I had the privilege to spend the past week on a lake in what must be one of the most beautiful pockets of the United States.
The Adirondacks are a part of the country I previously knew only from films—mostly 70s summer camp flicks, horror or otherwise. A place where white birch trunks brighten the forest. A place where the leaves are eager to leap into their autumn colors. A place where loon calls and thunder are the only things you hear at night.
Twice we spotted a bald eagle. I realize there are now hundreds of thousands of bald eagles across the country, but when I was a kid they were so endangered that there were only a couple dozen breeding pairs suspected to be in New York state. So my excitement at seeing them in the wild met with that memory of their rarity and I silently welled with gratitude.
I was almost as enthusiastic for the loons. And for the toads that hopped daringly underfoot at night. And for the garter snake that looked like a stick until I was right on top of it.
I marveled at sheet lightning as it backlit an untouched panorama of bulging storm clouds. I braced for that first chilly kiss of the water as I went for nearly daily swims. I sketched placid landscapes and learned, with no disappointment at all, how hard it is to capture the colors of the golden hour.
But most impactful was the fresh air. The lake we stayed on was historically a spot for tuberculosis sanatoria and it was easy to see—and smell, and taste, and feel—why. It was the end of the summer season and some nights got quite cold and windy, yet my expected asthma attacks never came. As soon as we landed back in Los Angeles, the air tasted acrid again and my asthma lightly kicked up on my first morning back. I’m trying hard not to focus on how much I miss that part.
It all left me with a great deal of longing to be closer to nature or even to shirk the city entirely.
My boyfriend, who took me there, mentioned recently how torn he was between wanting to live in a bustling city—one denser and more communal than Los Angeles—or leaving everything for the quiet of the country. I leapt to share that I struggled with the same question.
It’s a question I have no answer for. Sometimes the heart wants more than one thing and sometimes those things are in conflict. For those wealthy or privileged enough to have a foothold in both worlds, I certainly see the appeal.