Cities are vibrant, energetic beings. When I wander back to the city, I'm struck with the classic case of "kid in a candy store." One night I'm seeing a concert, the next I'm enjoying a palate-pleasing visit to a favorite dish. From there I find myself debating politics with a homeless person.
Soon enough the candy store melts away. Before long all the down sides of the city gnaw away at me. Traffic jams make me long for open highways. Crowded sidewalks transform into misty mountain trails in my mind. Fancy Asian-Brazilian fusion dishes awaken hunger for potatoes and onions cooked over a campfire. In no time the countryside sends snipers into the city to find me. The war continues.
Leaving the city is euphoric for me. It involves a vehicle packed with dogs and my sparse possessions, windows down, music blasting, and some giant shit-eating grins. Forests open their arms to me. The sky smiles at my return. Storms thunder and flash their approval of my decision. At least that's what I perceive.
After returning to nature, I feel whole and balanced again. However, the wild has a way of showing me exactly how insignificant I really am. Those same welcoming forests can transform into dark, twisting rows of confusion that lead me astray. The sky can send so much sun my way that I become dehydrated and so sick I can't move. The same jubilant storms can soak me until I'm hypothermic. Or if I'm real unlucky, lightning can end my life in one electric moment.
Both nature and the city are dangerous environments. However, the pull of wild danger is appealing and frightening all at once. When I experience nature up close and survive, I feel stronger and more well-balanced. When I survive city life, I simply feel hardened.
For now the tides of the war for my home have swung towards the countryside. My wild church called me home with lapping waves and wolf song, a concert conceived with a message that I've been found.
