For those of us wondering how we get out of this mess, this muck, this mire we find ourselves in, a memory came floating by this week that might help you and me. If nothing else, it may provide a little chuckle.
Ten years ago, my then-partner and I took a trip to Bar Harbor, ME to celebrate his 40th birthday. I had been to Bar Harbor twice before and loved it, and I knew he would, too. The day after our 12-hour road trip to Vacationland, which is the nickname for the state of Maine for those who have never been, we made our way to the top of Cadillac Mountain in Acadia National Park and parked the car.
It was early May, and there was still some snow at the peak, which stood 1,530 feet high and is the tallest point on the eastern seaboard of the US. After referencing our map, we set out down the North Ridge Trail.
Some of the trail went over slick and wet terrain, over big bedrocks, and down paths where my next step was uncertain or looked questionable. All of these obstacles were no sweat for my partner, but each of them made me tense, anxious, concerned. And I slowed us down with my hesitation. We eventually reached the bottom of the mountain to some flat terrain…for all of an eighth of a mile. Then came the ascent.
I had held all the tension of the down path in my body, and as we began to climb the large rock scrambles to get back to the top, my leg muscles began to seize. First was my left calf, then my right calf…I would stop every so often to rest, only to have young 20-somethings bound passed me like damn gazelles on a prairie. I told my partner to just go ahead, that I would catch up and meet him at the top, but he refused. And I’m glad he didn’t.
I kept at it, but then my left quad had had enough, and it also seized. My partner encouraged me as best he could, telling me to look up.
“Look, just a little bit more, and then we’re at the top. We’re almost there.” And so I persisted…reaching summit after summit, until my right quad threw in the towel. I cried out, telling my partner I couldn’t go on.
“Angie, you have to do this…the only way out is up. No helicopter is getting in here to take you out. Look, there is the top! See the blue skies?” he said.
“Stop telling me that is the top, each time we reach what we think is the summit, there are more scrambles. Just stop lying to me!” I shouted at him.
But I knew he was right, and I kept going at a snail’s pace, but I put one bum leg in front of the other over and over…as people 30 years my senior passed me with smiles and hiking poles, breathing like this was no big deal.
Eventually, the last summit actually was the last summit…there were no more surprise scrambles to conquer, and I was never so happy to see my car in my life!
I share this story, the one I now affectionately call “The day I almost died on Cadillac Mountain,” because these times we are living in…these days we are living through can feel a lot like pulling every major muscle in both legs while having to walk up to the tallest peak in your part of the country.
Yes, neighbors, the only way out is through/up. But it helps to go slow, to go with a friend or partner, to go with the faith that there will be a summit…that you will recover…that this too shall pass.
Until next week,
—Angie
What an awesome metaphor...I love it and we can all be the annoying at times, but well meaning encouragers for each other through the journey! Great food for thought!
What a great analogy Angie.
We used to say that during a football season when things went sideways. It’s not just gonna fix itself.