Talking About My Generation - About Wilderness, Wonder, and Wandering

Mountain Goat in the Washington Cascades. Photo by Christopher Beddow, 2014. 

There is a significant clash of ideas between the well touted, vivacious Millennial drive and a rather unsung Millennial counterculture. While a seeming majority is striving to achieve social mobility, to live a life not of hollow financial gain but of abundance in both tangible and intangible generation of value, another strain of philosophy shrugs off all the pressure to build a great socioeconomic cathedral. Instead, this strain insists that judgment is always undue, and that we Millennials should live a life free from the expectations of others. It insists that we should live according to our most fundamental desires, and that above anything else we should cherish truth. It is a strain that shares with the Millennial attitude of common publications that the world needs less corruption, more tolerance, more free expression. But it is also a counterculture that advocates withdrawing from an economic society that may be inherently corrupt, impersonal, wasteful, and manipulative.

As Millennials, many of us are not part of one school of thought or the other, but instead we inhabit both worldviews. One is simply a shadow of the other, but still inseparable. Most of us have deviated in one direction. Very likely, almost all of us have done so once, perhaps briefly, before getting on with life in the other direction. For others, there has been an awakening of sorts, as if discovering a new truth in that shadow of culture. The result may be a mounting crisis, where there is uncertainty about doing what we do best, versus doing what society needs most, versus doing what we love, versus doing what produces the most invigorating fruits of success. The possibilities are many, and all have their merits. However, it should be acknowledged that for our generation, like many before us, there is a raw passion that stirs when we look not at our careers but at the concept of adventure in the wilderness. By wilderness I mean that which is strange to us—foreign countries, new cities, new subcultures of our own societies as well as the countless other cultures in faraway lands, and of course the forests, streams, fields, mountains, and canyons that are often a temporary getaway. There is a yearning, small or large, to sometimes drop everything and make for the wilderness. For some, it happens when no one is watching, for others it remains a dream, and for some it manifests in brief moments where an e-ticket is dropped into your inbox, or a campground reservation email rings bold among the work messages.

To enter a forest is to enter a realm of silence. One spring evening, I walked to the nearest patch of forest, and was overtaken by an instinct to tread softly. Chirps and flutters from birds in the canopy reverberated like whispers in the dim light, while laughter echoed from the park on the street. I walked deeper into the sanctuary bound by trees, down a switchbacking path of wooden steps. As I emerged from the trees onto a wider dirt thoroughfare, I happened upon a bench among the brooding ferns. I took a seat, and looked into the greenery before me with no particular focus.

I can remember going into the forest to find peace for as long as I remember being able to walk. They may very well have been coinciding developments, and certainly they were a reflection of my interests in the same way that we are drawn to our favorite genres shortly after learning to read, and we tend to favor certain dishes once we learn to cook. For me there is a certain redemption in nature, made possible through no greater effort than to simply walk into the solitude it offers and stay awhile. As a child, I would set out from my backyard to explore the forests in the valley below, following Alkali Creek in search of its source and establishing my own personal outposts that I would often revisit. On trips to my grandparents’ home an hour away, the edge of the driveway and the limits of the lawn marked the beginning of the pine trees of Custer National Forest and the Beartooth wilderness. I would wander through the woods, happening upon new tributaries of the creeks and lush wild raspberry bushes that would upset my stomach hours after munching on them. The western meadowlark would sing in the distance, and I felt a sense of stillness, a will to sit beside a tree and just listen for hours.

These trees have become a critical piece of my murky conception of home. They also subtly influence my view of the universe, for as I look back I can connect the dots between my dependence on an escape into the wild for peace and my rationale that if there is anything divine in this world, it is most especially apparent in the humble vastness of nature. Growing up in a community that was largely Catholic, I found that what spoke to me most were a few lines from the gnostic Gospel of Thomas, rather than anything among the usual doctrine: “Cleave the wood, I am there; lift up the stone, and you shall find me there.” I was later introduced to the philosophy of Taoism through a remarkable book that compared its tenets to the stories of Winnie the Pooh. This experience instilled in me a sensation of calm, a faith above all else that everything would be okay. Later, like many over the decades I was inspired by the words of author Jack Kerouac, and drew warmth from some of the final lines of his distressing novel Big Sur: “Something good will come of all things yet—And it will be golden and eternal just like that…”

Much of this floats chaotically through my mind, day after day—these small snippets of insight as alongside far greater grapples with existence. All of it, however can come to a sudden silence the moment it collides with the reality of everyday life. Existential musings are freely shared around late night campfires and dwindling cases of beer, but Tuesday at lunch discussions are painstakingly more mundane. Certainly our society, and societies far and wide, are not so centered on religion that the meaning of life is discussed day after day, but often we fail to share our collective confusion about what it all means. I’m writing not about the ideas of piousness, of which church or temple or other structure you call yours, nor about the doctrine and dogma that defines beliefs. I’m writing instead about the sense of wonder that shrinks us down into infancy when we’re caught off guard under seemingly infinite fields of nighttime stars, and the astonishment that arises when considering how different life could have been if minute decisions had been altered only slightly. It is the joy that comes with waking up from a perplexing dream only to wonder where you are, finding that you’re camping on a mountainside with dear friends and not rising to the alarm and about to start another day at work. Our human sense of awe can be aroused by nearly anything, but it stays dormant unless called. Nature, however, is like an intoxicant that erodes our rigidity and lets that awe trickle out, drop by drop, until it flows just for a short while.

