False Urgency

“Beware of false urgency,” warned my bank in a scam alert. An excellent reminder. Is it really necessary to visit five stores for six items, three of which I don’t need right now? I strive for efficiency while wearing myself out. What’s the priority? And when does fun come into play, let alone rest? Coolant and food win the battle for my energy. Butane and sailing gloves can wait.

It’s one o’clock, and I’m back on the highway wondering where I’ll sleep tonight. I forgo a few campsites due to garbage, crowds, and construction. I’m seeking a flat, private, quiet place in which to pitch my bedroll. I accept an invitation from a graded dirt road and head inland. After a few miles of unappealing spurs (must the whole planet be a landfill?), I park on a mesa and spread a heavy-duty blanket in the shade of the 4Runner. Ah, supine and meditating at last.

Traffic. Not much, but some. I tune it out for awhile, then, rested and relaxed (of course I’ll find a place to sleep, I always do), I four-wheel-drive north. What’s this? A grotto above a town above the sea, protected by small trees, bushes, and cacti. My neighbors are distant goats and dogs.

Birdsong. Crickets. Orion. Big Dipper. Full moon. Sweet smell of desert sage and mesquite. Yes, I can run around like a crazy person — up, down, back, forth — but eventually I remember to look for peace. It’s always here.