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| Okic Castle -- the way up was a bit steep |
I find the act of hiking requires a level of concentration unlike that of simple walking. Instead of getting completely lost in my own thoughts as I often do when out for my daily stroll, these hikes forced me to pay attention to the path ahead. My mind and body had to work together--to judge where it was best to place my foot, to determine the right pace so as not to run into the person ahead of me or not to trip up the person behind me, to coerce my tired legs to go that little bit further when their strength began to flag. For some it may be easy to slip into a routine that allows their minds to wander, and at times I was able to divide my attention, looking at the glorious scenery that surrounded and absorbing the fact that yes, indeed, I was thousands of miles away from home climbing a mountain (or mountains) so unlike anything that Kansas City has to offer. But if my thoughts lingered a bit too long from the trail, all it took was a slight slip of the foot or a low-lying tree branch to jolt me back to my focus. And that is a good thing. Too often, I found my thoughts slipping back to things I had wanted to leave behind, even for a little while. So banging my head on a tree was a very physical manifestation of that figurative slap to the face we all sometimes need to remind us what we should be paying attention to. (yes, I really did run into a tree...) Hiking allows me one of the rare opportunities to live fully in the present, to enjoy the fact that I am capable of climbing those steep paths that take me onward and upward to a goal that does not have any more reward than that of personal satisfaction.
And what a wonderful feeling it is to reach the top. My first great moment of clarity occurred on the second full day of the tour when we reached the top of a mountain (sadly, the name eludes me at this point) after a steady, extremely steep climb up. As I first glimpsed the expanse of rolling mountains and valleys, miniature houses dotting the landscape, I was breathless. (Few things elicit such a reaction from me like that anymore--I have become rather jaded as I have gotten older.) For the first few minutes, I just stood and stared, understanding that this is why I had decided that--of all the kinds of vacations I could have taken--this was the right one for me. A small bubble of giddiness worked its way up, and I swear I had the dopiest smile on my face, but I didn't really care. I was happy. Not the kind of happy that flickers away just as quickly as it appears. No, this was a feeling that would endure, resurfacing several times throughout the trip (like when reaching the peak of Mt. Risnjak after fighting gusty winds and slick rocks or when enjoying something as simple as fresh cherries and wild strawberries on the way up Mt. Učka). It is something very personal and difficult to articulate, but it very much ran along the lines of "holy freaking cow, I am in Croatia." (I really do think in phrases like that :))
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| View from above |
What was even more significant for me this time around were the climbs down. Any of you who have traveled with me in the past and have gone on the trails know how much I abhor winding my way back down. I hate to admit that more often than not, I spent a good deal of time sliding down mountains rather than walking down them. The memories of the bruises and the wounded ego resonated loudly each time we began a descent. I refused to say anything about my (irrational) fear most likely out of pride, but I felt that each step I took down was fraught with hesitance, and I truly appreciated the times where I dropped to the back. (I am not sure if my fellow travelers noticed this, but I usually don't do a good job masking my emotions...) Yet, I survived. And I might add, without any bruises. I still hate the idea of climbing down, but I recognize now that perhaps it isn't as scary as I make it out to be in my head. And, I shouldn't let my anxiety about what has yet to happen (or what may never happen) mitigate the enjoyment of the present moment. Initially, I dreaded the climb down so much, I forgot to take notice of what climbing up availed. (Do you see a theme developing here? Am I being too obvious in advocating a "live-in-the-moment" kind of philosophy?)
All this is easier said than done. It is simple to live life to the fullest when you are gallivanting across the countryside. Mired in the day-to-day grind of regular life, distractions obscure our focus, and we become preoccupied with what has been and what might be. (Or so it has been my experience.) Is it too idealistic of me to think that there has to be a way in which I can harness some of the peace I discovered hiking without having to travel thousands of miles to do it? Perhaps. But I have to believe that life should be filled with more of those enduring moments of giddiness than not. If so, then I definitely have to work out that balance because something is currently way off. Have you ever had an epiphany where it became crystal clear that something just wasn't right? If so, what did you do to resolve it? (I am at the recognition phase of the whole process, if you have not gathered it yet. The resolution is still very much in the works.)
