The fearless float begins!
I don’t think it’s anything mystical, but it’s not procrastination, either. Sometimes I experience something so… perfect… that I just can’t write about it right away. It was that way after I hiked the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu in Peru with Jim and Corey for my 50th birthday. The words just. weren’t. there.
After kayaking 102 miles in late April through Utah’s Canyonlands on the Green River to the Colorado River, it was the same. I was speechless. Oh sure if you asked me about it, my eyes would begin to glow and I’d race to pull up a few desperate images on my cell phone, but the majesty… the sheer perfection of it all? It has stayed reverent and silent.
Sitting at my laptop time and again, I began trying to corral the joy, the beauty, the serenity, the adventure. But nope. Delete, delete, delete. Words felt absurd.
Of course, if you’re pondering a trip down the Green, you’ll want me to press beyond the obvious beauty and get to the logistics: How did we get boats? Gear and food for six nights of primitive camping? Get it all to fit? Were we safe self guiding? Did it break the bank? Was it scary?! Those details are simple and other people’s accounts sure helped me gain courage as we were planning our own trip.
Actually it was planned by Jim and his buddy, Scott. (OK truth… it was planned by them FOR them and, when I realized where they were going, I added myself. Ha) We flew on Southwest Airlines (no change or baggage fees are a big deal) into Salt Lake City, Utah, and rented a car. Those were our greatest expenses and watching for deals helped. We went with Tex’s Riverways, a Moab adventure outfitter, to rent two sea kayaks (watertight storage compartments are a necessity) and a canoe. They also provided a portable toilet (no solid waste can be left behind) and dry bags for an additional fee. Scott, who manned the canoe, says he wished he’d also rented a comfortable seat for it. (We didn’t realize that was an option until we met other paddlers halfway downstream.) Having the canoe made a massive difference in the amount of food, water and gear we could take.
We are active outdoors, so already own basic camping gear like a tent, folding chairs, cookware and compressible solar lanterns, but we added certain items I now swear by. Scott brought a Yeti mug that kept tea hot and heavenly (and somehow became mine). His propane-powered cook stove was tiny and efficient. (Noodle soup and various freeze-dried meals have never tasted so good.) Perhaps most importantly he brought a GPS that helped us track our progress perfectly; this was important as we sought campsites. We slept comfortably on self-inflating air pads and warmly in 20-degree sleeping bags scored during an REI garage sale. (They happen quarterly and have insane discounts!) Body heat makes a big difference on cold nights, so my husband and I made certain our bags would compatibly zip together. I also ordered something on Amazon called a pStyle, which is basically a short plastic funnel that lets girls pee standing up. Hosanna, how did I never know this existed?! Ladies… game. changer!! (It has a discreet carrying case in case you’re taking it to concerts, gross public toilets, etc. You get the idea.) We also packed in wet wipes, since showers would have to wait until the end of the week. That water was COLD!
We packed minimally for the seven days: comfy clothes and flip flops for camp, water-resistant pants, dry-fit shirts and Keen water sandals on the water. We also packed hiking pants, thermal wear, wool socks and knit caps, though temps never dipped below 45. Still, nights beside water can get chilly. I was grateful in the mornings that I had a hooded jacket and pants, which I shed as the day warmed. We learned to launch early to avoid midday winds, which can really slow your progress. I get cold easily, so it was a tremendous relief that I stayed very comfortable throughout the week.
So those are the basics. At no point did I feel this float was something any average kayaker couldn’t handle. Tex’s dropped us off at Ruby Ranch, a sliver of private property that allows kayakers to launch for a $10 fee. Early snow melt meant water levels were high enough to cover many of the sand beaches and that is one of the things that had worried me. Where would we camp each night and would it be a challenging burden? I soon found the upside was that we also had a swift enough current (never remotely approaching something so swift as rapids, mind you — I’m talking 3 mph) that minimal paddling enabled us to easily reach our daily goal of 16 miles in about three hours. That meant lots of time for hiking around camp and relaxing.
The outfitter provided us with a list of coordinates for potential campsites, with the caution that other boaters may beat us to them. Honestly that was never a problem; we only saw a dozen other people the entire week and finding a gorgeous spot to sleep was never an issue. In fact, they were dream campsites! Imagine leisurely hiking through canyons after pitching camp, then watching the sun set across the drift of gentle waters, soaring walls rising around you in every direction.
Several nights I got up in the wee hours to check the sky and HOLY COW raced inside the tent to grab my tripod and camera. The Milky Way was stunning and lazily draping across our camp! I’ll never forget it! Sunrises were breathtaking, too, and somehow huddling around our little Jetboil camp stove to make coffee and oatmeal each morning was perfection. (We weren’t huddling because we were cold… somehow huddling is just what you do when coffee is promised. Ha. Seriously I took gloves and don’t think I ever used them!)