As a member of what’s called the Millennial generation, much of today’s cultural commentary claims to have a grip of what we all want, how we make decisions, how we see ourselves, and what stokes our fiery ambitions. We are all driven by a desire to chase our passions, by a refusal accept social injustice, by a vision of a better world and a happier life. We will not stand to live in vain, nor to waste our talents. Every single one of us. And yet it’s prudent to wonder—did our predecessors not feel the same once? Did they really give up, and assume a lifestyle that was so different from the life our generation wants? Do they not also have a life replete with memories of that sense of human awe that makes life blindingly joyous for only precious moments at a time?

The need to capture and maintain the idea of this generational utopia may be dangerous, in all truth. I believe my own mind is more delicate than I ever realized in days past. In setting goals, in dreaming dreams and in imagining possibilities, I was never cautious. Often I still am not, to the degree that I can imagine the best and imagine the worst. I’ve certainly been conditioned to think critically about any plan or decision, in order to be prepared for the worst and thus avoid it altogether. I’ve also learned that statistically my wildest dreams are an overestimation of the future that actually develops. There has been pressure in many years past to succeed, to be brilliant, to develop and showcase talents. My Millennial attitude was cultivated by a continuous cycle of reinforcement from almost anyone imaginable—and also by a fear of disappointing all those who so genuine, or perhaps sometimes so absentminded, as to offer endless encouragement. The pressure created by telling young students they are the future of the world, and telling them that they can accomplish anything, leaves a worry that to fall short of grandeur is to fail.

My personal dilemma has always been the attempt to rectify an enduring cognitive dissonance. This refers to two worldviews that flow apart, or perhaps even against one another. This is perhaps the very same conflict that exists between Millennial culture and the shadow that is very much a part of the whole. I have always seen the opportunity to seek prestige and achievement. Sometimes I have pursued it. Like many of my generation, there is confusion about “what do I really want” and a fear of self-inflicted misdirection. There is a conflict between living a life that has meaning only sometimes, and trying to imbue every hour with awe. It is truly impossible to do the latter, in the same way that summer always ends and the weekends come to a close. Life must be balanced, but where is the balance point? Where do we compromise, and how do we avoid compromising too much when we aren’t sure what is truly the limit?

People often adopt new values as they go through life, and I certainly do so. I have come to value compassion, intimacy, curiosity, and freedom. I’ve come to question many other values, finding that I am not sure what merits my hardest efforts, and am not sure if I should seek to fulfill material wants that exceed my needs. There is a rising consciousness among many for the needs of others, for the freedom of others to do as they please, for the health of nature, for the good of the community over the self. There is an anxiety about being greedy, about supporting destructive causes, about denigrating culture and breeding division. Often the compromise that young people are making is that of the Millennial counterculture—they are sacrificing their own opportunities for gain in order to ensure the wellbeing of the community, of the environment, and to overall promote peace and equality. There are many who forgo money, reconsider their morals, and temper their ambitions in order to not achieve success but to achieve goodness. And many are seeking to fill not their resume, but their autobiography by reaching out for redemption in nature, in travel, and in exploration of ideas.

What is most notable to me about my generation is the number of people who are truly concerned with doing good. They are not interested in doing good under the premise of particular religions or philosophies, and they want a career to be one that makes the world better, rather than earns them individual recognition. There is a sense of wonder that is very much alive in these people, and it is in conflict with many traditional systems. Perhaps the way that society works, the way business works, the way government works will all change in coming years and decades. However, many others will abandon it as a lost cause, and seek fairer meadows in unusual careers or journeys. What is important about Millennials is important about all people—that we need to cultivate our awe of the universe. We need inspiration from nature, from dreams of travel, from speculation about traveling to the stars and about a better world. All of us have a willingness to compromise on some level or other in order to meet this need. Some give it more credence than others. Some spend years traveling alone, some pick a destination each year. Some have a passion for the outdoors alongside their urban lifestyle, and some never stop learning about new cultures on far shores.

If I have learned anything from coming of age at this time, it is that our entire existence is a thing in flux rather than something static. Nothing is purely pleasurable, and nothing is purely painful. As Millennials, many of our most joyous moments are yet to come, but just the same some of our greatest traumas are also looming. Life will be wonderful, and yet life will hurt. More generally, life will continue to change, and what we want will also continue to change. Our dreams will come and go, our success will be recognized and forgotten. Nonetheless, amid all of the delightful chaos, life will work out okay if we’re able to simply be okay with it all. Everything wonderful will always lose its charm, and every hardship will always relent into calm. We won’t fail to become disenchanted with things we direct our passions toward, and the benefit of this is that we realize there’s no need to hold onto anything too desperately. Inspiration and wonder will always awaiting, just as they did in childhood, as we look around us and explore the breadth and depth of every locale, every relationship, and every blossoming change.