The sky can’t possibly be bigger in Wyoming than it is anywhere else but that’s how it felt when I was there. I couldn’t help but notice the celestial space that enveloped me in the absence of soaring buildings. I felt small in Wyoming, relative to the towering mountain ranges in the distance. It’s a familiar experience to outdoorspeople—formally outdoorsmen— to feel humbled by nature and a reason that we enjoy being outside. That type of modesty is good for the soul. But something felt different in Wyoming.
In Washington DC, where I lived pre-pandemic, walking was mostly functional. Even a casual stroll wasn’t casual since I had to squeeze it around and in between work. I mostly kept my gaze down when I walked. Down at my feet, down at the sidewalk, or—I’m ashamed to admit—down at my phone. Nothing inspired me to look up unless I intentionally walked myself to a monument. In Wyoming, all I wanted to do was look up. Up was where the magic was.
I don’t believe in God so apologies for misleading you. As I drove around Wyoming, though, I wondered how the landscape might impact my worldview if I lived there. I decided I probably would believe in God. Nature is inspiring. It can even seem magical. A thundering waterfall, for example, can move me from appreciation to rumination and, eventually, back to God.
My brain, though, isn’t wired to believe in an outsized, creator-of-the-universe. But I do experience something God-like in nature. I could have visited the Grand Teton mountains in Wyoming and witnessed the end result of millions of years of tectonic collisions. Or, through a different lens, I could have marveled at sections of the earth deliberately plucked by omnipotent fingers. It just depends on which world I want to live in.