I start watching  a documentary about the Appalachian Trail, to postpone a decision about Super Bowl parties. I wonder how often I went hiking last year and my immediate reaction? “Not often enough.”


Blue Ridges (straight from the camera)

I examine my priorities. Or I try to take a momentary snapshot, as they are constantly rearranging, like a kaleidoscope. This past year, the mountains were a smaller piece of the picture, edged out by others.

I examine my schedule. Prime hiking season is also prime wedding season, and those gorgeous mountain views have still been mine to take in, perhaps while driving to some idyllic location where I’ll celebrate for hours with well-dressed strangers.*

I examine my heart. How would I define enough? That word, when examined, could turn into a swirling vortex of discontent – “Is there ever enough?” It could also be a vague and ungracious weapon for self-judgment – “Am I ever going to be enough?”

Dear heart, don’t give weight to those questions. You already know the source of Enough.

And the mountains aren’t going anywhere.

*I climbed a private mountain quite a few times last summer, wearing sparkly silver flats instead of boots, and loaded down with cameras instead of water, hiking backwards at least once, capturing candid moments of father and son, bride and groom, brothers, sisters, friends.

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