Dear Cal Climbing,
Back in April of this year, we went on a day trip to Yosemite Valley. Fresh off our Red Rocks high, we were both inclined to ditch our worldly responsibilities and touch some rocks. It was a random Wednesday at the tail end of the spring semester. On the drive down, we began to think about the role of trips in our lives. Were they a form of escapism? An impermanent change of location to forget about all the stressors in our daily lives? Or did they offer something past that? Experience seems to suggest that trips are not just about the fun factor. In fact, we often remember not the activities, but the people. And when we do remember the activities, it is often not pure enjoyment, but what we call “type 2” fun.
Although our burdens might not be location-based, there is something to the change of scenery. A trip will disrupt your life for a moment, and in the empty space something new can emerge. As climbers, our Berkeley experience has come to include the mountains, the sea, and places with rocks just imperfect enough that someone might consider pulling on. Living in the bay puts you next to all these amazing places, close enough, but far enough for it to always be a “trip.” Tahoe, Yosemite, Stinson Beach, Santa Cruz, the list goes on.
As we’ve matured (maybe?) as individuals and as climbers, we’ve come to appreciate the importance of staying in place. Climbing locally not only saves time, money, and gas, it also allows us to engage more deeply with our community. To learn the directions to the crag (or gym) by heart and recognize familiar faces. To notice how environments change over time and throughout the seasons. It’s hard to make time for long-term projects and introspection in the chaos of college life. This semester has been challenging for both of us in that respect. At Berkeley, we are encouraged to overbook, overextend, say yes to any semblance of career advancement, more friends, more classes, especially more weekend getaways. Recently, we’ve been trying to find the beauty in doing less.
How do we balance this love for the open road with the importance of long-term commitment and community engagement? How do we treat these places not as colonizers or tourists but as temporary residents? We’re still trying to figure it all out.
“Disney invokes an urbanism without producing a city. Rather, it produces a kind of aura-stripped hypercity, a city with billions of citizens (all who would consume) but no residents. Physicalized yet conceptual, it’s the utopia of transience, a place where everyone is just passing through. This is its message for the city to be, a place everywhere and nowhere, assembled only through constant motion” (Michael Sorkin, “See You in Disneyland,” 1992).
Written by Connie and Sam
