I was made for this job. These people are my people. I love what they're doing and I love how they're doing it. So why can't I write this fucking cover letter?! I stepped away from the computer. I tried to meditate. Got distracted by the dog, became furious, yelled at him.

Ok. STOP. Not okay to yell at the dog while meditating.

I got up this morning and went for a hike out of pure desperation. Got to my destination. Didn't feel any better.

So here I am... wondering aimlessly among the ruins of old, abandoned miners' cabins. Searching. Not finding. I look across the valley and see another cabin with no trails leading to it. Not even a foot path. I'm a little afraid of it, but impulsively start walking toward it. The field is not as even as it looks. There are mounds of dirt that give awkwardly under my boot. There are streams to be crossed and rocks to be climbed or avoided. I get close to the cabin and feel fear again. It makes me aware of the noise I am making so I stop and I listen. I can hear myself breathing. I can hear the pulse of blood in my head. I hear the warning calls of chipmunks first up the hill and then down. I hear bees buzzing around a bouquet of lavender and yellow flowers and the gentle roll of the brook just beyond the cabin. I decide there is nothing to fear and take a few steps closer. I peak through cracks in the walls as I make my way around to the door. The lintel of the doorway is just above my head and seems to have been made for me. I step inside. The old wood moans and whistles softly against the wind. The light in the cabin changes and I turn to look up through a gaping hole in the roof. Puffs of thick, white clouds drift in front of the sun beyond the jagged, rocky features of mountain.

I realize for the first time that I am alone.

I leave my cabin and walk up a gentle, grassy slope. In one deft move, I shed my pack and roll onto the grass. I feel myself breathing. I feel the grass tickling my fingertips and the back of my neck. I lie still and feel the warmth of the earth as I sink into it. Bees buzz right over me without investigation... as if I've been here all along; as if I belong here.

When I finally stir and shoulder my pack, I continue upward, still making my way without a path. I've stopped searching. I am here and that is all. My hands instinctively find their way into my pockets against the chill of the breeze. I zip my fleece up to my neck. At the top of the hill I look over and see more ruins. I am reunited with a path that leads to a very tall building. It has cables supporting it, tethering it to the ground and dangling from it. One cable is attached to the top of the structure and spans out from it toward the mountain. It seems to disappear into thin air. It doesn't, of course. I just can't see that far. So I follow it. Off the path again, across brooks, and through knee-high grass and wildflowers. Undeterred by a boulder field, I continue up. Fatigue begins to make itself known in my legs. Just as I am ready to stop I spot a mine shaft. A few pieces of rough-cut timber allegedly keeps a massive wall of rock from collapsing into this little hole. I sit inside the mouth of the mine, having left my fear somewhere in the vicinity of the cabin. Besides, everyone knows that as long as I have shelter, the ominous looking blanket of gray cloud overhead will produce no rain. I eat my peanut butter sandwich and listen to the chipmunk chatter as if their language has become my own.

On my way down I notice... butterflies. How did I not notice them before? Around a bend my heart jumps a little. Two figures coming towards me. "Hello," I say, "You nearly scared me. I haven't seen another person all day." We stop and chat for a while and continue on our separate ways. I catch myself smiling without knowing exactly why. All I know is I got what I came for.