The Mountains Remembered Me pt. 1

Losing yourself can look different from person to person, but the way you discover who you are once again is a feeling that is one and the same.

For the past few years, I’ve given myself the opportunity to escape to a place that provides me with the utmost sense of peace. A place that opened my eyes to the ever-evolving world around us—one that showed me the beauty of nature and the healing it can provide.

The great, colorful Colorado.

Not in the way most people might think, where you run away to enjoy the legal properties the state provides, but in a way that allows me to sit quietly in nature and experience the things that the concrete jungle simply can’t offer.

When I was planning this trip, there was something about it that felt like something new, yet somehow like something my body had been yearning for. Maybe it was because I was going a little earlier than I normally would in the year, or perhaps it was the fact that this would be the first time in a while that I would be taking this trip alone. All I knew was that whatever I was going to get out of this trip, it would provide my mind with something it desperately needed—something that could deeply awaken me once again.

“Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees”
-John Muir

The first wave hit me on the very first sunrise of the trip. Many people could look at a sunrise and see nothing more than the everyday glow on the horizon, but this one provided a more serene feeling deep inside. As I drove across the open plains of Texas, I continued to be in awe of the way the clouds met with the sun, like an everyday ritual of saying hello to one another.

I began speaking my thanks to all the amazing people who have crossed my path—the ones who are still around and the ones who have left. I gave thanks for all the opportunities that have presented themselves to me, and even for the lessons that have led me to this point.

The feeling filled my eyes with an overwhelming amount of tears, as if I had been holding onto them for so long just waiting for this moment of healing. Or maybe it was simply a reminder that everything that has happened has led me to this point. Lesson or not, life is something to be thankful for.

Arriving in Taos Valley, New Mexico, I only had one goal—to conquer the one mountain that had been able to defeat me.

Going back three years, I had the same mission: to summit Wheeler Peak, the highest point in the state of New Mexico. My previous attempt was filled with the same excitement of simply wanting to reach the clouds, but it was cut short by a plethora of obstacles. From the weather blasting me with rain in the early hours of the morning around 4 a.m., to my gear giving out on me because of the elevation, and especially the eyes glaring back at me in the darkness, that first attempt threw everything it had at me.

I arrived earlier than expected at the campsite I had stayed at previously. It’s a peaceful spot located right off the main road, without an ounce of service. All you can hear is the babbling brook right behind the space where your tent is set up. Once base camp was in place, I couldn’t help but feel like the peak was calling to me.

I had arrived early enough to summit before the sun went down, so I figured, why not now?

Packing up my bag, I began to feel some minor doubt slowly creep into my mind.

“You’re not ready for this,” it said, trying to convince me that if this mountain had defeated me once, it would defeat me again.

I was not about to let that thought win. I was sure of it.

Bag on my shoulders, a smile on my face, blue skies ahead, and nature all around me, today could not have been a more perfect day for me to summit Wheeler Peak. The trail was busy heading up, seeing as though all the people who had summited in the early morning were already heading down. Smiles spread across their faces as they passed me, knowing they had just completed something I simply could not on my first go-around. This filled me with even more excitement, knowing that in just a few short miles (4.3 to be exact) I would be feeling that same rush of happiness across my face.

Past Williams Lake, it was the last push to the peak. The trees swayed as I climbed higher up the mountain. A little too soon for them to change their leaves, but never too early for the scent of the pines to drift through the air. Wildlife was abundant with every step I took. I watched chipmunks collect anything that would help them get through the winter, while countless birds sang in the treetops above. It felt like every bit of nature was there to remind me that this was possible.

View of the Sangre De Cristos from Williams Lake

That was until I began to feel the hunger creep in.

I threw off my bag in search of a packed snack, only to find out that I had left it on the top of my car at the trailhead. Again, the doubt began to creep in—more so than before—telling me to turn back. But I had come so far, and I was not about to let my mind win.

Above the tree line now, the climb continued. The air began to thin, and a headache from the elevation was settling in nicely. I found myself taking breaks more frequently, not just because I was tired, but because I wanted the ability to see what I was not able to see the last time I attempted this hike. To be able to witness this with my own eyes was a gift in itself, and in that moment, I was thankful once more for this experience.

While taking a little break, I came across a small group of people laughing and simply enjoying life in nature. Toward the back of the group were two gentlemen taking the pace a bit slower. The leader of the two spoke to me, asking if I was a medic for his friend.

I apologized, telling him I was not, but that I could keep an eye on him if he would like.

Because of this, I was offered half a melon once we reached the summit—a deal I couldn’t pass up with the hunger that was growing inside my stomach.

Step by step and turn by turn, I continued to ascend toward the top of Wheeler Peak. Exhaustion struck me harder with every switchback toward the goal, but I wasn’t just pushing myself up this mountain anymore. I had a new friend to take on this challenge with.

His name was Victor, a man from Latvia—a place that never crosses your mind on a day-to-day basis. He spoke about how flat his country was compared to New Mexico and was shocked to find that Oklahoma was very similar in its flatness to Latvia.

Step by step, we encouraged one another to accomplish such a feat. Once we reached the saddle with the peak in sight, we rejoiced with excitement. Looking down at the view below us, we could see just how far we had come.

But it wasn’t over just yet.

We were greeted with gusts of wind that felt like the roar of a crowd cheering us on as we set foot on the highest point of New Mexico. Not an ounce of hunger or exhaustion could stop me from taking in the views for as far as the eye could see. A serious accomplishment that could only be met with the promised melon from the group that had taken me in to complete the same goal we had all come here for.

To them, this meant seeing the world from a different perspective that theirs simply couldn’t provide. But for me, this was more than just a hike. This was a reminder that I can take on any challenge ahead of me and still persevere. That I can fail one time and still come back stronger than before.

So, on that peak, I looked back, melon in hand, and was overwhelmed by a sense of accomplishment, knowing that this was just the beginning of returning to who I was.