Summiting a mountain always fills me with exhilarating joy. I feel both powerful and capable, emotions that my everyday life has recently been lacking. Perched at the top of the world, I always try to pinpoint where my truck is parked. Usually, I try to do this without the help of a compass or Google Maps. I simply try to use my visceral sense of direction and intuition to guide my eyes.
Often, this method doesn’t work. Even though I drive a bright red Toyota Tacoma, the trees and revolutions of the land block it from sight. Nevertheless, the mental exercise of retracing one’s steps is invaluable.
While sitting on the very cliff edge of Blueberry Hill, we were able to locate the mountain our Airbnb cabin clung to, identify the street in Elizabethtown far below where the Family Dollar glistened, and gaze towards the summit we’d reach tomorrow on Hurricane Mountain.
As we pondered each of these three locations, and the space we now occupied, it occurred to me that I was looking both at my past, present, and future. I could see where I’d slept last night, and where I’d sleep tonight. I could see us picking out a movie later at the Redbox outside the Family Dollar, and I could see us driving up the windy, narrow dirt road to Hurricane Mountain tomorrow. From my perch in the present, where each second quickly slipped into the past, I could see the past and present spread out over the land.
