Sometimes you look at a person and you can simply envision them in their happy place: in the woods somewhere high, enveloped in nature and enjoying every rustle of leaves; or between buildings and lights, surrounded by people and the works of mankind. Indeed, there are both city denizens and nature folk, usually with strict distinctions between the two. What about those who adapt to and like to be immersed in both extremes?

The more I think about the future, the more I find myself in this constant struggle of having to choose between the best of both worlds. With growth comes more decision-making, and more finalized ones at that.

Ideally, my happy place consists of both sky-scraping mountains and concrete jungles—however different the two may be from each other. Happiness does not come in the form of one and not the other, because without the other, the joy is incomplete. They may share similar traits, but their respective allure exists in different yet equally desirable means. What one lacks, it compensates in having what the other lacks; what one lacks in one way, the other compensates in that way.

Mountains and skylines match in massiveness; one natural and one artificial—yet equally stunning. Their immobility on the larger scale reveals nothing of the vitality within—life that feeds from the environment while nurturing it in return. They are both inarguably phenomenal, with overbearing powers of their own, even when we attempt to assert control.

A mountain proclaims beauty in its serenity, placidity and raw wilderness.

A skyline declares its beauty with melodic cacophony, dynamism and orderly chaos.

A mountain may morph under the pressures of an inconspicuous agglomerate force.

A skyline may shift under the demands of the living masses.

A mountain harbors both living and nonliving elements, ones that communicate with each other through processes and time.

A skyline supports the continuity of flesh with tangible and intangible assets, codependent on words and individual choices.

A reality check reminds me that the idea of complete satisfaction is virtually unattainable. Moving to the mountainous environment yields a certain alleviating joy with infinite possibilities; however, regret follows, and certain dreams must die. Staying in the concrete environment allows for a certain emancipating joy contemporaneous with continuation, providing just as many possibilities; however, maintenance remains high, and guarantees are nonexistent.

All the amazing benefits of each environment come with an opportunity cost, the most dreadful of which is not being able to enjoy the other environment. It boils down to having to alternate between the two and perhaps ultimately choose only one, because we can’t live two lives at once, be in two places at once, experience any certain day more than once—no matter how much we want to.