My truest self

We were in the mountains a couple of weeks ago--a welcome change from my typically-stressful back-to-school August. Had it been a "normal" year, I would have been teaching instead of being in North Carolina with my family.

That day in August, when teachers started back and I stayed home, felt strange. There's just no better word for it. For the first time in eight years--in my whole life, really--I wasn't going back to school. I missed my coworkers, students, and teaching--all signs that I loved what I did, and I consider that a good thing. But, I also experienced considerable relief not to be starting the marathon-sprint of teaching again, not to have the burden of grading hanging--always--over my head, not to have to leave Moo every morning. I miss teaching, but not to the point of regret, and that's a very good thing indeed.

So, back to the mountains. There's something about those mountains--the Smoky Mountains in particular--that sets me alive and makes me feel like my truest self. I don't know exactly why I love the mountains so much. Maybe it's because I grew up in them. Maybe it's because Phil and I are reading Cheryl Strayed's Wild, which chronicles her journey hiking the Pacific Crest Trail in California. Maybe it's because I'm reading Wendell Berry's Jayber Crow, a beautifully written novel about place, about roots and knowing--intimately--your particular niche in the world. Whatever it is--probably a combination of all of these--I'm longing for those mountains where it's simple and quiet, where I sleep soundly, where the fog lazily drifts, and where I feel closest to God. I want more of that.