Descending the Mountain

Descending a mountain has its own challenges. One can run down or, if fearful of slipping on a loose stone or tree root, carefully wend one's way down the trail.

Without the imperative - accompanied by the adrenalin of anxiety - that one must reach the top no matter what, the way down can seem long and lonely.

When we are young, confident and idealistic, we are poised to achieve and climb the mountain of life. We look ahead at the vast expanse of possibilities and choose paths that will challenge and elicit our strengths. At times we fall and get bruised or become fearful and need encouragement. Nevertheless, garnering our strength, we press on.

Each of us has scaled mountains. At midlife we begin to look back at the path we've taken. There is a sense of wonder at the challenges we've overcome, the pain we've endured. We survey the vast expanse of life that surrounds us and feel comforted by the knowledge that we are just a small part of a much greater landscape.

At midlife we begin to choose our descent. It can be desolate and forlorn, or it can present new opportunities.

Note: The midlife dilemma has been described very eloquently by the psychiatrist, Dr. Allan Chinen, in his collection of fairy tales entitled Once Upon a Midlife. It is fun reading how the middle-age protagonists in these archetypal tales confront analogous choices as they embark on the remainder of their life's journey.

Back to my own story: I rose from my perch on top of the mountain and began my descent. Tired from climbing, I put away my guidebook and hurried behind a family of four, figuring I'd just follow them down.

My middle-aged knees ached and I leaned heavily on my walking staff. I could not keep up with the young family ahead of me. But the trail was easy to follow and I continued to lumber my way down.

At one point another family passed me. The young mother - everyone seemed younger than me - asked, "Are you alright, Ma'am?" and I defensively retorted, "Did you take the hard climb to the top?" When she replied she had I proudly said, "So did I!" Nevertheless I suddenly felt old and uncertain of my abilities.

How easily a well-meaning remark can puncture our balloon and deflate our self-image!

I reached the bottom of Bonticou Crag. Now I had only to return along the trail back to my car.

But I didn't stop to assess the route. Instead, with relief, I joined a group of middle-aged people who like me were returning from the top. I welcomed their company and allowed them to take charge of the route.

We lost our way.

We hiked a trail that took us back in a loop to where we had begun. By now I was both frustrated and exhausted. Instead of reassessing the route, however, I chose again to follow the leader of the group.

We ended the long hike by loping down an unmarked path that we could see ended at a road. We trudged along the road until we reached our cars in the parking lot.

In 20-20 hindsight I see that I had abandoned my solitary journey. I had chosen safety in numbers rather than rely on my own resources and intelligence.

It is difficult to forge one's own path in life. Doing so may necessitate deviating from the norm. It is the shortest way, however, to reach home.