Convenience

I hand Charlie over to Chad, and slide out of the truck.

As I make my way toward the convenience store, past farmers fueling up their rigs (in small towns like this it’s usually dusty pickup trucks with tool boxes and loose straw in the back) it hits me: there will be running water inside.

I do some hasty calculations in my head… it’s been 18 days since I’ve experienced running water.

An older man holds the smudged glass door open for me. “Thanks,” I say, darting through the entryway as a bell dings, announcing our arrival.

I scan the cramped space while simultaneously putting my sunglasses in my purse. Crane my neck to see over the busy shelves. I’m becoming somewhat of an expert restroom locator; they’re usually tucked behind a dim entryway, near the tall refrigerators with frosty doors that line the back walls showcasing malt liquor and V8.

This particular restroom has a real faucet. Allowing you the luxury of not only choosing the temperature, but also relieving a hand from the duty of constantly pressing the top of the faucet in order for tepid water to flow, like some restroom setups.

I set the temp a little hotter than is comfortable, let the white foamy soap dribble into my hands, and lather up.

It feels amazing.

I dry them off with a paper towel, and use the now limp damp wad to open the bathroom door.

Now it’s time to pick out a snack. Everything is red and orange, heavily processed. Nothing really looks or sounds good. It seems as though an exorbitant amount of shelf space is dedicated to jerky – so many dried out flavored animals.

I sweep through the same isles a few times, somewhat overwhelmed by the prospect of making a decision of this magnitude after being away from everyone and everything for over two weeks.

It’s interesting how quick and easy it is to adapt to the peace and simplicity of being off grid, and how jarring and abrasive it is to return to what used to be normal life – a place where the abundance of options requires an exhausting number of decisions.

I buy a small cup of Colombian coffee which I drink black, and some spicy Cheetos popcorn, orange and processed.

There is something powerful in simplifying. Detaching from the grid and moving from place to place, amidst juniper trees or alongside a river life moves at a different pace, and invites you to become part of the natural rhythm.

It seems like the modern way of trying to simplify our lives is through adding: continuously coming up with convenience after convenience. As they pile up, the more tethered to and reliant on all of them we become.

Society has succeeded is making things physically easier, but what about the rest of it; the other parts of ourselves?  

Chad and I find our new spot at dusk. We’ve driven a few miles up a narrow dirt road, and spy a promising somewhat overgrown trail. I jump out to see where it leads.

The air is cool. I walk on the spongy ground, shrouded in pine and fir trees. Breathing them in as deep as I can, the sweet vanilla scent. I can’t help but grin. I see a clearing up ahead, and break into a trot. My leopard print crocs aren’t in “action” mode, i.e., the strap isn’t flipped over my heel, so it’s more of a shuffle.

Until I see it.

The trees give way to a ridge, and from this vantage point there are unobstructed views into the valley below. Beyond that lies the dark silhouette of the Rocky Mountains.

I’m so excited, I run back to Chad, flailing my arms wildly.

“It’s perfect!”

Charlie’s on Chad’s lap, and I leap back in.

We settle in under the pink sunset. It’s so peaceful and quiet.

After all the dishes are back on the shelves, the pans hung, and the books back where they belong, I heat up a small amount of water to wash my face. I dig out a washcloth, soap, and look at my fingers: still a little orange from the Cheetos popcorn.

The water perks up, there’s movement and small bubbles, but it’s not hot enough yet. Still standing there as steam begins to rise I think, running water may be weeks away. But when you get these awe inspiring views, peace, tranquility and comfort, who needs it?