The other day I went on a hike. It started at the top and we ran down to the bottom before struggling back up. I can freely admit it was a bit more than I'd expected, but by no means out of any amateur's league. A lot of people when they got back complained and shook their heads, but I wish they would bite their tongues. I guess it's different for everyone, but I enjoyed sliding on all the broken leaves, forgoing the necessities of a steady base or anything really built for safety because I felt like I was running to something. To something and for it. Like I was inexplicably drawn to something at the bottom, and ran with reckless abandon towards it. Of course there was no such thing when I got there, no special prize, no magic waiting. But I got a nice view of a waterfall, and started back up still feeling that pull, only now back up. Passing all the people I know leaning against trees to catch their breath, I drug myself back up the bluff and again found nothing new. Same life. Same me. But as I caught my breath on the rock wall, looking out at all the other mountains, the draw resurfaced. Although I haven't gone on any more hikes since then, I still feel that draw as clear as ever. For something waiting, something worth it. And it always feels so close.
But that's just me.
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