I have always had a tendency to see my surroundings out of perspective. I become overwhelmed at the looming presence of my approaching future, my unidentified career, and the time flying past. It seems to me that I’ve spent my last 18 years building up a concrete foundation so whatever I decide to build will endure. Yet, that future was always arbitrary, and I would talk about it casually; I forgot that one day the future would be the present. As I continue to move forward in the waters of time, dragged down by my doubts, I’d have to retreat to where I feel myself: the mountains.
Every Thanksgiving break, my family and I travel to Blacksburg, Virginia. We stay on top of a mountain in a 200-year-old resort for four days. There is no technology, no homework, and no itinerary. The only requirement is a reflection on my life and frequent hiking. In this image, we have hiked to the summit, 4,365 feet in elevation. As astounding as this picture is, it still cannot do justice to the precipice. The picture is only an attempt at holding time captive; it cannot convey the freedom I felt at having my immediate world and problems seem so small. Perspective is entirely relative, with small and large being comparative adjectives. For me, with my chronophobia, nothing feels as small as myself, and nothing as large as the uncontrollable march of time. Yet, when I retreat to the top of the mountains, I feel like I can understand how I should approach my future and the world.
From such a high elevation, houses are little squares and people are bustling ants. There are endless little circles, 6 billion of them, twirling about in the giant circle of life. I can shrink society down to my control, where all that matters are my little things since it is my world to deal with. I cannot spend my life making sure that I fit into the plans of my family’s world. I cannot spend my life building my house to other people’s floor plans. I may not have a clue about how I want to spend my life. Yet, when I pull myself away from my low elevation when I climb to the top and look down on the minuscule lives, I realize that my procrastination will not make or break my life.
Even my big problems are little things in the grand scheme of it all. I have complete faith that I will make a decision one day, and that it will be made for the right reasons. There really isn’t a need to stress as much as I usually do. And if I start losing perspective on my issues, I will climb to the top of a mountain. I will look around at how small these decisions really are relaxing and focus on my own little circle, for that is what should truly matter.
