A big chunk of my high school years were spent biking in the woods of NC. I would bike 5 miles (on my mountain bike) to get to the trails, where I'd spend another two hours or so tearing up the trails. All that sweat from those rides has permanently burned the smell and sights of the woodlands into my memory. I hadn't realized that moments were my most visceral connection to NC until I went back this time.

I had always known that I missed the woods, but it wasn't until this last time when I actually decided to take a walk on some old trails that an unaccountable sadness came over me.

By my old high school is a simple trail that wraps around maybe a half mile in a semi-circle. One of my close friends from high school, Potter, introduced me to the trails. Before he showed them to me, I didn't think much of them, but he showed me a beautiful part of the trails - a rockbed creek at the bottom of a thirty-foot rock wall face drop. While you get much more spectacular views when you hike in the Appalachians, for a suburban kid, this is the equivalent of discovering El Dorado.

This place quickly became a place of personal retreat.

During those years in high school when you muse about future plans, Potter and I would spend a lot of time down on the creekbed. Sometimes we'd bring cards to play, but most of the time we'd just chill out and talk. Talk about girls, talk about finishing high school, and talk about life.

Although it'd had been nearly ten years since I last walked these trails, I still could recognize the forks and the fastest way to the creekbed. Like a beacon, the old comfort zone drew me back.

Once I got down there, I sat right by the tricking creek as I had ten years ago, and reflected at how much things had changed. How much I had grown since the last time I had sat here and wondered where I'd be. And then I wondered where I'd be years from now. Undoubtedly life will be much different ten years from now.

I still have much of the arrogance, pride, and naivete of youth. The "conquer the world" candle hasn't been extinguished yet, although the wistful realities of life are causing it to flicker. I think that's part of growing up, so it won't be a bad thing to move on from those illusions of grandeur.

. . .

But springtime awaits. Everything that remained dormant during the bleak winter now comes alive with life.

I look forward to the future ten years with the joys and sorrows it brings.