We had planned to be in the wilderness for three days, and stopped at the Safeway in South Lake Tahoe to pick up supplies. Most critically, a quality steak to go with the killer Cabernet Sauvignon that we had selected for the first evening’s meal. After all, camping in the high altitude wilderness of the Sierra Nevada was no reason not to have a high class dinner. While waiting in the checkout line, I gradually became aware that several lines away the cashier seemed to be engaged, and engaging everyone who came through his line, in having an absolutely great time—on the checkout line at Safeway!
The scene was simultaneously bizarre and compelling. I found myself instantly drawn to this cashier and the quality of his interactions with customers. He was short, bald, rotund to the point of being obese, and wore thick old-school black horn-rimmed eyeglasses. He didn’t just greet his customers; he embraced them: each and every one, in a verbal/emotional bear-hug of warm, welcoming, it’s-wonderful-to-see-you-again-my-old-friend energy.
His manner was boisterous to the point of standing out, yet neither obnoxious nor intrusive. It was congruent rather than contrived, as genuine and natural as the Ponderosa Pines and Douglas Fir trees dotting the landscape around Tahoe. I was mesmerized. Although I wasn’t entirely certain what was going on here, I knew that it was exceedingly rare.
Somehow, in the midst of one of the more mundane, often frustrating environments on the planet, this short, bald, fat grocery store cashier seemed to be operating in a state of unadulterated joy that allowed him to appear to float ever so slightly above the ground that constrained the rest of us. There was a certain music and magic to this person and how he related to others and to the world. Whatever it was that he had, I wanted to experience it up close. I then did something I have never done in my entire life, either before or since. I actually switched lines to one with a noticeably longer wait, just so I would have the opportunity to be in personal contact with this phenomenon, whatever it was.
I waited in his checkout line with curiosity, anticipation, and (especially for me) extraordinary patience, noticing more carefully how the customers, without exception reacted to his unexpected and enthusiastic grace with bemused grins and a sense of wonder. When it was my turn, he greeted me with equal élan and a Cheshire cat smile that consumed most of my field of vision. I made direct eye contact and returned his greeting, adding “It’s great to see someone who really seems to know how to enjoy life.” He leaned toward me, lowered his voice slightly and chuckled, “And you know, it doesn’t cost anything extra,” at which point he gave me a knowing wink.
As his sense of present-centered joy washed over me, for a few brief seconds that felt much longer, it was as if everything else faded away, and in that moment, I knew everything that I would ever truly need to know—though I would quickly forget it. It would only occur to me years later, viewed through the perspective of twelve-step recovery and an enhanced sense of spirituality that this effervescent generosity of spirit stood on a foundation of love—simple, abundant, and pure.
As perfect as that moment was, of course it couldn’t last. Perfection only visits us every once in a great while, and it never stays very long. Such transcendent experiences are always temporary. Whenever I try to keep them as if they are possessions, I invariably set myself up for disappointment. The most healthy and spiritual thing I can do is to recognize and appreciate these moments for what they are as opposed to focusing on what they are not and can never be.
Mick and I drove to the trail head for our initial eight-mile hike into the wilderness. It was a magnificent autumn afternoon in the High Sierra. The air was cool and crisp at our elevation of slightly over 7,400 feet, but it was sunny and very comfortable. Although it was mid-Autumn with its emerging potential for storms, there was no hint in the forecast that this glorious weather pattern wouldn’t continue.
We set up camp at the edge of one of the smaller lakes south of Tahoe in the Desolation Wilderness. The collective spirit of nature and the universe seemed to be smiling amidst the majestic panorama of color and geology. We enjoyed a sumptuous supper centered around our rib-eye and Cabernet that merged seamlessly and sensuously on our palettes to create the synergy known by red wine aficionados in select circles as “chewy wine.” Satiated by our meal, my close encounter with the Buddha at Safeway, and the serenity of the scenery, as well as a substantial stash of smack-down sinsemilla (high-end marijuana to the uninitiated), we slept soundly that night.
We awoke to the roof of our tent concaving in on us to within inches of our faces. Instinctively pushing the fabric up and outward, we displaced what in silhouette seemed to be a shitload of snow. Suddenly very awake, Mick and I looked at one another with the same thought, “No fucking way!” Upon unzipping the tent entrance we were greeted with more than two feet of fresh snow, all of which had fallen silently during the night, blanketing everything.
We were totally unprepared for anything like this. My heaviest clothing consisted of a sweater and an insulated sweatshirt. There was immediate wordless recognition that this was a serious and potentially dangerous situation. We knew without having to confer that the focus of our adventure had instantly shifted to simply finding our way back to the ranger station and our car safely.
To get to our campsite we had followed a well-delineated trail, the last part of which was a fairly steep downhill climb to the level topography around the lake. The depth and virginity of the snow made it a bitch just to identify where to pick up the trail to head back uphill. After an anxiety-provoking half hour of searching, assessing, and guessing where the hell the trail was and becoming increasingly cold and wet, I was starting to get scared. Fortunately, shortly thereafter, we were able to find what appeared to be the trail, though we were far from certain.
Apprehensively we ascended, making tediously slow progress until it became clear that we were on the right path. The mood on the trail back was 180 degrees from the easy-going, laugh-out-loud good time that defined our hike in. There were few words exchanged as we conserved our energy, concentrating intently on making forward progress, simply and steadily putting one foot in front of the other. As the sun rose higher, we found ourselves trudging through melting snow that became ankle-deep freezing water, negotiating the trail with the kind of intense determination achieved through practiced perseverance and tunnel-vision focus.
A sort of grim staying-in-each-moment intensity kicked in. The immediacy of our challenges crowded out all other considerations with one nagging exception: a gnawing feeling of anxiety—that lower-grade fear and worry of—what if? What if we can’t make it back to the car due to any one of a half-dozen possibilities that could further bite us in the ass? Fear is almost always related to the unknown, to the uncertainty of the future and what it may have in store for us. But, as natural as such doubts were to the situation at hand, there was too much at stake to ruminate on them. Like the frigid water taking up more and more of the trail, these doubts could swirl around each step we took yet not penetrate . . . much . . . or so I needed to believe.
By the time we made it to the safe haven of the ranger station we were half-frozen, with hypothermia in close pursuit. Our feet were soaking wet and in bad and getting-worse-by-the-step condition, even though we were both equipped with high-quality hiking boots. As we immersed ourselves in the warm cocoon of the roaring fire, I exhaled a Yankee Stadium-sized sigh of relief while puzzling in amazement at how quickly and completely everything can change.
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Most drugs of abuse produce intense initial sensations of pleasure. These sensations vary tremendously across different types of substances. In contrast to the relaxed calm that co-occurs with the immersive floating euphoria of opiates/opioids including heroin, cocaine produces a high characterized by a massive boost in energy, followed by feelings of power and grandiose