All it takes to fix my mind is to be somewhere with a view, a cold wind, a little cloud cover, and a small hike to get there. For all my online-ness, I am a part of the physical world, and outside calls me ever. Itches my feet, compels my body to move, and when I've walked a while the joy winds its way back into my body. Oh, to be alive! To experience without pretense, to become part of the universe, to observe without self, to see and feel and hear and smell and touch and sometimes very rarely taste. This place where the mountains meet sea is an ambrosia little else can aspire to.
I don't know if I could live here. Setting aside cost and logisitics, I don't know if that joy could keep itself alive. There is unspeakable beauty in ephemerality. It's not just that this weather, this light, this wind, this picnic table I sit atop, and the freighter gliding out to sea under the golden gate might not all line up again, it's the liminality of emotions, too. A break after a grueling summer, a moment with no responsibilities, this outfit I wear, who's at or near the front of headspace, the feelings brought on by the song in my headphones, the fullness of breakfast in my stomach, the sadness of wishing my father could be here with me, or anyone else to show this singular second to, the melancholy of it also being a wonderful moment to experience alone.
I will perhaps forget this few minutes in time, perhaps not even that long from me climbing down off the table and walking away, but the lingering euphoria of being part of existence able to experience itself with quiet awe will stick with me long after so much else has faded.
I know that my mental health issues and hormones make the lows brutal, but if it meant giving up the few moments like this, I would never seek to end them.
I feel so alive.