My mom once went on a church-sponsored retreat that took place in the Santa Cruz hills, in a campus settled at the base of tall redoods. During the course of that week, she often escaped into a secluded grove and meditated, though I think the exact word she used was "prayed."
She said that sitting in the company of these towering trees made her feel so small, so centered in her smallness. There was no trouble, nothing complicated. What trouble could there be, when she was but one person in a community of life? When craning her neck up from the ground to see what she could through the branches, she would be dizzy from the heights.
I feel this way when I am embedded in a city, the antithesis of nature. When I travel for vacation, one of my favorite destinations is an urban city. Any city, as long as it has tall skyscrapers and narrow streets. When I walk through the various business districts of various metropoli, I would feel most at one with the very beat of the city when business suits hurry past me from intersection to intersection, like blood pouring through a body's artery. How could I feel separated from life, when I am surrounded by it?
Yet one of my most favorite destinations in the world, my most familiar, is Vegas. Makes no sense, as this city has no life of its own, no blood, just neon and money, smoke and mirrors, but in the days preceding a trip, I always find that I can think of nothing else.
A part of my fascination is the gambling; another, the food. I marvel at the sheer gawdiness of it all, the ostentation, the complete disrespect for history in exchange for fad. Buildings go up, come down, and a new one replaces it. Nothing lasts, and since I hold a soft spot in my heart for history, the other part of my love for this city, the bigger part that took years to develop, is the vast array of memories I have built there, from the first time I karaoke'd in front of a drunken crowd at what was known as the Barbary Coast, to a very simple lunch with Sam, Steve, and Jason, at the MGM within an hour of landing. When my extended family took a big trip out there with over 15 of us, I remember an amazing rollercoaster simulator ride called "Race to the Obelisk" or something like that at the Luxor, and how I rode it with my dad several times until I started feeling sick. The Monte Carlo pool where Scott and I lounged in the lazy river. The Excalibur where Eddie won $1,000. The three-hour buffet lunch at the Mirage with Jackie and Serene.
And yesterday, we added a few more, from sitting in a lobby at the Cosmopolitan watching some kids play pool and eating a pizza pie from a "secret" restaurant, to drinking cocktails, or mocktails in my case, at the Mandarin Oriental bar overlooking the Strip with a world outside waiting just for us to devour it.
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