– What I Couldn’t Learn in the City –

I didn’t just ‘up and disappear’. Before I left the city to begin living off-the-grid, I spent a year trying to save my marriage and a couple more trying to save my career but failed in both endeavors. It happens to everyone, more or less… and when I exhausted the possibilities of improving those chapters of my life, I committed to writing a new one.

I’d always been drawn to the wilderness. Daniel Boone, Johnny Appleseed, & Davy Crockett were my childhood companions. When I watched ‘Jeremiah Johnson’ as a teenager, I imagined myself alive during that time in American history. As an adult, John Colter (who traveled with Lewis & Clark) was the explorer with whom I identified, so I followed his track across the Rockies when it was time for a new adventure. I, too, was ready to leave the city and pursue life as a solo traveler in the wild.

Shift from Noise to Stillness

I don’t want to say that “the first thing that hits you is silence” because it’s not like that… it is not silent in the wilderness. There is, however, a lack of noise. In the backcountry, I spent an appreciable amount of time listening to things I’d previously ignored. The wind, mostly; it was ever-present, and more complex and entertaining than you might imagine. And birds, of course, and bees when I got too close. All the wildlife let me know when I crossed into their claimed spaces. I learned to avoid trouble by paying attention to my surroundings and its inhabitants. I learned to spend more time listening… which is something everybody needs to do.

What I didn’t realize until I left was how loud the city had been – not just audibly, but mentally. The sound and feel of traffic on the way to work and around the schools, the lines of people in the stores. Background stress was always humming, like a refrigerator you stopped noticing until it shut off. And the way we layered it; incessantly streaming media and talk shows over appliances humming inside the house that we built to seal out the sounds of traffic and industry.

In the wilderness, I became more mindful of my personal contribution to noise pollution. My clattering impacted the community (which is why no machines are allowed in federally-designated wilderness). If I wanted wild animals to hang out at my place, I had to behave accordingly. Not so much being quiet as being peaceful… being human without all the loud gadgets.

Solitude Isn’t Loneliness

People who think about living off-the-grid wonder about the effect of isolation on their physical and mental health. Some of them are afraid to experience pure independence and self-determination, but those are things everyone needs to learn. Too many people know too little about themselves, especially those who are easily influenced by social media. They don’t know what they like – only what they’re told to like. They’re pressured to want and feel and act certain ways which is why their avatars are called ‘influencers’. It is important to spend time outside society’s influence so we can discover, develop, and settle into our natural tendencies. That’s how we find happiness.

I was alone for months at a time… on purpose. I spent years working in the backcountry to earn access to seasons of solitude. Guaranteed time living off-the-grid was a benefit of employment at the B-C Ranch. The owner knew I valued time alone and agreed to seasonal terms. Twice, I spent entire winters alone in the Frank Church Wilderness. I got cold but not lonely. Those sabbaticals were priceless experiences.

Reconnecting With Nature

I remember one morning sitting outside Loon Creek Cabin, sipping coffee and listening to snow fall. I’d been practicing all winter. I could hear it if the wind wasn’t blowing, but even a breeze was enough to break my concentration. It was quiet in that moment and, between breaths, I could hear the snow getting deeper.

It was a perfect moment and, in acknowledgement, I smiled and sat for another one. I forgot about me, exhaled to further blur the boundaries, and dissolved into that great open space. Once you learn to navigate those holes in time, you can find them anywhere. Even in the city.

There’s a rhythm to nature and once you sync to it, everything changes. You eat when you’re hungry, sleep when you’re tired, work when it’s light and rest when it’s dark. It’s been four years since Ela re-habituated me, but I still sleep with the seasons. My connection to the natural world is permanent and pervasive.

Nature Doesn’t Care About My Feelings

When things don’t go our way in the city, we look for a reason. Someone to blame for our ruined plans, or something wrong with a world that denied us our due. And we bark at managers or employees or co-workers so that they understand how we feel. We complain to doctors that we’re sick and to bankers that we’re broke. We want to know what happened, why it happened, and how we can keep it from happening again. We live under the illusion that we matter and that our feelings are important.

Living off-the-grid is an education in The Insignificance of the Individual. The storm doesn’t care that you got wet. The winter doesn’t care that you’re cold. The forest fire isn’t bothered that you’re in its way.

Nature doesn’t care how smart you are, how successful you were, or what kind of truck you drove into the backcountry. Men come and go, like other plants and animals; the universe owes us nothing. You’re along for the ride and lucky to have a seat. Get over yourself and get on with it.

What I Brought Back With Me

Eventually, I returned to the world. Nowadays I live in a house and indulge guilt-free in creature comforts. I didn’t come back with a gnarly beard or a backpack full of wisdom – though, to be honest, I did grow the beard for a while. I returned because I wanted to, because I learned how to enjoy the good things about city life without letting it take my peace. And I brought back the things I learned.

• Don’t take it too personally. Life, I mean… the things that happen to us, bad and good. The cosmic organizing intelligence operates without much regard for little things. Bad karma is a personal problem, but the Wheel of Life turns round and round for all of us. Everyone gets a turn underneath it. Bad things happen and, if you survive, move on. It’s probably not punishment; it’s Life.
• Don’t take it too seriously: Like I said, the Big Guy is busy with his own plan and is not dependent on you. There’s nothing about an 80-hour work week written into any scripture that I’ve studied. We all have a responsibility to contribute to the cosmic maintenance effort, but you’re free to enjoy the world.

The best thing I brought back? A sense of independence and self-sufficiency that gives me stability in an uncertain world. As a result of my experiences in the backcountry, I feel like I can handle pretty much anything civilization might throw at me.

Living off-the-grid, even if only for a little while, is a reset that naturally relaxes and refreshes your perspective.

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