We live in the Adirondacks, it’s literally a twenty minute drive to what is arguably some of the world’s most beautiful terrain. I will own not getting out there nearly enough, which then entitles me to gloat, gloat, gloat about having mustered the wherewithal to pack up all the accoutrements necessary for hiking when you have two kids in diapers, a dog and a husband who gets very bear like when his blood sugar dips below a certain level, and head to the mountain, Buck Mountain to be exact.
It’s a place Sean and I have hiked often, first as an escape from the blistering, back busting Williamstown years, later with dear friends on New Year’s morning pre-kids and marriage, and finally it has been a place that has never failed to bring us back to knowing this:
I’ve said it before, you can choose happiness, and, being lucky enough to know where I consistently find happiness, I did. And do. Sunday we made it out to the trails that free us of our burdens, awakening a carefree spirit that doesn’t dwell or mope, we walked taller and smiled brighter. The girls on our shoulders and chests, holding our hands and running ahead, devoured every minute of the wild adventure. Together we chirped at birds, squawked at squirrels and talked about shadows and moss, the mountain and the sky. They scampered and squealed, and served as a reflection of our own joy, and passion. It was one of those moments, relevant to anyone with a heart beat, that lets you know that at a particular moment in time you are doing exactly whay you were meant to be doing.
It was hard, it was inconvenient, but damnit it was the best thing. And typing this today, I am able to feel again the enormity of letting go and simply being. You may not have the Adirondacks, but you’ve got something.
Just enjoy being.