Almost every day, I think to myself that there’s got to be more to life than this. I sit in my parents’ backyard and listen to loud traffic whip past. When I look at my dad and see the day after day after day of his existence, I feel unimaginable and crushing boredom. To be clear, I don’t think my dad is unhappy or depressed or suicidal or anything; he’s happy enough. I just wouldn’t be.
But when in a forest that’s old and heavy and worn and I am truly alone, I can only see beauty. I see bees and their little bee tongues sopping up the sweet, tickling the flower’s face with the pitter-patter of its feet. I find moss growing—thriving really—on a rock of all things. I smell things no perfume could ever conjure. Running water harmonizes with a new world sparrow’s song.
A ticket for Ripley’s Believe It or Not! should just plant your city ass in an old-growth forest and leave you there for a few hours to see what you can find.