I meant to take notes of our journey so I could recap the best spots, but I failed to make that happen. Still I HAVE to describe what felt like the most remarkable day! We had been told to watch for the “saddle,” a canyon wall that would appear on our right. It’s actually part of BowKnot Bend, a nine-mile stretch of river that wraps back upon itself, passing on its return just a few hundred yards away. It’s possible to climb to the top and perch atop the saddle to view both stretches of the river at once.
We didn’t see a trail as we first passed it, so completed the loop and set up camp on the other side without spying a trail there, either. I kept gazing up, and there was plenty of evidence that a trail existed, but it seemed that perhaps a rock slide had made it unreachable. As Scott hung out at camp and Jim wandered around, I decided I’d go a little closer… and then closer… making my way up, up, up, step by step, knowing what I was doing could be foolish and even dangerous.
When I finally spotted a cairn, a stack of rocks placed as a directional arrow by some previous hiker, I got excited… I was on the right track! A path began to take shape and I desperately looked down hoping to see Jim and wave him up. Then, as I rounded a rock, there he was. He’d done the exact same (foolhardy) thing, climbing up a different route! Ha. Together we made our way to the saddle and waved victoriously to Scott from the tip top. Even from that distance, I knew he was shaking his head. The view was magnificent!
After six leisurely (and heavenly) days, Scott, Jim and I linked boats to drift across the Confluence where the Green River and Colorado River intersect. You had to know from GPS that it was there, because barely a ripple tipped you off. Still, we had silly fun toasting and celebrating our grand achievement. In just another mile or so, we reached our takeout at Spanish Bottom. It was bittersweet and felt a little jarring, since the banks were filled with other boaters awaiting jet-boat pickup. They were some of the first people we’d seen all week and, to tell the truth, I hadn’t missed them.
The swift ride back up the Colorado River was cold and took about an hour and a half, so Jim and I were huddled under my sleeping bag while Scott sat miserably without one. Fortunately he makes friends easily and someone shared. (That is a story in itself, haha.)
The trip is one that I absolutely want to repeat… often. Annually would be nice! It was wonderful how life slowed down and Life took over!
Our first campsite was beautiful – but sandy. Scott woke up covered from head to toe… inside his tent.
Jim and Scott plot the GPS stops… just before letting my camp chair blow away into the middle of the rushing river. Buh bye on Day 1!
Jim atop the Saddle!
Sitting atop BowKnot Bend on the saddle is one of my favorite memories!
On our way down from the saddle… don’t be deceived if this image looks simple to capture. Took many tries lol
Beautiful sunset – though I dreamed of a storm ripping us into the current. Haha
Perfection!
Did I mention leisurely?
The first explorers dubbed this the Cross… but actually when you get closer you realize it’s two separate formations.
Best backyard ever! Well except for our cabin at home…
Loading up for another day on the water
Two amigos
One happy girl!
Jim’s nap spot was kinda nice.
Such a cool campsite that I talked the guys into staying two nights at this one… made up the distance the next day! See our tent… and me tiny on the shore? Jim climbed the ridge to take this photo.
Preparing lunch before moving on to a different site to camp. Not every first choice was perfect… but close.
No shower… no makeup… no worries!
A Milky Way night… before I learned the right settings to capture it. No Internet for Googling!
We made it to the Confluence!!
The jet boat took us up another route, along the Colorado, to return us to the outfitter and our car. Remarkable week on the water!!
[Google images/National Geographic]
It has been awhile since I’ve felt this giddy. Yep, I’m on the cusp of another adventure! This one is multi tiered!
In a few hours, Jim and I will fly to Utah and join a friend to carefully pack three touring kayaks with enough gear, food, water and clothing to exist for six remote days while floating and camping 100 miles along Utah’s famed Green River. I honestly have no clue whether it will be awesome or horrendously exhausting and cold. Ha! Isn’t it fun to not always have the answers to every little uncertainty in Life?
Oh trust me, I’ve done my investigative homework. I know the temps will often sink near freezing during the canyon nights but climb to the 80s on sunny days. It will be cold… and oh I hate the cold… when we crawl from our sleeping bags and tents each morning; I have no doubt that we will be brutally sore and not so crazy about beginning another day of cramming gear and paddling before the sun has properly risen. If we wait, however, the winds rise and the going will be tougher, so best to tackle the waters during the blissful morning calm.
Still… discomfort aside… imagine the splendor of dipping your paddle in the calm currents of the Green with red rock canyons careening around you!! Day after day!! Sleeping under wildly star-filled skies night after night!
