I found something in the forest that I once lost. It was hanging on spider silk and dripping with the sun. It was tucked into the palm of a young leaf. It was a secret shared between birds that somehow, I understood perfectly. Urgently. I walked and I walked. Impossibly, I understood more and deeper.
I’ve come here troubled and desperate; I’ve come brimming with joy. I have come searching intensely for things I can’t name, and on days when I’ve wanted for nothing. The ocean has never given me bad advice. “Keep going,” it says as it reaches for my ankles and turns eleven new kinds of blue in the distance, “Keep on.”
My 61-year-old body is different from my 35-year-old body. I never used to feel wobbly with heights, but I am now (despite the fact that I am getting my pilot’s license). Has my inner ear changed? My vision? Well, whatever it is, my new reality is such that a narrow path, a steep cliff to one side, and rumbly scree everywhere put doubt right in front of me on this day. Doubt is clever. Doubt can be convincing.
