My JourneyPreview
Open in TheBrain

One Month Out

Entry 1 — 30 Days Before Departure

I can’t believe I actually got a spot on the Arches geology expedition. One month feels like forever and no time at all. I printed out maps tonight and taped one above my desk. It’s wild seeing how many arches are crammed into such a small area. Over two thousand, they say. That’s more arches than my brain can hold.

I started reviewing what I know about sandstone again. Most of Arches is Entrada and Navajo. I love how different they look—Navajo smooth and pale, Entrada all fiery and full of character. I want to get good at identifying them instantly in the field. I feel like that’s what “real” geologists can do.

I keep re-reading the little blurb about the Colorado Plateau uplift. Something about entire slabs of land rising as one makes the ground feel alive—even now, sitting here in my room. It’s weird thinking the Earth is still moving under us whether we notice or not.

Anyway, thirty days. I’m marking them off one by one.

Entry 2 — 27 Days Before Departure

Had a tiny freak-out today and realized I don’t actually know how arches form beyond the basics. So I dove into research until my brain felt like sandstone: full of layers.

Here’s what stuck: cracks first, arches later.

It’s kind of poetic. The Earth breaks, and out of the breakage something beautiful eventually forms. Water freezes and expands inside fractures. Wind scrapes away grains one by one. Rain smooths the rest. The weakest rock goes first, leaving the stronger parts to make the shapes everyone photographs.

I keep thinking how patient the process is. Millions of years of constant, steady pressure. I wish I had that kind of patience. I get frustrated waiting ten seconds for my laptop to reboot.

Entry 3 — 22 Days Before Departure

I spent today sketching what I think Park Avenue canyon looks like. The pictures make the walls look like giant stone skyscrapers—vertical, clean, almost impossally straight. My sketch looks more like a stack of lopsided pancakes, but whatever. I’m practicing.

I read that the vertical walls come from parallel joints in the sandstone. The rock breaks along those lines, and erosion just… follows the blueprint. I’m starting to see geology as a combination of structure and chaos: the structure is the joints and bedding planes, the chaos is the weathering that happens afterward.

Also, I'm wondering what it’ll feel like to stand under Balanced Rock, knowing the bottom part is eroding way faster than the top. Part of me is excited; part of me is imagining headlines like “Local Student Witnesses Dramatic Collapse, Becomes Internet Meme.”

I hope it stays standing for at least another month.

Entry 4 — 18 Days Before Departure

I got my field notebook today. Real geologist vibes. Heavy paper, just begging for messy sketches and observations. I wrote my name in the front and immediately regretted the handwriting. It looks like a raccoon signed it.

I started a page titled:

“What I Want to See With My Own Eyes.”

Not in bullet points, just in messy lines:

I also wrote down “cryptobiotic crust,” because apparently stepping on that is a huge no-no. The idea of soil being “alive” is kind of unsettling and awesome.

Entry 5 — 14 Days Before Departure

Two weeks!

I’ve started imagining what the air will smell like. I keep picturing warm dust, dried brush, and that sharp mineral scent rocks get after baking in the sun all day. I want to experience the silence too—people say deserts have their own kind of quiet, like the world is holding its breath.

I reread more about Delicate Arch. The amphitheater around it seems like the forgotten part of the story. Everyone takes pictures of the arch, but the landscape carved around it might be the real key to understanding how it formed alone.

I wonder how many arches have already eroded away entirely. How many never even finished forming? It’s weird: we celebrate the survivors but never think about the thousands that didn’t make it.

Entry 6 — 10 Days Before Departure

Studied erosion today. Not just wind and water, but frost wedging. I love that term. Sounds like something a Viking geologist would yell before smashing a boulder.

But the process is simple: water seeps into cracks, freezes, expands, and forces the rock apart. Over and over. Quiet destruction.

I opened the freezer door tonight and actually caught myself thinking, “Ah yes, the mighty geomorphic forces of ice.” I might be losing it.

Entry 7 — 6 Days Before Departure

I started mentally packing today. Sun hat, field notebook, pencil pouch, hydration pack, camera, energy bars, layers for unpredictable desert mornings. Also, sunscreen that smells vaguely of coconuts and childhood vacations.

I keep thinking about choosing one rock surface to study closely. Like a little mini-project. I want to document everything: grain size, color, the exact way it feels under my fingertips, whether tiny flakes are peeling off the top. One rock, one story. A tiny slice of Earth’s biography.

Entry 8 — 3 Days Before Departure

Three days. This feels real.

I looked up photos of Double Arch at night and found shots of stars pouring through the openings. It almost looks like the rock is holding up the sky. I’m hoping I get at least a few minutes alone under it during the day, just to look up and let my brain float.

I wonder what it will be like to see the textures up close—the tiny pits from weathering, the smooth curves carved by wind, the edges where water once pooled. So much time trapped in one place.

Entry 9 — 1 Day Before Departure

Tomorrow.

My bag is packed. My notebook is in the front pocket. My map has little stars on it now—Park Avenue, Balanced Rock, the Windows, Double Arch, Delicate Arch. The key stops in what feels like a pilgrimage.

I keep thinking of this moment one month ago, when the whole trip felt abstract and far away. Now it feels like the Earth is about to open its history book and let me read a few pages.

I don’t know what I’ll learn out there, or how it’ll change the way I see the world, but I’m ready. Or at least I hope I am.

Next entry will be from the desert.

Time to sleep. Or try to.