The desert is the ideal place to be alone, to sit and think. It’s simple and clean, and the landscape matches the silence. The people who live in it are rugged and resourceful survivors. Life is shorn of superfluities, boiled down to the things you need and nothing else.
The emptiness of the land and the colossal hunks of rock dwarf you; they put things back into perspective. In a place like this the outside world has no bearing. There’s no Internet or mortgages, no office politics or freeway commute, no furniture stores or tiresome bar scene. There’s only life and the absence of it, and one flows into the other. There’s only one thing to do in such a place.
I climb something high and gaze off into the distance. I stare at my handprint in the side of a dune and I see the entire world and my life in it in a grain of sand.