When I lay in bed, I sometimes see myself standing in the West Walker River.
I feel its cold currents on my waist; I feel my feet ground into its mud and silt.
Its water feels fresh. But I can’t see it. The moon above is shrouded in smoke.
I’m anxious. I’m lost. Alone. I don’t know what time it is, just that it’s late. I should really be back at camp.
I think of the decisions I’ve made, and make another one: I can’t turn back. Not anymore.
I’m reminded of this moment from last September because I sometimes feel the same way in life, even in the comfort of clean sheets. There’s no physical form to the nihilistic waves of sadness and emptiness rushing over and through me now. But they don’t feel any less real.
The irony is that, on that night, I knew that every step took me closer to an ultimate, unquestionable destination.
But, tonight, where is there to go?