And it ended with a change.
Why do I always rush? Why do I always worry more about what others want of me than about what I want for myself?
There is one thing I always want: silence.
I chase it. I chase it almost constantly. At times, I sit in stillness and invite silence to come to me. It never does. And so I continue to chase it.
I caught it once.
It was August of 2014. I was on a solo hike to capture my first of the Adirondack 46 High Peaks. Near the summit of Porter Mountain there is a spur trial to heads to a giant rock with a spectacular view of the valley below. When I approached, a small group of people was leaving. When I arrived, I was alone. I sat down and became still. For just a moment, the wind stopped blowing, the birds stopped chirping, and I held my breath. There it was, up high, out of range of any noise from any traffic, far away from the incessant cacophony of mankind: silence. For just a moment, silence, pure silence. I had never heard it before, and I haven't heard it since.
Until now.
My mind can be a cruel and twisted place, full of uncertainty and fear.
First, I have to pick a place to have my adventure. Do you know what it's like to have a short amount of time and an infinite variety of possibilities?!? So overwhelming! Maybe I just shouldn't do it. There will be another time. (But there's also today.)
I don't want to go too far off my route, of course, for that could be dangerous. I don't want to do something too strenuous, for I am too old and too weak. I don't want to take too much time, for darkness would soon fall on this day before the Autumn Equinox. After all, there are only a little over twelve hours of daylight, and there are only about five left. And I could get hurt. I might be unprepared. I might not have all that I need.
This is a stupid idea. I should just go back to the farm and work.
No!
I remembered that Lauryn had told me about Bald Mountain. She said it's not a long hike, and it's not a difficult hike. But the view is exceptionally rewarding. It's not too far off my path. I'll go.
And so toward Bald Mountain I head.
But it's getting later. I shouldn't.
I turn back toward the highway. I'm being ridiculous. I pull over, look at my map again and head away from the highway and back toward the mountain.
Have I gone too far? Am I still on the right road? Is the sun setting? Is it cooling down? This is stupid. I don't have time to climb a mountain. And I'm injured. What if I have to pull myself up with my hands? I can barely grab onto anything as it is. Am I making a mistake?
I pull over again, this time in a used car lot. The kind gentleman comes out and asks if everything is okay. I tell him it is; I'm just consulting my map.
No, the mountain is too far. This is a stupid idea. I turn back again toward the highway.
Goddammit, NO! This is absolutely ridiculous! There is plenty of daylight; you have your entire overnight camping backpack at your disposal; you have the right footwear; you're strong enough; you're healthy enough; and you're going to be JUST FINE! Now pull up your fucking panties and head back north, for fuck's sake!
Fine. I'm heading north.
I arrive. I'm nervous. No one knows where I am or what my plans are. I'm secretly a little giddy. It's overkill, but I mostly unload my pack and refill it only with necessities... and a little extra in case something goes horribly wrong and I get stuck on the mountain overnight. Besides, I haven't climbed an actual mountain with this pack yet. It's time to test it out.
Here goes. I sign the register at the trailhead just in case I go missing. Surely they'll run the registration on my car if it's there too long. Then they'll know to look for me.
Seriously, it's 3:00 p.m., the elevation at the peak is less than 2400 feet, and the trail is barely over a mile long. What are you so afraid of?! Seriously!
I try in vain to silence my catastrophizing mind, but as I start to pant as soon as the elevation gets even a little bit challenging, it hits. The mental "I can't"... that's my trigger. The fuck I can't! I'll show you!
I catch my breath and find my stride. I may have bad knees, but I also have trekking poles. I also have a fuckton of determination.
I climb. I ponder. I pause. I see a ruffed grouse. I wonder what its symbolic meaning is.
As the elevation rises, so do my spirits. I feel young. I feel capable. I AM young. I AM capable. I am strong. I am determined. I am all the things that climbing mountains makes me feel I am. I am alive.
I break through the trees into the sunlight. There is exposed rock that requires a steady climb. I push forward.
And there it is.
In between the accelerated inhalations and exhalations of my panting, in between the staccato beats of my heart, for just one teeny, tiny second, there it is:
Silence.
And in that perfectly silent fraction of a second, there is infinity. There is eternity. There is God. There is life.
And just like that, it disappeared. Gone again, leaving me to my unending chase.
But what matters is not the silence itself, but what it leaves in its wake. It leaves the knowledge that I AM the Universe; I am the infinite; I am eternity; I am God; and I am life. All those other thoughts, those useless, nattering gripes, the self-defeating ones, just fade away, completely forgotten. They no longer matter. They no longer exist.
And I am renewed. My doubts are gone. My fears have evaporated. I am invincible. I am right exactly where I am meant to be.
In that split second, everything has changed, and nothing has changed.
I have changed.
I continue to the summit, relaxed, at ease, at one with all that is. I feel the sun on my skin, the wind in my hair, the fresh, pure air in my lungs. And I stay. I stay and I soak it in to every fiber of my being.
Eventually it is time, and I turn around and descend the mountain. I reach the trailhead. I take off my pack and load it into the car. I take a long drink of cool, refreshing water. I take a deep breath. I get into the car.
And the chase begins again.
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