The Great Outdoors - Part 1

I am currently situated in a quaint little village just outside the famously beautiful town of Banff. It is a small town in the middle of the Rocky Mountains. It is a nature lover's dream. All the features someone could possibly want and ask for of a picturesque mountain scene. There is hiking, animals, lakes, mountains, dirt, rocks and miles of grey highway. In fact, I hear that the movie Narrow Margin was filmed here.

Needless to reiterate, it's quite majestic.

Now here's the question? Am I enjoying my mountain retreat, my getaway, my vacation? No, I am far from enjoyment and bliss. I quite despise it. This trip was suggested to me by my lovely father, an outdoorsman. This trip was supposed to inspire me, to pull me out of my spiral of uninspiredness, to save me from falling into the depths of unimaginative oblivion. I think that it has quite succeeded in that goal, for I am very inspired. A fire has been lit in my soul, so great, so bright, that I feel more inspired than I have in months. Inspired from hatred and ire, however, not from pleasantry.

Yes, the miraculaous nature riles me. It fills me with hate. What causes me more anger and distress is the knowing that I endured a hardy 10 hours confined in a car behind an incredibly irritating seatbelt. And for what? So that I could see some mountains? So that I could exert myself on the beaten, dirt path up one if those mountains. All in search of what? A lake, some coniferous forest? Really?

I hate to say this, but I see no beauty in it anymore. It is not special to me in any way. But of course, Hawaii isn't special to me anymore, yet I still adore it. Why? Because I adore the beach, and the waves and the warmth and the feeling of salt water as it splashes against my navel. But is there any feature of this kind of nature that I adore? Sadly no. I don't like dirt, I don't like getting dirty, I don't like exercise, I don't like rocks, I don't like vegetation and I especially don't like bugs.

Oh mosquitoes, they are the worst! I would gladly eradicate them if I could. I just generally dislike all the characteristics associated with a mountain setting.
The mountains seemed to instigate a huge amount of rage in me. It had become increasingly easy to set me off. Every small flaw seemed grave. Had I been given the chance, I would have broken someone's nose. I was psychologically incapable of coming to terms with the knowledge that I had to hike. With each statement of elevation gain and length, I fell into a deeper state of melancholia and lethargy. I didn't want to do it. People cannot understand why, nor how it is possible to despise walks through mountains and forest to such an extent. I just do. Physically, it's fine. I am strong and conditioned enough to survive just about any hike. For example, a few years ago, I survived the hike up Whistler Mountain - a staggering 21km But did I enjoy it? Absolutely not. Don't get me wrong, it's not like the lakes and mountain tops aren't beautiful, it's just that they're all the same. At least to me, that is. I feel that each one is similar and that the strenuous hike required to get to the top is not worth it. But that's just me.

I never grew up dreaming to be like Heidi, or the woman from The Sound of Music. I was perfectly content with city life. I don't like Vancouver because of it's rainy, disgusting climate. But, I would not trade living in a big city for "the simple life".

Or at least, that's what I thought at the start of this trip.
By the end of this trip I had started to like the mountains. They had begun to grow on me. And just as my attitude started to evolve from negative to positive, I was yanked from the Rockies and shipped back to Vancouver.
I don't know why my attitude started to change, but it did. I was sitting in the backseat of my car, and, as we made the drive from Calgary to Banff, an immense calm came over me. As I watched as the wind blow on the grass, I felt at peace.