After hiking through the mountain for about an hour, we came upon Las Cuevas. We were the only ones on the beach- essentially alone in a lagoon with a cascading waterfall. As we walked over the white sand into the shallow water, I felt more happy than I could remember. I thought about my position on a map- in the middle of the Amazon River Basin, in the jungle, next to a secluded waterfall. I thought about the people I was with- a Bolivian, Canadian and Romanian. I thought about the sequence of events that had led me up to that point- led me here to this exact place with these people- and felt grateful for each moment of my life it took. I get that feeling sometimes, and it’s hard to remember why I get depressed or anxious when life seems so overwhelmingly beautiful. I was thousands of miles away from home in a place I didn’t even know existed, between the fabled city of El Dorado and the place where Che Guevara was killed. I was with people I had didn't meet until I left home to come here. I was so tired, and I had the kind of slaphappy feeling where you say exactly what you want to- or you don’t have to say anything, and you know that the feeling of moment is so transcendent that you don’t have to. I felt like all the anxiety and questions that I have were baked out of me in the South American sun and then washed away by the crashing water. Sometimes my wanderlust is naive, and the things I picture in my head result in disillusionment and reality. Sometimes, though, things are better than I could ever imagine, and I am awestruck by the life I have been given and the majesty of everything. If I continue to have that feeling, even if it's fleeting and I wish more than anything that it wouldn’t end, I know that anything that happens in between is worth it.