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Curiosity, Humility, and a Crash Course at 81

I HAVE A CONFESSION: I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT GEOLOGY

I’ve lived 81 years on this earth. I’ve climbed mountains, hiked deserts, biked across Spain, and walked through national parks on several continents. And yet, until this most recent road trip, I never once stopped to ask the basic question:

“How did all of this get here?”

The arches, the cliffs, the canyons, the buttes. The layers stacked like ancient pages in a book. The colors — rust, salmon, purple, gold. The impossible shapes.

I’ve admired these landscapes, of course. I’ve taken photos. I’ve written blogs. But geology? Actual understanding?

Nothing. Zero. A blank slate.

And while I was staring at the rock formations thinking, “That’s beautiful,” Alexis was saying things like: “Look at that uplift.”

“See the sediment layers?”

“That’s sandstone from when this region was underwater.”

I nodded politely. I had no idea what she was talking about.

BUT SOMETHING UNEXPECTED HAPPENED

Somewhere between Arches and Canyonlands, between Monument Valley and Antelope Canyon, between the silence of the desert and the endless highway, I found myself thinking:

Maybe I actually *want* to understand this.
Maybe it’s not too late to learn something entirely new.
Maybe… geology is interesting?

(Trust me, I’m as shocked as you are.)

THE LAND ITSELF FORCED ME TO PAY ATTENTION

You cannot drive through that part of Utah and Arizona without feeling the pull of geology. It’s everywhere.

A MOMENT THAT CHANGED HOW I LOOKED AT ROCKS

One afternoon in Arches, I stopped in front of a long, narrow sandstone fin — just a vertical wall of red rock slicing up from the earth. I took a picture because it looked striking, nothing more.

Later, Alexis explained that these fins are the *raw beginnings* of arches.

They start as solid slabs.
Then water seeps in.
Freezes.
Cracks.
Expands.
Carves.
Erodes.
Shapes.

And over millions of years, something like Delicate Arch slowly emerges.

I was stunned. I had been staring at geology’s version of a rough draft, completely unaware of the story behind it.

As Yogi Berra supposedly said: “You can observe a lot just by watching.”

I had looked at scenery. Alexis had seen *process.*
And for the first time, I wanted to understand the difference.

WHAT WE WERE ACTUALLY SEEING — A BEGINNER’S LESSON

In Arches: Sandstone fins rising like ribs of the earth, slowly carving into arches over millions of years.

In Canyonlands: A vast erosional masterpiece sculpted by the Colorado and Green Rivers — gravity, water, and time in partnership.

In Monument Valley: Buttes not standing tall — but standing *remaining* — after softer rock around them eroded away.

In Antelope Canyon: Graceful curves carved by violent flash floods roaring through narrow passageways.

In The Grand Canyon: A cross-section of nearly two billion years of Earth’s history revealed in one place.

HOW CAN ROCKS DO THIS? (A BEGINNER’S QUESTION AT 81)

I kept asking myself: how can rocks — just rocks — cause such fascination?

Then I watched Alexis. She wasn’t looking at rocks. She was looking at *stories.*

Stories of oceans that came and went. Continents colliding. Mountains rising and wearing down. Rivers carving through stone. Time — unimaginable time — written into color and shape.

Maybe rocks aren’t exciting. But what happened to them is.

WHAT THIS TRIP TAUGHT ME ABOUT CURIOSITY

There is a moment in life when you realize how much you don’t know. At 81, that could be intimidating. But strangely, it wasn’t.

It felt freeing.

There is still so much left to learn.
So many subjects waiting for me to finally pay attention.
Geology just happened to be the one shouting loudest on this trip.

LEARNING AT 81

I don’t plan to enroll in geology school. But I *am* going to read a book or two about the Southwest, ask Alexis more questions, and look more closely next time instead of just admiring the scenery.

Curiosity is not reserved for the young.
Curiosity is what keeps you young.

Discovering something new at 81 feels like finding a new room in a house I’ve lived in my entire life.

IN THE END, THE ROCKS WON

I still can’t tell shale from siltstone. I still mix up uplift and anticline. But I can say this:

The geology of this region humbled me.
It taught me something.
It made me want to understand the world a little better.
And it reminded me that wonder has no age limit.

Alexis knew that.
Now I’m beginning to catch up.