The Art of Arriving

I begin to write at sunrise; I can’t help but remember the countless times Homer describes it as “rosy-fingered dawn.” It is quiet, and I can see the pink hands from my window.

Today something clicked for me. You know, I love Ralph Waldo Emerson. My favorite essay is “Self-Reliance.” But I always had a hard time understanding his other writings. I understood what he was saying, but at the same time, I did not. I put the book down, and 15 minutes later, I forgot what he said and only remembered how he made me feel. I read somewhere that reading Emerson is like that; it is more like hearing music than reading. You’re in for the “tune.”

But today I had a different experience, and I believe I understand him better, so let me try to show you why and how.

“Crossing a bare common, in snow puddles, at twilight, under a clouded sky, without having in my thoughts any occurrence of special good fortune, I have enjoyed a perfect exhilaration. I am glad to the brink of fear. In the woods, too, a man casts off his years, as the snake his slough, and at what period soever of life, is always a child. In the woods, is perpetual youth. Within these plantations of God, a decorum and sanctity reign, a perennial festival is dressed, and the guest sees not how he should tire of them in a thousand years. In the woods, we return to reason and faith. There I feel that nothing can befall me in life, — no disgrace, no calamity, (leaving me my eyes,) which nature cannot repair. Standing on the bare ground, — my head bathed by the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space, — all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eye-ball; I am nothing; I see all; the currents of the Universe Being circulate through me; I am part or particle of God.”

— Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature

I love being outdoors; Emerson did as well. What Emerson does so well is describe how you feel there: crossing a bare common, in snow puddles, at twilight, under a clouded sky, without having in my thoughts any occurrence of special good fortune, I have enjoyed a perfect exhilaration.

I am sure you’ve experienced this before, in some way. The quiet, beautifully melancholic feeling that comes with twilight, when you happen to be alone outside, walking, either in the city or outdoors, or maybe alone in your house, watching the warm sunlight’s dim rays hit, for the last time in the day, a couple of objects through the window, and silence arrives. Perfect exhilaration.

You never know when this rapture is going to arrive. Sometimes it arrives out of nowhere; sometimes it just doesn’t. But I’ve noticed it tends to arrive in moments of solitude.

These moments are important because life feels sacred in them. It is as if one steps into a church. I remember a walk I took on a Sunday morning in the woods of Valle de Bravo. Everything is green and fertile there. I started walking back, and I had to stop; I had to appreciate the perfect peace of the morning. The sound of the stream, the birds, and the dirt on my feet. I always wear sandals when hiking.

And suddenly, they’re gone. I’ve been trying to finish this piece for a couple of days, and, while I felt the beautiful emotions in the beginning, now I don’t feel them as much. Life has come back to the dullness of routine and work. It’s OK though. One can’t be on the brink of ecstasy from contemplation all the time; we still need to eat, shower, sleep, go to the dentist. But it is important to remember why we’re doing what we’re doing, and I can say for myself that one of the main motivations is these moments, when I am watching a lovely scenery in the distance, after a massive hike, reflecting on my life.

Daily life has its beauty as well. It’s just another kind. It is as if you make yourself hungry so that when you go out there, you can enjoy with a full, desirous taste what life has to offer.