FOUND on the MOUNTAIN

It seems I always meet myself on the mountain, or at least encounter another layer of questions I have yet to answer.

Perhaps that’s what fear does to you, strips away the version you’d like to present to the world and asks if you can accept yourself as you truly are. 

This time it was Camelback, an iconic hike in the desert sun of Phoenix, Arizona. My hiking app stated the difficulty as ‘hard,’ the sign at the base of the trail warned, ’VERY HARD.’

The guy at the resort was confident I could do it. Friends back home had encouraged me, too. Perhaps neither factored in my strong desire to live coupled with an even stronger fear of heights.

Touted as one of the nation’s top hiking destinations, Camelback attracts visitors from around the world. It’s also the site of dozens of air rescues annually, complete with a helicopter pad on each side of the peak.

The first hour of the hike was challenging, but I conquered every rocky step.

Until I failed.

At the base of the final ascent I stared up at a wall of ascending boulders - the hike was now a climb. With no true path to be seen, blue markers guided the ascent as if loosely directing brave ones to head toward this boulder and then reach toward that one. I now understood the trailhead sign - mistakes could be met with painful results. 

Breathing deeply I scrambled up the first series of large boulders, only to find myself staring at a rock edge that would require a reach above my shoulders. I could choose to press my body against the mountain and will myself up, but how I would ever get back down?

And so I surrendered.

Stopped my ascent of the mountain.

Waited as my son and husband continued to the top.

I found a small shaded escape on the side of the path and spent fifty minutes staring at the Arizona skyline. I sat alone, caught off-guard by one stark realization.

I did not feel ashamed.

This surprised me. My inner critic is often mean and terribly loud.

But I was not ashamed.

I had made it so far and few who passed as I waited could have begun to understand the fear I had overcome. Few would know how many steps I had taken past my breaking point.

I was not ashamed. I was proud.

And I was reminded of life. How we often have such lofty goals and extend so little grace when we do not meet them. How we look only to where we have failed to go, while completely disregarding how far we’ve actually come.

How many mountains have you failed to climb? But how many steps have you already taken?

I was surprised by that girl on the mountain, that shame and failure didn’t attempt to find their place in her that day. Perhaps she is healing a few things, after all.

Perhaps we all can.