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A couple of years ago, a dear friend and I did a “girl’s getaway” and drove to Arches National Park in Moab, Utah. If you’ve never been there, it’s a magical, other-worldly place. The park has over 2,000 natural stone arches and other not-to-be-believed rock formations.
There is one particular arch — Delicate Arch — that is one of the most photographed spots in the United States. I couldn’t wait to hike to see it. Because the trails get hot and crowded during the summer, we started our hike early, before sunrise. Our walk was eerily quiet and spectacularly beautiful.
But shortly after we began, I remembered something someone had told me about a section of the hike near the arch that was narrow, exposed (a sheer cliff to one side), and if the winds were up, treacherous.
This thought started to divert my attention from the magnificent surroundings. “What if I fall?” “What if the wind blows me off the ledge?” “What if there aren’t other people around to help?” “What if I get too nervous to make it to the arch and have to turn back?”
Needless to say, my mellow hike had gone downhill.
By the time I reached the “dangerous,” small section close to the arch, my legs were shaking, my heart racing and adrenaline was pumping throughout my body. The path was slanted toward the rock wall, away from the ledge and I promptly hugged the wall with each small step forward. I had to remind myself to breathe.
A few minutes later, I turned the corner and there it was, the Delicate Arch, in all of its glory. The reddish hues cast by the sun’s early rays were sublime. I was smitten. Relieved and smitten.
Now, fast-forward to yesterday.
Yesterday, since my husband, Jim had never been to Moab, we decided to take a trip. I knew he would love it and couldn’t wait to show him the park, particularly the Delicate Arch. I was confident I could do it because, despite my anxiety, I had done it once before.
Again, we set off early in the morning. Although the thought about the notorious stretch of trail popped up once in a while during our hike, I kept reminding myself of my previous accomplishment and continued to enjoy the hike.
When we arrived at the narrow stretch of trail, I was completely — and I mean completely — calm. In fact, I could have sworn that since I had been there last, park officials must have widened the path by several feet. (This, by the way, would have been an impossibility.) I kept wondering when the scary part was coming, but it never did.
My newfound serenity got me thinking. Same path, same person, no fear whatsoever. How was that possible?
It’s simple.
I know myself well. Facing uncertainty is my Achilles heel. I don’t like not knowing what’s in store for me. I always do better when I know what to expect.
For example, I breezed through my second C-section and my second shoulder replacement. First time around, not so much. When in uncharted territory, I scare myself to death. Once I know the ropes, I’m invincible.
But I recognize that my “need to know” is problematic. After all, life is filled with firsts.
Plus, I’m certain that one of the most important keys to happiness is making peace with uncertainty, finding ways to feel comfortable when our inner GPS’s go offline. We need to have faith that, no matter what, we will find our way.
What about you?
When the road ahead is obscured, do you get edgy? When you find yourself in a transitional period in your life- the time in between no longer and not yet- do you become obsessed with worrisome “What if” questions rather than imagine positive, comforting outcomes?
If you do, welcome to the club. My club.
But I take comfort in the words of Father Thomas Keating who once said, “Life is a journey into the unknown, and if you think you know where you’re going, you’re on the wrong road.”
