There is something about the wilderness that excites people and gives them a thrill, causing them to leave their lives and belongings and venture into the dense forests. No matter how much technology advances, there is still something so captivating about the wild. Perhaps it’s the dichotomy between its beauty and potential for destruction. When visiting Alaska this summer, we met many who had been lured in, giving up their lives in North Carolina, Florida, and California to live off the land, going three months at a time without seeing any signs of other humans. One of the most predominant stories of this type has been shared in Jon Krakauer’s novel, "Into the Wild." The story followed Chris McCandless, an angsty teen seeking enlightenment and adventure, and was also adapted into a movie.

Spoiler Alert! Whether you’ve read the book, seen the movie, or just heard the story, you know that unfortunately, McCandless’s journey results in death, in the infamous bus. If you’re like me, you may have experienced a slight shock when realizing that the bus actually exists. Similar to when you read fiction and you start to think of it as the real world, I found myself so entranced in "Into the Wild" and connected to McCandless as well as his story that I hadn’t realized to what extent this was a real story of a twenty-four old. Stepping outside of the novel and into Denali National Park, just ten miles away from where the bus still sits, I really comprehended the power of the wilderness.

What McCandless must have expected to be a shallow glacial stream may have really been a deep, unforgiving river. What McCandless thought were just wild sweet peas and seeds may have been another step towards starvation. And the most uneasy thought — what McCandless experienced may be similar to the untold stories of several others who ventured into the wild and were (or were not) able to make it out.

Hearing these stories makes you wonder, "What still makes people pack up their lives and dive into such a different lifestyle change?" On our trip, our family realized that we could read such books and wonder or become a little nosy and ask those around us. From the cashier to our national park guide to a middle-aged couple we met on an evening walk, we asked them how they got to where they are. Nosiness usually has a bad connotation, but when everyone we met was so excited to share their stories, there was a genuine interest we shared in learning about each other’s lives.

Our tour guide was in law school in Pennsylvania, saw an advertisement for Alaska, and has been there ever since. He has spent twenty-two years, all four seasons, living next to Denali National Park. Our cashier in Fairbanks decided that she’d had enough of California and became a wildlife guide on ships in Prince William Sound. The couple we’d met on our evening walk lives in a forest so remote that to get there, one must take a boat for thirty miles. Even though they only see other humans about four times a year, they don’t feel lonely at all and find comfort in seeing the bears snatching salmon out of the river in their yard.

If we hadn’t asked a simple question about where they were from or if they’ve always lived in Alaska, we would’ve never been in so much awe and so inspired. It seems as though the only stories we hear are of those going into the wilderness and resulting in heart-wrenching stories. The wild has the potential to be destructive. But after being nosy and learning others’ stories, I learned that the beauty of the wild lies, not only its visual glory, but also in its ability to bring people away from their material lives.