Benjamin DeHass | Yosemite, CA
I will never be able to learn how to ride a bike again. I will never be able to learn how to drive again. I will never be able to experience my favorite movie for the first time again. So many firsts have come and gone, and recently I have experienced another that made me rethink how I view living and time as a system.
While out in California, I have taken every chance I get to explore and adventure. These adventures have taken me all over the Northern part of the state, and recently those boundaries reached their furthest point yet. I, along with three friends, made our way out to Yosemite National Park a recent Friday after work. On that Friday, we were welcomed into the new terrain with the night sky and thunderstorms. A fifty mile drive winding through the towering mountains in complete darkness. These unfortunate entrance circumstances made for one of the best morning backdrops I could’ve imagined, though. The sound of the roaring river out the back patio, the abhorrent terracotta colored bathroom wall paper, the smell of eggs from our early breakfast before hitting the trail; these led to the feeling of new, of firsts. The day was starting, and the world was sleeping.
Over the next thirteen hours, we attempted to reach new heights, make known the unknown. We walked past roaring waterfalls, through the valley, and eventually, reached the base of Sub Dome. I was alone by the time I reached there, the rest of the group enjoying the scenery atop the falls and the roaring rivers. It was my mental fortitude against the steep granite staircase. It was looking like I should come out victorious, but a mix of snow and hail thought I should see the summit another day. I was discouraged initially, but reflection made me realize this now allows me to experience two firsts at this one location. This marks another series of firsts. First trip to Yosemite. First seventeen mile hike. First time climbing an actual mountain.
As I reflect on this trip, I realized something. While I am twenty-one years old, I am also at the point of time in my life where I can go hike mountains. I was once at a point in time where I could learn to ride a bike. As life can be measured by age, it can also be measured by moments. There is no way to slow down time, we can only live it as we are given. We can, however, adjust the speed at which we experience. We can cater the hours, the days, the years to reaching new firsts, laughing new laughs, and loving new loves.
On hold is a stage in queuing theory marked by inaction. A life on hold is the same. No new firsts, the inter-arrival time between meaningful experiences is large. Systems transition states as is most efficient, not staying on hold once conditions change. They optimize for a measure they have set. People have the same ability but do not exercise it often.
We cannot extend our time here, but we can reduce the inter-arrival time between new experiences. That is a measure worth optimizing, one that can be controlled. Time is a constraint. It shouldn’t be the objective. Each new step up Sub Dome, and eventually Half Dome, will be a new first. So yes, I can be defined by age, but I won’t be.