Lessons from the Mountain Peak
Last week I went camping by myself. After a busy July, I realized that I had a week off from my graduate program, so I seized the moment to book two nights at Fremont Peak State Park. It was to be a retreat of sorts: I was craving stillness, quiet, and spaciousness to center myself and regroup. I was longing for the wonderful feeling that arises from living outdoors for awhile. I planned to hike, read, meditate, move slowly, and to let myself flow intuitively without a schedule.
The Context
I want to share one experience with you, but first, a little background. I’m currently in a graduate program to become a Marriage and Family Therapist, and things are “getting real.” I’ll soon begin my practicum, and to qualify for this experience, I first need to pass the advancement exam. The advancement exam is an hour-long oral exam where, essentially, I need to demonstrate all that I have learned in the past year. This means that from now to October I am studying. Hard. And as you might imagine, there are some uncomfortable emotions that arise: uncertainty, fear, anxiety, curiosity. This is another reason that I wanted to go and be outdoors for awhile – it grounds and centers me.
Going Up
The first full day of camping, I headed out in mid-morning for the short uphill hike to the top of Fremont Peak. I am not in the best physical shape of my life right now, and my knees sometimes feel iffy, but I had my two hiking poles, and I enjoyed the sunny walk, no one else on the trail on a Tuesday morning.
When I got near the peak, I was a little confused to see a wall of rocks in front of me. Having done this hike years ago, I remembered that the very last bit was quite steep, but this felt extreme. Was this even the path? I went up a bit, felt unsure and came back down a bit, took a moment to think. I ended up putting my poles in my backpack so I could use hands and feet to crawl up rocks to where Capitan John C. Fremont planted a flag at the tippy-top.
The view at the top is unforgettable – a 360 view for miles and miles. With my binoculars, I could even see the curve of the Monterey Peninsula and get a thrill as I recalled seeing Fremont Peak from the beach near home. As I stood there, red-faced, shaky-legged, proud, I wondered… and how am I going to get back down? I am alone, I don’t feel very confident about my strength, and I won’t even be able to see where to put my feet. Anxiety, uncertainty.
I stayed on the peak for a while, having a snack and journaling (that thought of “but how am I going to get down?” lingering at the edge of my brain). Turkey vultures were soaring below me, a welcome breeze cut through the heat, and suddenly there was the unmistakable call of a red-tailed hawk.
Hawks always remind me to take the long view, to shift perspective. And in a flash, I realized that this very moment I was living a powerful metaphor, a physical manifestation of my current life journey: Here I am on a mountain peak, looking ahead to a journey that feels challenging and uncertain. I’m not sure how I can do it or if I can do it, but I do know that I’m going to do it. What other choice do I have?
Fremont Peak felt like a version of the larger journey that I’m on with the big test, the big life change of becoming a practicing clinician. Will I pass the test? Will I do well in my practicum? Will I enjoy it? I’m not sure how I can do it or if I can do it, but I do know that I’m going to do it. What other choice do I have?
Going Down
With this realization, my hike back down took on new significance. I felt that how I made it back to camp would be the same as how I make my way in my life.
As I stood up, I glimpsed what looked like the beginning of a path on the opposite side of the peak as where I had come up, unmarked but clear. Would it be a good path that even led where I wanted to go, or would it be even sketchier? I didn’t know, but with how difficult my original path had been, I felt there was a good chance this path could be better. I began to pick my way along, rock to rock, carefully placing my poles and my feet. Sure enough, the path went down, much less steeply than the one I had traveled up. For what felt like a long time, I went painstakingly down, feeling my way where others had traveled before me. Before long, my knees felt shaky again, and I would pause, breathe, look again at the everchanging view, before taking another step.
Eventually, I was back on the main path – I had barely noticed this little offshoot on the way up, and would never have thought to take it, but I was so grateful that it was there. I breathed a little deeper and continued on to camp. Later that evening, I sat under the oaks with scrub jays calling, and I wrote about what I’d learned from this hike:
I trusted myself and went slowly. Even while I was anxious, I knew I was going to end up safe and sound at camp. And I did it in my own careful, painstaking way that was right for my body.
I was willing to take a new path, cautiously but intuitively trusting those who went before me. I followed the path that unknown others had created, rather than stubbornly sticking with the more difficult but apparently “official” path.
It was not easy, but it was possible. I made it back to camp sweaty, weak in the knees, and ready for a rest. I made it AND it was hard. It had taken most of my energy and concentration, and by trying my best, I succeeded.
It was beautiful. Even while it was hard, even while I felt anxious, the tawny grasses rippled on the hillsides, the hawks and vultures soared, the vast blue ocean extended toward the horizon – it was beautiful.
I’m telling you now with certainty, this is how I will make it in the coming months: I will trust myself. I will let myself be surprised by new ways, and learn from my fellow students and co-workers. I will not expect it to be easy, only that it will be possible. I expect that it will take all of my hard work, all of my coping strategies, discipline, and flexibility…and that I will succeed. And it will be beautiful. There will be moments of pride in my work, moments of deep connection, moments of feeling inspired and growing. It will be beautiful.
The Wisdom and Guidance of the Natural World
I share this story for two reasons: the first is that if you, too, are on an uncertain journey, I hope you will take heart. You can do it. I think you can, and you probably know it too, deep down, deeper than fear.
The second reason is that this story shows the power of the natural world—our home, our inspiration, our teacher, and so much more. We can learn so much from being outdoors, paying attention, and being open to receiving. Robin Wall Kimmerer wrote, “Imagine the access we would have to different perspectives, the things we might see through other eyes, the wisdom that surrounds us. We don’t have to figure out everything by ourselves: there are intelligences other than our own, teachers all around us. Imagine how much less lonely the world would be.”
Perhaps you don’t have to imagine, perhaps you can just walk out the door and see what happens.
NATURE RESOURCES
You don't have to do it on your own... I want to offer some resources on building and deepening your connection with the natural world:
Intensive Course: I’ve released a brand new intensive course, available to members of the Flourish and Bloom platform– “Sit Spot: Cultivating Belonging.” Through video teachings, online lessons, and through your own outdoor practice, you’ll be inspired and supported to build a relationship with the outdoor community where you live. Start your monthly or annual Membership today – you’ll get immediate access to the Sit Spot course AND the full library of courses and meditations.
Self-Paced Learning: Explore the resource collection, “Connect with the Natural World” that I’ve curated on the Flourish and Bloom community platform. Access meditation recordings, little practices, essays, and more through the Free Sampler or Membership options.