Here in Sedona, there are several hiking trails within a few hundred yards of the Airbnb where I’m staying. After having a large breakfast, I walked the mile back from the diner to my place and contemplated the idea of taking a daily walk – how nice it would be to be able to walk out the back door and into the wilderness for a one-hour hike or walk on most days. Thinking of this, I was reminded of the poet Mary Oliver. She was known to take a walk every morning during which she would write down ideas and thoughts that came to her.
On my way back to the house, I grabbed my hiking shoes out of the car, changed clothes, filled a water bottle, checked the map on my phone, and walked out the door for short (three hour hike). There was a time in my life when I hiked more often and took it more seriously – perhaps too seriously. I seldom did hikes that were shorter than four hours, and I pretty much refused to do hikes that didn’t have a climb and a view. Quite often, (especially if I’m planning an excursion) I still find myself in that mode of thinking. I don’t want to spend more time in the car going to and from than I spend on the actual hike. I still tend towards longer hikes. I still find myself weighing the pros and cons of the experience – wondering if the payoff will be worth it. It’s a mindset that I’m trying to break free from. For much of this trip, I’ve been trying to cultivate a new mindset: abandon having a purpose, abandon expectations, abandon preconceived notions and old ways of thinking, and recognize all experiences as having the possibility of joy and wonder.
Today’s hike did not disappoint.
If anything, the fact that it wasn’t going to take up my entire day was quite appealing. I wanted to come back and have coffee in the afternoon sun and write or read or nap or loaf about.
As I climbed a pretty steep mountain, I realized I’m not the thrill-seeker I once was (not that I was ever an adrenaline junkie). I recognized that I was feeling more nervous about slipping and falling than I was feeling excited about the climb and the summit. In my defense, it may have been the steepest climb I’ve done (though that’s probably a combination of bad memory and a fragile ego), and the footing was quite loose (lost of loose gravel and sand). All the while, I couldn’t shake this sense that in my younger days, I’d have been brash and unshaken in my climb. At more than one point, I stopped and thought – this is high enough and I could sense that I was more worried about getting down than I was about what awesomeness might lie ahead. For much of the climb, especially the steep or narrow parts or anytime I thought about the height, I had a nervous tingling in my groin (and not in a good way). At the top, I again felt nervous. Despite being on solid and wide ground, I felt like a good wind my make me lose my balance.
Hiking through the red dust, I thought about Oliver’s daily walks. I wondered if scenery like this would become normal or less all-caps AMAZING. I also thought about my changing views on hikes and climbs and vistas and logging miles (especially after the climb). While I am completely mesmerized by the landscape, I began to wonder if the WOW factor is a distraction. It’s almost as if this spectacular visual assault is too much to process in order to really appreciate it. I suppose that’s true of most things in life (relationships, geography, vacations). The work is in paying attention to the details and finding wonder after the newness and wowness has worn off.
For much of my time on the trails today, I practiced paying attention… but was also working towards the realization that I might prefer a slower, more low key hike now. I was also concluding that given the choice between a daredevil, high adrenaline activity like rock climbing and a day walking through the woods for a bit and then chilling at a cafe (or visiting a museum and walking around the city), I don’t think I’d choose the daredevil activity – it just doesn’t seem to be my pace and I don’t feel like I need that in my life.
I ended the day by visiting a stupa a few blocks from my place. There I learned about the stupa, meditated for a moment, and worked on coming up with a mantra to repeat as a walking meditation. At first, my thinking was along the lines of a prayer (grant health and well being to those I love, those I’ve hurt, and those who have hurt me). But instead I settled on repeating the words “continued compassion and understanding.” As I left the site and walked back to my place – the words got stuck in my head. I kept thinking them – over and over. Later, as I drove to a spot near the airport to catch one of the famous Sedona sunsets, I found myself in a sea of people all there to catch a sunset (probably over 100 people had come this spot). This is when I added the word grace to my mantra. Continued compassion, understanding, and grace.
