There was a lot of drama

I’ve traveled many times to the beautiful Southwest corner of Utah. Eastern Utah has been so close, and so far, since moving to Denver, but I finally made it there. Six days of hiking, in and around Moab, with 10 people who were strangers to me, plus two guides. What could go wrong? I guess anything, though nothing did. However, there was a lot of drama!

For me a hiking trip lasting more than a few days suspends me in time. Though I am certainly on the go, it’s like a pause button has been hit on the rest of my world.  It’s being fully present in a place that feels nothing like the present -maybe even millions of years past. This new landscape. This new routine. Even a new community of people quickly feels like home. How is that possible?

It has become far too easy to believe that we should be suspicious of others. We see it everywhere. There is division in our country, our culture, our neighborhoods and in our families. Isn’t it risky to leave your safe space and spend a week with strangers?  

I guess there is some risk. But it helps to remember that we are all unique humans managing the human experience. We don’t have to think the same as others. We don’t need to be of the same generation or race or gender. It’s not even necessary for friendships to seed. To keep it simple, maybe kindness and patience are the few ingredients needed for a group of strangers. And, in this case, adding a shared respect for the grand beauty of this earth is a great foundation for a wonderful adventure together. Maybe we just have to allow the ever-changing landscape to teach us.

We each descended into these canyons with the burden of our own personal obstacles. And there maybe we felt small in a way that allowed our fears and anxieties to shrink.  We paused under many arches with our own dreams and desires in our hearts. Perhaps there, as we tried to understand how it came to be, we felt inspired and hopeful for ourselves and our world.

We marched toward dozens of towers, holding tight to our own pain and secrets. And maybe there, gazing in awe upon this magnificent rock formation, we felt stronger and more balanced. We sat and rested on slickrock, this weathered sandstone, worn from our own grief and battle scars. And there, perhaps we began to see that letting go is not giving up, but rather a way to shape into another form more beautiful than the one before.

There was nothing subtle about this scene surrounding us. This landscape is a model of beginnings and endings. Birth and death. And oh yes, life and transition! It holds stories of transformation and of grief. It is expressive and theatrical. Nature heals. And nature teaches when we are willing to listen.

Though it wasn’t always spoken, I could see it in each person’s expressions – in the arms raised toward the rocks, and in the barely audible sounds of awe, that we were all beholden to its grandeur. We knew it already, but were reminded of it, and surely vowed in our own way, to not forget it. WE ARE BEHOLDEN to THIS EARTH.

I am ever grateful that I can find a place where the most profound drama isn’t in the people – it’s in the sky, the rocks, the shadows, and the silence.  

(Thank you to my fellow hikers for a week of perfection in Utah! Susan, Massey, Steven, Andrew, Chris, Jenna, Ruth, Susan, Kurt and Michael. And to our guides, Ashley and Jeff, who gave and taught more than I could have ever hoped for.)

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