During our last camping trip, we rode out on Baker Lake in a motor boat. The waves were calm, letting us go fast without being jerked around. It was a beautiful, cloudless day, the snowy peaks frosted against the baby blue sky. The water itself had a spectacular hue to it, a reflection of the clearness of the sky above, presenting us with a most picturesque setting. As the boat jumped over the waves, the wind on my face made me feel like I was flying. A song stole its way into my head as the waves crashed along the side of the boat. I want to run, I want to hide. I want to tear down the walls that hold me inside. I want to reach out and touch the flame, where the streets have no name. It was the perfect song for a moment like that, when the beauty of the mountains, the fresh breeze of the wind, the transparency of the water, and the love of my family, no matter how dysfunctional we are, all came together to sculpt an emotional prism of clarity. The feeling upraised me, and in that moment, I was once again proud to be alive.
