These past few months I’ve felt almost as if I am fading away, kind of like a morning mist on a mountain lake. I feel almost ethereal as if I am floating through life. A life that seems to have been placed on pause. Like I’m caught in place between life and death, without a firm foundation.
I’ve aged ten years in a few short months, or at least I feel that way. I’ve become more aware of my inevitable mortality and laser clear about what is important and the legacy I hope to leave behind for my beautiful daughters and their children.
I spoke with one of my best friends Saturday, and we laughed over a glass or two of wine via zoom. Chris and I had shared countless hiking adventure in the White Mountains and in those moments, I felt like I was the 47 year old newly single woman after an 18 year marriage ended. Speaking with Chris, my entire body remembered how we used to feel after a full day hike, driving home, the sun low on the green hills of New Hampshire, our hair and necks sweaty, and our voices still.
And that made me feel young. Where has that woman been hiding, I thought? The one who found solace on a trail.
I answered; “She is just holding on.”
I thought, well, hell I need to do better than hold on.
This pandemic presents us with an impossible situation, especially those of us with families scattered across the country or beginning new businesses, or celebrating big birthdays. The ability to rejoice in another day is challenging.
And so I made the decision to find my way into the woods this past Sunday. I hiked alone in the morning sunlight and pulled my heart towards this moment. The only moment that was certain.
The sound of my hiking boots across a hard-packed trail amongst the trees has never failed me. I found the foundation I was seeking. I began to feel I was taking form once again.