The world is just so beautiful
- Ailie
Camping in Yosemite National Park requires strict use of the provided bear lockers, as bears are so prevalent food is not safe in your tent or car. I woke in the middle of the night to shouting somewhere nearby, accompanied by a loud banging on one such locker. What do you do when there is likely a bear nearby, attempting to taste some poor camper's meals? Get out and look at what is causing the commotion? No way. Lay awake with anxiety, worrying that the bear will come closer to your tent? No thanks - I had exploring to do the next day! I popped in earplugs and went back to sleep.
The next morning, I packed up my campsite, discovering with glee that the footprint for my tent was bone dry for the first time in days. Yes! An internal celebration ensued - amazing how quickly I had come to celebrate the smallest things in my day. I drove down into Yosemite Valley, stopping only once to appreciate the views before me, ready for a few hours of hiking before continuing on to Sacramento. The parking lot near the trailhead for Lower Yosemite Falls was nearly empty that morning, which would not be the case when I returned to my car hours later.
I followed signs to Lower Yosemite Falls, and by the time I reached the supposed falls I questioned whether I was on the right trail, as the rocks marked "falls" behind me had no evidence of water. California's drought had certainly taken its toll on the park. A sign identified Mirror Lake as only 3.5 miles away - the perfect distance for my morning hike - so I headed onward. For a while I wondered if I had chosen poorly, as my "hike" involved passing by residential areas, a lodge, and horse stables. After some time, the trail felt more remote, became a bit more rigorous and the atmosphere fell quiet. I reached Mirror Lake, another former body of water now cracked and dry. I paused at the edge of the lake, appreciating the glorious view of North Dome that rose before me (this view captured in the image featured on this post). I turned, and gasped out loud. A peaceful grove of cairns - rock sculptures that traditionally serve as memorials or landmarks - shared my view.
Earlier this summer, as my 5-year-old niece Ailie was exploring in her backyard with my dad (her grandpa), she sighed and mused "the world is just so beautiful". In this moment, as I stepped carefully up the steps and into a spiritual sanctuary of cairns in the glory of Yosemite Valley, I shared her sentiment. I was overwhelmed with emotion, gratitude, and wonder. I was meant to choose that path, to be there in that moment.
Growing up, my family would often visit a Buddhist temple - the Peace Pagoda - a temple up on a hill with a beautiful meditative garden surrounded by a lovely New England forest. On the hike up, we would see cairns lining the trail. Once, we built our own, six stones representing our family.
When the due date of my second child was approaching this past July, the waves of grief became to grow in both size and frequency. About a week before the due date, I joined friends on a camping trip along the North Shore of Lake Superior, while Ben was in the UP for a fishing trip. I spent a few hours early each morning hiking alone, finding a quiet spot to meditate and write in my journal. The second day, I built a small cairn along the riverbank, four small stones, representing my family: myself, Ben, and the two babies we have lost. The grief was still present, but in that moment I felt at peace.
Two months later, surrounded by cairns in Yosemite Valley, rock formations rising around us, I felt at peace once again. I carefully built a cairn for my family and left my four stones standing amongst memorials built by other visitors honoring their loved ones, my babies contributing to the beauty of this place, perhaps joined by other lost children. I wrote in my journal "my heart is happy."
After my hike, I departed the valley and headed toward Sacramento. My route out of Yosemite was a long descent of switchbacks and hairpin turns. Heading downward on a mountain road, I watched a helicopter flying by with a ball suspended below. A few moments later, it was back, the ball clearly filled with water, flying toward the smoke I now noticed in the distance.
My drive was extended an hour or two due to single-lane roads and road construction. When the terrain flattened and traffic picked up, I was driving on country roads with a ridiculous speed limit of 50 mph - you literally could not go any faster! I laughed, trying to keep up with the speed limit and not instigate road rage from the drivers behind me, slamming on my breaks for the regular change down to 10 mph for sharp curves. Twisting and turning, driving frantically over tickle belly hills, catching air on one, I felt woefully unqualified for these roads. Then, suddenly I was in the suburbs of Sacramento, in city-like traffic for the first time in almost a week.
I stayed with a friend that night, and we had dinner with a third member of our tribe. I met both of their babies: one eight months old, a beautiful blonde little cherub smiling and flirting with his chubby cheeks and big dimples, and the other a mere two weeks old, a tiny little peanut perfectly snuggled on his mom's chest. A few hours later, as I lay in bed ready to fall asleep, I smiled to myself, realizing something huge that happened that day. For the past two years, seeing families, especially those with young babies, hurt my heart. I couldn't untangle my own sadness and grief from the joy of others growing their families. But today, spending time with these women and their babies didn't cause me any pain. I felt no jealousy, no "I want that" or "I can't have that" feelings. I could feel myself learning to navigate in a world where others have beautiful children, and I do not, and may never have.
That night, I also felt gratitude for something else, something new. I was grateful that I could take this journey. That I didn't have a newborn. That the year I turned 30, I could do something amazing, something epic, just for myself. That this year, I could take the time to learn what it is I truly want out of life. Yes indeed, the world is just so beautiful. And I was uncovering that beauty bit by bit on this vision quest I was lucky enough to take.
