In early April of 2020 as the world entered the beginning stages of lockdown-topia, I learned that a bear had made her way down from northern Michigan to my portion of the state, an area not known for many bear sightings. This bear was seen wandering around hiking trails not more than two miles from where I lived at the time, ones that I frequented for runs. I had to investigate.
When I arrived at the trails, I was surprised by the number of people out walking, most of whom were maskless. This was during that short period when people weren’t sure what to do with the mask: initially we were told they didn’t work, then that we needed to preserve them, then eventually an onslaught of drooling and shrieking mask-wearers. It is weird to look back on now.
Needless to say, it was not yet a time that would result in me getting yelled at for bearing my full face even when in nature. However, I was looked at skeptically when I asked some of my fellow hikers if they too were out looking for the bear.
“Bear? I don’t know anything about a bear. You’re in the wrong part of Michigan, buddy.”
It was a nice day for a walk, which aren’t always easy to come by in Michigan in April, so the traffic made sense. Did no one else know about the bear, though? This seemed like a big deal to me.
But as I asked a few more people, it became apparent that I indeed may have been the only one. And I decided to stop inquiring altogether when, after asking a mom and dad out with their two young children, the response was something akin to, “Are you serious? Please don’t mention that there are bears out here in front of my kids.” I guess their frustration made some sense, but I looked at it as having added excitement to their walk.
What exactly was the draw I was feeling? Why was I so intent on finding the bear? And people asked what I planned to do if I did find her.
“I don’t know, watch for a little bit, then take a picture, I guess.”
To be honest, I think the pursuit was more exciting than the destination. It was the combination of looking for a rarity of that specific natural environment while in a rare and weird time that was affecting the world. An awkward yet interesting clash of human will and nature.
I never did find her. And a few days later she was in the news.
“Truck hits bear on highway.”
Had I found her, maybe I could have saved her. “Don’t go to those places, bear. They don’t have much respect for your kind.”
But I’m not sure my advice would have been followed. This was clearly a wandering bear. And it seems the confusion of the environment got to be too much for her. The machine won out.
Wandering about during curious times can be enlightening. But sometimes natural light and fake light mix up, and the manufactured light wins out drowning out the natural, becoming too bright for our own good. And as it stares at you, you can only stare back as it blinds your gaze.
Then, where there were once attempts at determining between the real and fake, a switch is made to an intense focus upon the manufactured light, one so paralyzing that turning away from the machine producing it seems an impossibility. So instead, the collision is consumed, taken in completely, providing you a false sensation of being one with the rest, a unified front against… real light.
Now you’re dead.