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.

Mountain Climbing

The boulders were huge. Fashioned by time and the elements, they stacked on one another like a huge, precarious mountain of Jenga blocks. Dare I try climbing to the top?

The trail had been fairly easy until now. Well-marked, with clear directions from my guidebook, I enjoyed a leisurely hike on a beautiful autumn day. Now it was time to make a decision. Should I take the roundabout route or ascend by climbing the mountain of boulders in front of me?

I could take the easier route, I reasoned to myself. I'd still be climbing and I'd feel safe. It wouldn't be scary. But then I won't know; I won't know if I could do it. I won't test my limits and stretch. I might feel safe but sorry.

So I approached this mountain in the same way I've met other challenges in my life. I took a deep breath and searched for trail markers. Then I looked at the boulder straight in front me, assessed how to mount it, lifted up my leg and began to climb.

About halfway I made the mistake of glancing down into the chasm left between two huge rocks resting at a 45 degree angle. I began to feel queasy, slightly nauseous and faint. Recognizing these signs of fear I quickly looked away, took some deep breaths and consciously relaxed while taking in the beautiful expanse of multicolored hills and mountaintops around me. I pressed on.

Why did I continue in the face of my terror? Why not turn back and descend, take the easier route around rather than up the mountain? What was I trying to prove?

I briefly asked myself these questions and knew there was no turning back. It was just as difficult to negotiate the rocks below me as those ahead, so I chose to continue.

There were few others on this climb. One group consisted of parents and their two young sons. I saw them near the top and could hear the parents' encouragement as the lads clambered up. What gives youth such enthusiasm and fearlessness? Was it ignorance of life and/or belief in themselves that endows them with such confidence?

Another group below were more similar to me, middle-aged and slower to ascend. One of the women was so terrified she began to cry and her husband needed to boost her up while calling out words of praise. In this instance, however, his words were not riding waves of natural confidence but trying to stem a tsunami of fear. She too continued to climb.

Each of us proceeded at our own pace and eventually scaled the ridge of Bonticou Crag. What joy! What a magnificent view! We congratulated each other as we relaxed on the mountaintop.

Next: The descent.

What's in a Name?

Every time you use my name
you remind me that I'm sane.
I count for someone
who recognizes me,
affirms what I think
is what you see.

Those who call me by a different name
(nerd, fatso, or stupid are a few)
don't realize the harm they do.
I hear those names in my head today
when the Critic echoes
what people say.

It's taken me years to hear a new voice
sing a new song
feel I belong.
It is only now I can truly say
I know who I am
I know my name.