This is NOT about hiking

I was hiking Mayflower Gulch Grand Traverse trail. It was 60 degrees. The sky was blue with a few scattered, cotton ball clouds. I was above the tree line and paused to catch my breath as I headed toward 12,000 feet elevation. I scanned the horizon. I was in a basin and had a 360-degree view of mountains that varied in color from grey to green to copper. There was no other person in sight.

I thought to myself. Take it all in. You will never be here again.

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A month later, I found myself with this same feeling on another trail.

I had been casually laying plans all summer to hike my first 14er. This is a badge that any active Coloradoan earns and wears with pride. There are ninety-six peaks in the United States that are classified as 14ers. Fifty-eight of them are in Colorado.

I had delayed plans several times, first due to forest fires and then a sinus infection. I had even told myself that maybe I didn’t need to take this on as it seemed like everyone else was. The trails were said to be overly crowded this year.

But finally, the stars aligned. My friend Edie and her daughter, Mary Beth, were having an extraordinary Colorado adventure for a few weeks. Their schedule included Mt. Quandary which would be their first 14er. Everything fell into place, and I was able to join them. No more excuses. No more delays.

Ironically, I had been booked to trek Mt. Kilimanjaro 11 months ago. Three weeks after Tim’s death, I knew that my enthusiasm to go through the training that I needed was gone and that I had bigger work to do. So I cancelled. Kilimanjaro is a trek to just over 19,000 feet. And now, here I was hiking to 14,265 feet and having the occasional “WTF” moment as I stepped up on yet another of what must be millions of rocks. I was desperately trying to avert my gaze from, what I now know was, the false summit. Suddenly every hike I had ever done felt small.

I had a very clear moment, with tears welling. Take it all in. You will never be here again.

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But, this is NOT about hiking.

That thought, has nothing to do with whether I will hike these particular trails again. But if I do, it won’t be the same. It won’t be the same circumstances. Environmentally it will be different. I will not be the me that I am now. THIS will never happen again even if I try to reproduce it.

I guess because hiking is a very spiritual experience for me, these are the moments where I am reminded, so vividly, of the impermanence of all of it including the privilege to, literally, walk on this Earth.

I am certain we each have moments where we are struck with the thought, I will never be here again. Our children’s’ milestones or an exotic place that we have traveled to. But think about it, isn’t this true for more than just the obvious. Because WE evolve. Because WE are somehow different the NEXT time. We are physically different – sometimes for the better and sadly sometimes for worse. Mentally. Emotionally. Moment to moment, are we really ever the same?

This was palpable for me in grief.  On this sacred journey, I had a strong sense to stay in the present. I knew that each tear, each crack was an instant in time that I would never have again. With each combination of emotions. With each layer of grief. Even with the inevitable daily countdown that I played over and over (52 days ago today…etc.). This may sound strange. Why would I want to stay in a place where I was feeling emotional pain, loneliness, heartbreak, and doubt?

Simply because I knew that I would never be here again. Yes, I WILL experience loss again and I will mourn. But never, ever, ever in the same way.

Right now, we are also in a moment that will soon disappear. And, yes, we may feel more than ready to say good riddance to COVID-19, politics, hatred, too much change, and yet not enough change.

No, this is NOT about hiking.

This moment. This time. Acknowledge it for what it is. Take it all in. Let out a grateful sigh, and say, I will never be here again.

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