BoyJake Went to the Desert

I went on a writing retreat in the desert of southern Utah last week. This is one of the things I wrote:

Yesterday this land made me feel small; all of the space I coul never hope to fill seemed more than anything like something that wanted to swallow me whole, to absorb me, to strip me of any individuality or worth, to take away everything I have and could ever hope to have.

I have trouble with smallness these days, with that scared little boy inside me. I have spent a lot of time growing into myself, fighting for what I have, taking up the space I need for myself and refusing to let it go. I never thought a place, even a place as vast as this one could feel like my father, threatening me with size and power that I do not possess, my only survival choice to be to fit into the space allotted for me.

As I drove through this place yesterday, the tears obscured my vision and I pulled over at the first turnout I found, stepping to the edge of the sand where I saw the bleached ribcages of two dog-sized animals and I wondered how small they felt in their last moments. I took a few steps forward, thinking that I might touch the bones, to feel them and learn something maybe, but the slope, steep and sandy, seemed unforgiving and I wasn't ready to risk, even a little bit, giving myself up to the desert, so I stayed, wiping my eyes and breathing deeply as possible, trying to be as big as I could be.