Adventures in Life: Mt. Evans

This weekend, we packed up the family for a little local roadtrip up one of Colorado's grand 14'ers accessible by car. In our Colorado life BB (before babies) we never took the opportunity to ease up such heights behind the wheel, preferring the challenge of tackling the record peaks on foot so we could stand at the top, pumping our fists in the air Rocky-style, basking in the sense of accomplishment that comes from putting your body through physical pain for the sake of a great view and staking a proverbial flag on the top of the world. Of course there were always hikers who humbled such accomplishments like the sinewy mountain man running up and down the same peaks, making light of our physical duress. Or the 4-year-old who proudly announced without a hint of shortness of breath at one oxygenless top that this was her 5th 14'er. Now days we drive guilt free, toddlers safely nestled in their car seat, feeling accomplished that we escaped the house in favor of exploring our neighborhood. The kids were less impressed by the dramatic scenery then their parents, but took the opportunity of a few hours in the car and lack of oxygen to take a nice Sunday morning nap.

On a bright sunny day, the scenery was astounding. Around every curve a new dramatic vista opened up, as we climbed higher and higher into the sky. Wildflowers dotted the roadside and sprinkled the mountain with color, impressing us with their high-altitude fortitude. The higher we climbed, the lower temperatures sank leaving a chill on the breeze blowing in the windows. Permafrost leaves the air crisp and clean, high above the pollution and noise of the world.

I was also reminded of a recurrent nightmare I have. In this dream I am driving along a winding mountain pass on a narrow road with no guide rails. In my dream the view is beautiful, but I am fighting anxiety as I realize I have no breaks and the road keeps getting more and more narrow. Eventually the road thins to a footpath and then into nothing and my car goes careening off a cliff and sailing through the air. Usually I wake up heart-racing before my car lands in a fiery crash. I haven't had said dream in a while, but this particular drive awakened countless nightmare-filled nights, and I was struck a little panicky as the narrow road SANS guardrails wound higher and higher into the clouds. Normally not a fraidy-cat about much, I found myself hiding my face in my sleeve (much to Patrick's amusement) on a few turns when I was sure that the brakes would fail and we'd be careening off the next turn turning my nightmares into an ironic foreshadowing for our bitter end. But like most anxiety, it was for naught as Patrick guided our car safely to the tip-top of the mountain.

The view from the peak was incredible, the breeze wintery cold, the oxygen thin in supply leaving us breathless with even a relaxed stroll.

From such a grand apex, looking out at all the peaks of lesser altitude stretching out into the dusty blue horizon, I always have the "grain of sand" feeling. I relish such moments when witness to just how huge and incredibly beautiful the world is we live in. I feel intensely spiritual and calm when reminded through such a vantage point that we are a piece in a very connected, very living, very vibrant world, yet only one small piece. There is something grounding about being reminded of the vastness of our world and that the frets and worries, the time-wasting anxieties we fill our moments with (that keep us from enjoying the view) are petty in the grand scheme of things.

As we settle into our life in Colorado, creating more permanence to our position by securing jobs and looking into daycare options, I have struggled with feelings of loss of a place and way of life we weren't quite ready to move on from. Most days here feel instead like a vacation of sorts since we are still in a period pre-job, pre-schedule. I can conveniently forget that at the end of this vacation, we aren't returning to Haiti. Such thoughts keep me from completely investing in the life we are in now, from letting it be as much of a teacher as chapters before have been. Standing on Mt. Evan's summit, I was jolted into the present, into the incredible life we STILL continue to live, into perspective. I was reminded of the opportunities that lie before us, ready to be recognized and seized, appreciated, learned from. The road we are on doesn't have to be narrowed with restrictions, but can open up a journey with new vistas leading us to places we need to go. Haiti doesn't have to be a chapter closed but an important road ventured. We braved the path and now we know the way. More often than not risking a hair-raising venture is worth the perspective at the end.