As is common among many people, I got into a funk a bit ago. So, in order to combat this feeling, I took a drive up the canyon.
Now, I'd heard of 'Squaw Peak' before. I'd heard what people had said about this particular overlook, that students and lovers usually went to Squaw Peak chiefly to make out. I'd heard enough about this place to make the decision never to take a girl there because then she'd think she knew what was coming.
But, I'd never been there myself. I didn't even know where it was.
This time, I drove up the canyon and spotted the sign marking the dusty old road leading up to this local legend. I figured I'd see what the fuss was all about and turned off the main road.
The drive up to the overlook was twisted, windy, and long. I drove for nearly half an hour, just waiting, expecting the next curve to reveal my final destination, but it was long in coming. On and on and on I drove, just enjoying the warmth of the sun and the coolness of the air and the silence of a trundling car engine in the middle of nature.
And then, finally, I made it.
And I didn't understand.
Why would anyone want to make out up here?
The view was spectacular. It stretched for miles and miles. I could see landmarks I recognized, roads I often traveled, places I didn't even know existed. I sat on the edge and just stared off into the distance, trying to piece together how small I really was, how insignificant my life was compared to the teeming valley that seemed but a hand away.
I was awestruck.
I couldn't believe I'd never been here before.
I eventually tore myself away and trundled back down the mountain, just thinking. I wondered how many couples had missed the sight in favor of a few minutes of pleasure. I wondered how many sights I'd missed as I wandered down in the valley below, only able to see right in front of me. How many things had I missed on the other sides of walls, of trees, of my own problems?
I didn't know.
But I decided I wanted to keep my head up more often.
And that was enough.
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