Yesterday as I was filling my truck with diesel at the end of the day I looked down at the ground and started noticing the concrete surface of the petrol station forecourt. It wasn't just concrete, there were tiny flecks of stone in it. Differently shaped bits, varying in colour and likely origin.
It was raining heavily so the surface was wet. It was glistening under the bright lights of the canopy above me. I was crouching down and the stretch of my thighs must have triggered a recollection of climbing. The hard surface, the rain, the stretch – I suddenly got the same feeling of physical connection to the world that I get through being on mountains. The same rush of excitement that has more to do with being real and physical than with adrenaline.
This feeling of connectedness is there all the time, but we hide it. We hide in our heads, we get lost in our thoughts, we label the world around us and divide it all up into pleasant and unpleasant, right and wrong, good and bad.
But the world doesn't care about our labelling. It is just as it is, still there, waiting patiently.