Don’t Forget to Look Up
Life gets pretty busy and persistent naval-gazing can feel heavy.
Photo by me (Julie Schlegel) during my Colorado hike last week.
The thing about hiking at 52, carrying a touch of extra weight and a mystery knee problem that physical therapy is starting to help, is that you have to keep looking down at the path on which you’re hiking. You have to watch the trail, especially an uneven, rocky trail.
Broad-based hiking shoes are better than everyday shoes, with less chance of a sprained ankle or a toe-versus-rock collision. Have plenty of water. Snacks and bug spray. Also, leave your pride in the car or at the trailhead. Meditative breathing comes rhythmically and loudly when you’re 9,800 feet above your home elevation.
I spent a lot of the last week on vacation watching my kids and husband fly fish, or waiting for them to come back from fly fishing. We had been hitting some fishing holes in an unfamiliar part of Colorado and saw a sign for a “quarter mile” hike to a waterfall. “One more hike for mom,” they said, agreeing to the mountainside journey.
As we ascended into the aspens, we passed a middle-aged man and his daughter. “Yeah, worth it, but more like a mile up than a quarter.”
Then a mother and daughter. “Did you make it up?” “No, not worth it,” she said, which I didn’t judge since she had a 4-year-old girl with her and wore city pants.
We met two or three more people coming down. “Nah, not to the top,” and “Not worth it today.”
An older couple was coming down as well, both with hiking poles and she with Chacos and royal blue toenails. “Did you make it?” “Hell, no, we didn’t! Not at this age,” he said, talking through a wiry grey moustache. “And not in these shoes!” his wife interrupted. “It’s about the journey” and “No one’s keeping score” and “A step forward is a step forward” they alternated, along with “We made it years ago!”
Initially, very few of the people we met going up thought it was worth the climb. But, also, none of them made it to the waterfall. About halfway, we were passed at double speed by a group of young adult hikers from Germany who were carrying large backpacks and hiking all the way to Aspen.
The messages started to change as we reached elevation. “It’s so beautiful. Totally worth it!” “Keep going. You’re almost there!” And “The trail at the top is easier than the road trail!” Words came down the mountain as we went up, encouraging us higher and higher until we reached the top.
At the waterfall, there was a group of children with a couple of teachers. There was a chipmunk. There were three older women looking for a waterfall with a pool at the base in which they could swim. And there was a volunteer guide with a walkie talkie, a man who spends four hours at a time teaching people about the area and who, ironically, winters not 5 miles from our home in Houston.
The young people going up and down the trail were spry, like I used to be when I climbed a fourteener in my youth. I don’t remember any thoughts back then of what could go wrong — sprained ankles, buckled knees, bear attacks, slipping off a cliff — the fatalistic thoughts I now carry in mid-life didn’t poison their minds as they practically ran up the trail.
But me at 52 is different from me at 20. I had to watch the rocks carefully, looking down at the path. Only when I stopped walking could I feel steady and grounded to look up and enjoy the majesty of the mountainside. The breathtaking views, the flowers, the thousand shades of green.
And I guess that’s what this vacation was. Most days we are on the grindstone, taking care of work and family and everyday drudgery. We’re looking down at our lives, trying to keep the family churning and our feet on the ground.
This vacation was a pause on the path of my life to look up and look around, and breathe. I am grateful for it and acknowledge many people don’t get to take vacations. I treasure having seen the Big Dipper right outside my bedroom window with teenagers who were right beside me, not leaving in a hurry to be with their friends.
The relative solitude of this week left my mind quiet and unoccupied. It enabled me to remember the enjoyment of my own company.
Look down, so you can stay on your path and not stumble in your daily life — do the laundry, make the meals, run the carpools. But look up, too, so you can appreciate what’s around you — your breath, the miracle of being alive, the presence of people who love you. Take the pause, even if it’s just a walk outside.
Photo by me (Julie Schlegel) of the mountainside on vacation.
The advice and opinions herein are by no means meant to be a substitute for professional medical advice. Please contact your personal physician, mental health provider or health care professional for medical advice. Opinions are my own.