A GIFT

ON A MAGNIFICENT SUNNY DAY LAST AUGUST, one which epitomized the beauty of summer in the North Carolina mountains, I hiked up one of Mt. Mitchell’s main trails to the summit. I had arrived there several times before by bike and a couple by car, but this was the first time powered by my own two feet. Mt. Mitchell is the crown of the Black Mountains and the highest point east of the Mississippi. With my 50th birthday a couple months away, I found myself magnetically drawn to this place. It was not the first time I would climb that majestic peak this fall.

While milling around among the crowds of people who had driven to the top, I spotted a side trail and started following it back down the mountain. As it meandered over the steep, rocky terrain away from the crowds, at some magical point I realized that not one of the beautiful sounds I was hearing was created by a human. I was still under that dense spruce-fir canopy, but this silence was opening up space all around me, and creating a deep feeling of relaxation and peace. Surely this experience had been available to me on the trek up, but I must have been too lost in my thoughts to notice. Sometimes it takes a while for nature to break us open to its beauty. In that moment I realized this peace was exactly what I had been craving all along.

I kept going. Soon I caught the faint, tantalizing sound of running water. Something said, “Go there.” I would have to venture off the trail to find it. And that’s exactly what I was going to do. The sound got louder as I crouched and pushed aside branches. Louder still. Finally, the woods opened, and my ears were filled with the glorious chaos of a majestic crashing waterfall. Soaked with sweat from 10 miles of hard hiking in the summer sun, I looked down and saw my clothes as a burden, the only remaining obstacle between my soul and the perfect alignment with nature I had been closing in on all day. I left them in a pile. I stepped carefully over large rocks, feeling the cold on my feet and the delightful squish of wet moss between my toes. Those rocks had existed for millions of years only to find their way to those exact spots. What similarly mysterious forces smoothed my rough edges and brought me here to notice them in this moment? I felt exhilaration as I slipped into that cold mountain stream.

One day I might try to find my way back to this spot, but I knew without a doubt that this moment was utterly unique in the universe—a gift, designed perfectly for me, and perfectly of this moment. And in that recognition I felt the question arise–what would my next 50 years be like if I listened whenever that voice inside says, quietly but unmistakably, “Go there”?