On a hike

I decided to do things differently this weekend.  I chose to focus on myself by going for a hike and in doing so I was going to war with myself.   You see there is a part of me that is all about change but there is an impudent child in me as well, a child who wants to maintain the status quo.  The result is an intra-psychic battle.

As I began the ascent to Lake Valhalla, I observed my thoughts, “Ugh.  This is hard today.  Maybe I should have stayed home.  Maybe Ben would have eventually wanted to go swimming or do something other than sitting in front a screen all day.  Perhaps I am a bad mother for leaving him at home.”  I listened but pushed on. 

Soon enough my heart had reached a steady cardio rhythm.  I found my stride and the status quo’s voice of negativity disappeared.  The noise distractions and interruptions of daily life had been shed like a child’s coat after returning home from school.  I was in flow, a moving meditation.   My body, mind and spirit were synchronized and at ease with the surrounding environment.  I experienced mental clarity and receptivity, the reason I hike.    

I remained in flow for some time until the voices of other hikers calling after their dog, Oscar, crept into my awareness.  We became traveling companions until at last our destination, Lake Valhalla, was reached.  I, seeking the solemnity of solitude to eat and to reflect and to write, took a separate path.

Alas, solemnity was not to be.  Though there were no humans in close range, there were the black flies.  I moved.  I swatted.  I swung my extra shirt like a horse swishing his tail.  I stood in the water.  I stood out of the water.  I ate. I didn’t eat.  Finally I took a new approach.  I sat on a log, closed my eyes and calmed my agitation.  I listened to the sound of insect wings whirring past my ears, some growing louder, others softer.  I felt the tickle as they alighted on my skin.  I observed myself.  I did not react.  I was willing.  Then one bit me.  That was it! 

I came to see that a seated reflection was not the purpose of this trip.  I was meant to move and so I did.  I moved to begin the return journey.   I had plans for that evening to get home to, plans I was looking forward to.  I allowed the thoughts of what was to come carry me down the trail and back to my car.  I moved swiftly over Stephen’s Pass, past the Iron Goat Trail and the town of Skykomish.  I checked my GPS for the estimated time of arrival at home.  “That couldn’t be right,” I told myself.  I sought another source of information and as I did, the traffic came to a halt.  I single line of brake lights stretched out in front of me and disappeared around a bend.  My heart sank and the voice of the status quo perked up with delight.  “I knew you shouldn’t have come out here on a Sunday!” it berated.  It called me stupid and what were you thinking, you should have known better.  I took a deep breath and this is what came to me - acceptance.  

The day had been an opportunity to accept life today as it was, with all of its imperfections, unrealized expectations, annoyances and changes of plans.  It was an opportunity to accept my powerlessness to change any of the circumstances of the day and an opportunity to accept myself, impudent child and all.  It was an opportunity to practice patience and to extend compassion to myself.  What I got to experience was love.