We
all need a place nobody else knows about. Where everything goes away for a
while. Somewhere you can go to get above all the noise. A place with an amazing
view.
About
ten years ago when my entire life decided to take an abrupt nosedive, I needed
to find this place. And I did. It wasn’t much. Just a little notch of a hill in
the middle of the woods. I stumbled across it while wandering aimlessly through
the trees one morning. Not sure what I was looking for. Probably a way out.
I
recognized it right away. I remembered sledding down its short but sharp sides
as a kid. I was surprised that the years hadn’t buried it in thick overgrowth.
Or eroded it down to just a bump. How long does it take to erode an entire
hill? I’m not good at archeology. Or math. Or time stuff.
It
looked a lot bigger when I was 8. But there it was again, just high enough to provide
some much needed perspective.
Ten
years ago, I found myself at the top of that hill every day, for about a
month. I’d go up there with my buddy Patch, the world’s greatest (and now
oldest) dog and just sit still. He’d sniff around, but never strayed too far.
Not sure if he stayed close because I needed him to, or because he was afraid
he’d fall off the side. Sometimes
I’d ask him questions. Meaning of life stuff. The kind of questions with no
answers. He didn’t say much. But he provided a whole lot more insight than any
higher power ever did. They never said much either.
Eventually
I found an old metal folding chair and brought it to the top. That busted up
chair did more than just get me up off the cold ground. It was my throne. Up
there, I was the king. I could look down on all the bullshit below, knowing it
couldn’t reach me.
About
a month ago I was back on that hill. This time just for the exercise. Patch
didn’t sprint up the side like he did then, but he made it. That’s just what he
does. The chair was still there — fully tattered and rusted through, but still
there. I thought about putting it out of its misery and throwing it in the burn
pile, but I left it. Right where it belonged.
Who
knows, I might not sit up there again for another ten years. But it’s good to
know that chair is there — just in case I need a change of perspective. Or get
the urge to be king, again.
JS
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