Experiencing the insignificance of one’s own existence is something I recommend be on everyone’s Bucket List. It’s a humbling moment that can expand perspective, erode any tendency toward hubris, and generally lend understanding to one’s place in the universe.
While riding camels a couple weeks ago in the Dubai Desert Conservation Reserve with a small group of other travelers (yes, camels!), I was reminded of an epiphanic moment some 25 years ago during a visit to White Sands National Monument in the northern Chihuahuan Desert of New Mexico. Known for its dramatic landscape of rare white gypsum sand dunes, the area, though declared by President Herbert Hoover as a national park in 1933, remained undeveloped as a full-blown tourist attraction until 2011. Consequently, when I visited in 1993, there were no boardwalks, no marked trails, and no signposts pointing the way to interesting landmarks.
It was on a whim while driving back from Alamogordo to Las Cruces, where I was visiting a friend, that I impulsively made the turn into the park. The visitor’s center was little more than a double wide trailer, and the brochure I was handed by the ranger was a simple line drawing showing three parking areas along the sandy road that stretched a mere two miles into the desert. The first parking area was full—two cars was all that could fit—so I drove on to the second one. I pulled into the very small designated area and switched off the engine.
With my handbag slung over my shoulder, I trod up a small dune to take a hike. As I crested the dune, desert grasses, such as alkali sacaton and Indian rice, as well as Soaptree Yucca, Skunkbush Sumac, and Honey Mesquite stretched out before me. I began to walk. About 100 yards into my trek, I could feel the sand beginning to fill my sneakers so stopped to empty them. Behind me I could see the footprints I’d made. I was briefly thankful that my prints would serve as a sort of breadcrumb trail for me to follow back to the parking lot. But as I stood emptying my shoes, the light breeze that was keeping me cool was also doing something else.
I glanced at the second hand on my watch and mentally recorded the seconds—100 of them—that it took before all record of my existence was erased. Ridges, the ones that look like waves upon the sand, formed before my very eyes and obliterated my prints. If I got lost, or worse as my imagination ran wild, my car would be found, but no other trace to even suggest where a hunt should begin would be visible. I felt a funny stirring in my gut.
As I contemplated my smallness, my insignificance, my nobodyness, a new perspective began to form. It was quite the moment. In the scheme of the vast universe, I was but a speck, a blip, a grain of sand. I was just one of the many figures in a landscape.
I slipped my sneakers on and headed back to my car. There were a handful of people in my life who would argue with my revelation, and I owed it to them to get back to civilization. I didn’t like the feeling I’d experienced, but I was glad to have had it.
Copyright DJ Anderson, 2018
