There are proven health benefits to spending time in nature and for time without the buzz and, dare I say it, chaos, of "civilization." That says something about an innate and physiological need for some elements of nature and solitude in our lives.
So why does one go out there alone? I cannot speak for Abbey or Thoreau or other advocates of “solitude,” but I spent many days roaming alone when I was younger and upon reflection, it was not to get away from other people. But that doesn’t mean the solitude wasn’t important.
It sounds awkward, but as near as I can tell, I went out there by myself to get away from myself. The absence of other people was a prerequisite to that at that time in my life. The wild was a nonhuman presence (sometimes embodied in an elk or a bear or even a camp robber) powerful enough to get me past my own petty, anxious self, to call me to expand and connect.
I don’t know though that what I was doing was spiritual. Maybe? It wasn’t recreational by any definition. So had you asked me, think I might have said I was seeking solitude. Defining these values is not easy
That doesn't sound awkward at all! Very well said. My fear remains that younger generations use different avenues to accomplish similar goals. (Personally, I don't understand how a video game would achieve that expansion and connection. But that's on me.) And my question is thus, reluctantly: If solitude is the goal and wilderness is a strategy to achieve it, do we need to admit that other strategies work better? Conversely, if wilderness is the goal and solitude the strategy, do we need to find different strategies?
I know one young man who does seem to get something resembling expansion and connection via gaming. But his gaming is very sociable. I don't see how those benefits could come from solitary gaming, but like you, I can't rule it out.
Its clear that one can achieve solitude without wilderness. Think of the monastic life. And I got apartness after some stressful work yesterday by sitting on a rock near a busy trail and watching trains go by. So, without judging better or worse, there are definitely alternative ways to attain solitude. I am alone while writing this. If we then add judgment (which is not required), then sometimes, for some people, wilderness travel is probably the best form of solitude. At other times, those same people may find watching the trains go by just as effective.
When you switch it around, I think other goals/strategies have always been at least equally supportive of a need for wilderness. The very first American commitment to saving wilderness - the Adirondacks - was (and continues in part to be) about watershed protection, and the stories of early adventures there are all social. Even Bob Marshall had a guide on his expeditions in the High Peaks. I do not (cannot at this age, when it is harder to get out there) discount mere existence as an important value of wilderness. And there are the others, which need not be re-listed here.
Personally, I think about "the wild," which we agree is not confined to designated wilderness, as an experience that includes at least the potential for solitude, but much more, including even the sharing of stories when you return. And to cut back a bit on your critique of Abbey, I find that same sense of something ineffable, of something whole, in his best writing, most of which comes from places that were not designated wilderness. He didn't seem to share my sense that humility is part of the wilderness experience, but I do think he understood the connection part in his own way.
To end by circulating back to your beginning, while I was doing solo wilderness trips as early as 16, I don't think that such experiences are necessary to understanding or enjoying the wild. They're just something certain people need to do. Not much that much different, say, than if I decided I needed to go to the Louvre. And when billed as a vision quest, they are probably an inappropriate appropriation of somebody else's culture.
We should all get from the wild what we can. We should also give back.
There are proven health benefits to spending time in nature and for time without the buzz and, dare I say it, chaos, of "civilization." That says something about an innate and physiological need for some elements of nature and solitude in our lives.
So why does one go out there alone? I cannot speak for Abbey or Thoreau or other advocates of “solitude,” but I spent many days roaming alone when I was younger and upon reflection, it was not to get away from other people. But that doesn’t mean the solitude wasn’t important.
It sounds awkward, but as near as I can tell, I went out there by myself to get away from myself. The absence of other people was a prerequisite to that at that time in my life. The wild was a nonhuman presence (sometimes embodied in an elk or a bear or even a camp robber) powerful enough to get me past my own petty, anxious self, to call me to expand and connect.
I don’t know though that what I was doing was spiritual. Maybe? It wasn’t recreational by any definition. So had you asked me, think I might have said I was seeking solitude. Defining these values is not easy
That doesn't sound awkward at all! Very well said. My fear remains that younger generations use different avenues to accomplish similar goals. (Personally, I don't understand how a video game would achieve that expansion and connection. But that's on me.) And my question is thus, reluctantly: If solitude is the goal and wilderness is a strategy to achieve it, do we need to admit that other strategies work better? Conversely, if wilderness is the goal and solitude the strategy, do we need to find different strategies?
Thanks.
I know one young man who does seem to get something resembling expansion and connection via gaming. But his gaming is very sociable. I don't see how those benefits could come from solitary gaming, but like you, I can't rule it out.
Its clear that one can achieve solitude without wilderness. Think of the monastic life. And I got apartness after some stressful work yesterday by sitting on a rock near a busy trail and watching trains go by. So, without judging better or worse, there are definitely alternative ways to attain solitude. I am alone while writing this. If we then add judgment (which is not required), then sometimes, for some people, wilderness travel is probably the best form of solitude. At other times, those same people may find watching the trains go by just as effective.
When you switch it around, I think other goals/strategies have always been at least equally supportive of a need for wilderness. The very first American commitment to saving wilderness - the Adirondacks - was (and continues in part to be) about watershed protection, and the stories of early adventures there are all social. Even Bob Marshall had a guide on his expeditions in the High Peaks. I do not (cannot at this age, when it is harder to get out there) discount mere existence as an important value of wilderness. And there are the others, which need not be re-listed here.
Personally, I think about "the wild," which we agree is not confined to designated wilderness, as an experience that includes at least the potential for solitude, but much more, including even the sharing of stories when you return. And to cut back a bit on your critique of Abbey, I find that same sense of something ineffable, of something whole, in his best writing, most of which comes from places that were not designated wilderness. He didn't seem to share my sense that humility is part of the wilderness experience, but I do think he understood the connection part in his own way.
To end by circulating back to your beginning, while I was doing solo wilderness trips as early as 16, I don't think that such experiences are necessary to understanding or enjoying the wild. They're just something certain people need to do. Not much that much different, say, than if I decided I needed to go to the Louvre. And when billed as a vision quest, they are probably an inappropriate appropriation of somebody else's culture.
We should all get from the wild what we can. We should also give back.