Saturday, February 23, 2008

Addict

We all have our addictions. Yeah, even those of you who are currently saying, "What the heck are you talking about?" We all have those one or two things that aren't really necessary to our lives but would be very difficult to give up.

Think about it for a moment. Addictions are characterized by your behavior. When you're getting whatever it is on a regular basis, you are calmer, happier, more patient, etc. And when you're not? There's a range. You might be downright impossible to deal with, or you might just be "off" until you fulfill whatever craving it is. Something is missing and your brain and body both know it, even if you can't always place the vacancy.

You might still disagree, but remember -- you can be addicted to things that aren't bad for you. For instance, I am addicted to the written word. This isn't a bad thing -- you can bet that my mother wasn't trying to get me to stop reading when I was eight. (Even though it actually got me in trouble at school once or twice.) I buy books and magazines almost compulsively, spend time every day reading the news online, have a long list of blogs and short story sites that I frequent -- addicted. I have journaled habitually for over a decade. If I don't get at least a little time every day to indulge my addiction in some form, I almost can't deal with people. It's my "me time."

Then there are the bad addictions, the ones that you try to cut from your life (not always successfully). One of my not-so-healthy addictions is Pepsi -- so I gave it up for Lent. It was almost surprisingly hard; the first day I had an incredible caffeine headache. I'll admit that I've cheated twice (once knowingly, once by accident -- that was a bad sign), but to go from roughly 150 ounces a week to 32 ounces 18 days is still a pretty big drop. (Over 90%, actually.) It's certainly given me a bit more perspective on those who try to quit smoking -- I mean, if I thought sugar and caffeine were hard to quit, nicotine must be practically intolerable.

Tea, coffee, and wine are mild addictions. "CSI" would be another slightly stronger addiction. If I come across a televised soccer game, I stop flipping channels. If I'm shopping and I find a collection of black and white photography, I'm instantly distracted.

The list is much longer. Granted, I have a personality that tends toward extremes -- I get hooked easily. But the bottom line is that these addictions are there, often lurking just under the surface until they're denied.

I hadn't given it much thought before, but while on vacation I found that it's quite easy to get addicted to a place.

My biggest addiction of all could very well be the Black Hills.

When my plane landed two weeks ago, something happened. I was lighter, more relaxed, more at ease. I smiled more, I was more coherent, I could joke around without worrying about what people thought of me. Friends, relatives, complete strangers -- it didn't matter.

This is something I don't experience to nearly the same degree in Sioux Falls. A lot of it may very well be the memories involved -- high school was unpleasant and college was a release -- but the truth is that, regardless of the fact that I lived there for 16 years, Sioux Falls does not feel like home to me. It will be home as long as my parents live there, but my attachment is to the people (friends as well as family) rather than the place. I am, however, quite attached to Rapid City.

Part of it is the honesty of the city. It's not a terribly well-kept place ... Rapid is just now recovering from decades of use and neglect. The crime rate is higher there than most of the country. I don't wander around by myself after dark. Subdevelopments are just starting to appear on the outskirts of town, unlike the suburbia that is taking over Sioux Falls. The full truth is that it will probably never be as "rich" as Sioux Falls, but that is one of the things I love about the place. It's not trying to show anyone up.

Some of it is the hidden things about the city that took time to discover. Bully Blends, an amazing coffee shop on 5th Street. Skyline Drive, a road running along a ridge that splits the town into the east and west sides. Hiking trails near Skyline that you can get to by walking down a deadend street and into the trees.

But mostly you can't beat the backdrop.

The city sits right at the edge of the Black Hills. It is here in these mini-mountains that I got hooked on backpacking in middle school, that I blissfully spent my college summers, that bring people from far and wide just to gawk. It is here that I've had my best and worst moments, that my true self comes out whether or not I want her around. It is here that I feel more rooted, that I first lived on my own. It is here that I would some day like to retire.

Storm Mountain, nestled a few miles into the Hills, is one of my truest addictions. I'm instantly more comfortable and honest. I can sit there -- just find a bench and sit -- for hours and never be bored. And when too much time goes by in between visits, I get more and more "off." It's a big reset button, a way of centering that I never expected.

It's easy to get hooked on Storm. The phrase used there is "A place apart." And it's true -- you're removed, hidden, separated. While you're there, it's easy to forget that there is a world outside the hills and trees and cabins, because that world matters so much less when you're out of reach in that valley. It's easy to drift away or find focus, whatever it is you were missing before you showed up.

I've found both ... I've gone there when I just needed to escape the rat race, kick back in the grass and think about nothing. And I've gone there when I felt like the world was attacking and I needed zero in on one thing but couldn't do it in my previous setting. It can be everything and nothing, home and vacation, a wild party or a good night's sleep.

It's no wonder that removal from these places has altered my attitude. I'm hooked.

Like so many people before me, I have become a Hills junkie ... and I'm okay with that.


Let the wind fall wild across my path
Even though I barely move there's no turning back
There is a river, there is a road
Place of holy riches, I'm told
It's where I'm s'posed to be, where I'm s'posed to be
My heavenly...
-Jars of Clay

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