Page 18 of The Love Hoax
“Best hike of our lives,” one of them espouses.
The words give me a boost of energy.
Ten minutes later, I’m working harder to keep up. There’s no one else around. It’s just the two of us.
Adam says, “We should reach the top within the hour and thenwe’ll need to turn around quickly so we’re back before sundown. We don’t want to be out here when it gets dark.”
He has barely broken a sweat. Since stopping for lunch, we’ve only spoken to point out nature. Wildflowers, a snake in the path, and the howl of a hopefully faraway creature. I appreciate the deference to the environment. Too much talking interferes with the pristine, almost spiritual surroundings.
I grunt my agreement, and we go on, the incline growing steeper as we go.
“We’re almost there,” Adam says.
Thank heavens.
My thighs are burning with each step. I glance at my app. “The peak is just around the bend,” I point.
A wave of heightened anticipation washes over me. As well as an unexpected need to commune with nature, alone. “Mind if I go ahead of you? I’d like to have a minute at the top.”
Adam nods, sagely. “Sure. I know what you mean.”
I go on until I reach the top, awestruck by the view. Careful to stay a safe distance from the edge, I do a three-sixty, taking in my surroundings. Mountains and cerulean blue skies as far as the eye can see. Alone at the summit, I whisper a thanks for the fortitude to complete the challenging hike on my fiftieth birthday.
I close my eyes and think about what I’ve accomplished in half a century. My kids, career, long-standing friendships. Divorce.
Did I make the right choices?
Not always.
I’ve had regrets. But as Frank Sinatra wisely sang, too few to mention.
My issue is more about the future, the unknown.
I’ve gone through the expected empty nest syndrome, spending the week after Jeffrey’s high school graduation, moping around the house, wondering what I would do with no one to care for. Wondering what else I was good for. For so long, my identity has beenmotherabove all else. The adjustment has been grueling.
But I’m trying. Following Sam’s lead, I signed up for a Spanish language class at the library and yoga at the community center on 92nd Street. Yet deep down, I know something is missing, like an itch I can’t scratch.
I inhale a lungful of clean mountain air. Up here on the precipice, I’m hit with an epiphany. I want something more than filling my newfound downtime. I want a start-over. A reboot.
I feel a deep sense of peace with the realization even as I understand it’s a vague one. But now I have direction. Which will surely come with potentially complex decisions.
For later.
For now, I’m grateful for all I have. For being alive on a mountaintop in Yosemite National Park.
I think of my yoga class back in Manhattan. The teacher often starts off with a mountain pose that flows to a bend at the waist and a pose of gratitude. A year ago I would have laughed at the granola mentality. But my doctor suggested yoga as a healthy way to alleviate my stress, and I quickly grew to love the practice.
No one else is around. I don’t need to worry how I look.
Eyes closed, I raise my arms above my head, then circle them wide and rapidly like a windmill, bending at the waist.
“Oomph!”
The grunt stuns me as I hit something hard. Nearly losing my balance, I pop open my eyes.
There’s Adam, lying on the ground, atop his backpack, one leg dangling off the edge of the cliff, the wind knocked out of him. If he moves even a foot, he will roll off.
“Oh my God! Get back!”
