes of so many. For travel is the opportunity to adapt and thrive in a new, “wild” place. It is an opportunity to be resourceful. 

And that is what I find myself yearning for, is a chance to thrive. An opportunity to see how I will deal with an environment heretofore unexperienced. Once my course is set, however, I lose interest, as the outcome becomes more inflexible. I'm learning this about myself as I type, stream of consciousness. But it's true. Sometimes, seeking opportunity is more enticing than seeking success.

If you know me, you know I'm at least a fatalist, if not a pessimist. But you may not know that I am eternally hopeful. And it is that combination of hope and desire for opportunity that drives my travels and my endeavors. Certainly, I have dreams but I'm not a terribly ambitious person. If I have or will accomplish anything extraordinary, it will be through serendipity, and not sheer force of will.

And so, here I am now; Yosemite. I love the feeling of arriving in a new place and wondering how I will thrive there. That feeling comes and goes in Yosemite, as nothing is certain here. I have settled into several routines since arriving here, and each one I had need to change for different reasons. Until recently, I was sleeping in a pile of boulders that provided good protection from the elements. I was there until a bear or a human (I don't know which) tossed my belongings. Nothing was broken or missing, but everything was displaced and a toiletry case was unzipped in situ but mysteriously unmolested.

This incident necessitated a change of quarters, which led me to my current situation. A storm or bad weather or some other unforeseen event will necessitate the next change.

While it would be easy to become angry or aggravated by these constant changes, it should be evident by now that I in fact, find them to be exciting twists in what could otherwise be a monotonous routine.

Surely, there is inconvenience in each minor upset experienced, and there is uncertainty, but that all leads me back to being on the precipice—a more exciting place to be.