I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t feel cheated that I’ve never experienced a transformative moment, that magical juncture in life when inner-assessment begs for an about-face.

Animals, after all, never seem bothered with the absence of life-changing events in their wandering lives, and they manage. They’re all perfectly content, living for the moment with Zen-like perfection, focused only on their next meal.

None of us would be able to sleep at night, too worried about drunken cows sneaking into our bedrooms and tipping us out of our beds.

Which is good. For if animals did behave like us, the planet would be locked in permanent chaos. None of us would be able to sleep at night, too worried about drunken cows sneaking into our bedrooms and tipping us out of our beds.

Or elk populations would become unmanageable due to wolves giving up elk for Lent.

Several years ago, I thought I experienced a transformative moment while wrapped in a thick Navajo blanket, ogling a sunset from atop a gusty crag just north of Santa Cruz. Just as the sun was about to surrender the sky, a bagpiper clambered out upon a stab of rocks jutting into the Pacific Ocean and played a haunting rendition of Amazing Grace.

There are few episodes in my life that can match that moment for insight and power. It was like getting zapped by 26,000 volts of introspection.

Transformative moments, I learned, come in many forms

I remember leaving that scene and driving back to my campsite in the nearby mountains with a euphoric sense of right and truth. I’d forever live a Jimmy Carter-like life full of virtue and high-minded focus. But less than two hours later I found myself drinking warm blackberry wine coolers while jabbing anthills with pointed sticks.

Transformative moments, I learned, come in many forms. I always assumed it only involved a once-in-a-lifetime, mind-altering moment such as a spectacular sunset or seeing the Dixie Chicks riding naked through a forest on a unicorn. But there’s a staggering amount of evidence that claims otherwise.

A recent cover story in Outside Magazine, for example, explained how a simple 20-minute walk through a forest can lower blood pressure and elevate your immune system. For some that in itself — the aura of feeling healthy — is transformative.

A friend who experienced a transformation in faith told me transformation is a lofty term for finding yourself.

Heeding her advice, I went backpacking for a night in Colorado’s backcountry intent on finding myself.

Eventually, I settled into a comfortable sitting position and allowed my mind to drift, inviting transformation to take place.

After pitching my tent along a mountain stream stilled by beavers, I scrambled up an adjacent slope and found a perfect perch of rock to find myself. Thinking I had to look the part, I postured into the classic transcendental lotus position but quickly abandoned this due to cramping.

Eventually, I settled into a comfortable sitting position and allowed my mind to drift, inviting transformation to take place. But instead of permitting the moment to “happen,” I began overanalyzing, interpreting everything as a sign: The aspen tree above me meant I should open my backyard as a ski area for Hollywood celebrities who don’t ski; my constant habit of jingling a bear bell meant I should become a Salvation Army bell ringer; the poison ivy I passed earlier on the trail meant I should become a calamine lotion salesman.

After two hours of this mindmash I became discouraged and began poking anthills with pointed sticks and decided to wait for the inspiration of the night sky.

It did not disappoint. The sky was chandeliered with a celestial vanity of cosmic awe and wonder, the type of spectacle that I imagine inspired Beethoven to compose his “Ninth Symphony” or country singer Jimmy Dean to sell breakfast sausages. Yet, I felt no inner transfiguration.

“You Are Here”

What’s wrong with me, I wondered. I share the same birthday as the Dalai Lama so I should be capable of grasping thoughts of higher consciousness. But maybe, perhaps, any cosmic advantage I’ve gained by this is negated by the fact that George W. Bush also celebrates July 6th. I nodded off with no answers.

In the morning, I hiked down the trail discouraged. I thought for sure I’d be hiking back giddy from Mom Nature’s counsel, and that I’d soon be moving to Southern France to become a beret-wearing truffle farmer. Disappointed, I stopped at the trailhead registration box to check off my name. As I did, I noticed on the adjacent National Forest information board a trailhead map with a small red circle captioned with “You Are Here.”

Finally, I thought, a genuine found-myself moment. Let the transformation begin.