(Haha who puts this image on the cover of a river map guide?!) See? I was nervous for a second there and now I’m just giddy, again!
When the week ends, my adventure doesn’t.
Those who know me well know that for years I’ve talked of the insistent urge I feel at times to head west alone to the canyons and red rock valleys. It’s no secret that for several years I’ve kept a blanket and pillow stowed in the back of my Jeep, just in case. I don’t just want to go… I crave it.
If you don’t know exactly what I mean, because you haven’t felt the same primal longing to go somewhere, experience something despite all logic against it, forgive what must seem to be irresponsible ravings.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m not asking for approval. Every person reaches a time where responding to their inner wisdom is the most important and vital thing they can do.
So for two weeks, I’ll be traveling around Utah, breathing deeply and smiling broadly. I’ll have my hiking sandals, map, car mattress and camera. I know myself well enough to know I’ll be lonely at times, but also that my days will be spent soulfully beaming. I’ll have my watercolors with me to try to express the creativity nature will inspire.
The timing seems providential. When I return, we’ll be attending the high school graduations of a group of students we’ve been pacing alongside since they were in kindergarten. In a few months, we’ll be at our son’s college graduation. I’m proudly watching, too, as our daughter, who is a social worker, is making exciting, courageous decisions about her own career and future.
I guess as they go forward, I want them always to be able to look at me and see someone who is not without fear, but is not driven by it. I want them to always turn their faces toward Life and eagerly embrace what’s there to discover.
Even if you’re kinda sorta afraid you’ll fail or stumble figuring out where to go, how to get there, what to do when you arrive… and you’ll surely screw up in some ways, wildly succeed in others… what is absolutely certain is that you’ll be oh so glad you tried.
Ever mull something while asleep? When I woke up this morning, I realized I’d been pondering most of the night. It’s hard, in our culture, to understand theirs. If you want to sorta kinda slightly approach fathoming what some Haitians are experiencing… right this moment… imagine. Imagine what we are living, but from their first experience. There’s a massive storm approaching… no one calls it a monster, exactly, but you realize it’s gonna be bad. You consider your options and literally there are none. If you move from the tiny spot you’ve carved out as your own, it will be usurped. Everything you own will be taken and your shelter and livelihood will vanish. You decide it’s better to stay; you’ve survived worse, right? Even if you desperately want to leave, there. is. nowhere. to. go. Ok but wait, we’re imagining this as us, so there are resources. We can lock our homes, batten down the hatches thanks to a quick run to Home Depot, evacuate in torturously long traffic in our, darn it, just-washed SUVs. Only think now, think if you’re stuck and can’t leave. Maybe you’ve been camping and you’re stranded, with nearly no news or wifi… and the monster hits. It redefines what you knew to be horror. What begins as a heavy rainstorm shifts to a surge and then you watch, feel the world upend. I can’t even pretend to conceive the terror I’d feel if my children were ripped from my arms by raging torrents of debris-filled sea waters. The desperation to move myself and the frail and the terrified to higher ground, though it was too late and the “higher ground” was mudsliding down a mountain back toward me. In it is all I hold dear.
I’m truly not trying to sensationalize. Every bit of this has happened to them this week, but what follows is surely worse. Imagine we survive… and then nothing. The occasional murmur of a plane, perhaps. (Thank you, Michael Broyles, a friend who the moment skies permitted lifted his plane for reconnaissance. It wasn’t without its dangers, but his images shed first light for so many of us!)
Imagine no rescue, no outside acknowledgement that we’re alive. Forget hours, I mean days. Many are racing, doing all they can to reach you, but you can’t see them. The roads are devastated and impassable, shelter is nonexistent, food and clean water… none.
Today is Friday and thus far no word has reached us of the plight of Kalapa, a community our student team served this summer in southwest Haiti. It has been unreachable… so no matter what they managed to survive, there has been no one to doctor, feed or comfort them since Monday night. The “campground,” if you will, is a total loss… only it’s the only home they have. The same is true for many more villages. I haven’t slept knowing they’re still in danger and I know the same is true for my humanitarian friends, especially the precious students who joined us in Haiti these past two summers. Their eyes are opened, hearts enlarged; they totally get it. The pain agony of wanting to rescue and comfort friends we love is real.
My heartfelt prayers go out to those in our southern states the next few days. Be safe! The predictions are dire and even all the resources at our disposal won’t guarantee safety if you stay and are vulnerable. As for those a bit farther to the south, just two hours from our own shores, my heart is with you… hold on. Help is on its way!!
July 27, 2013
So the bucket list hike begins tomorrow and I feel as though I could write a book about all the emotions careening through me. I’ve worked myself into a bit of a tizzy of anxiety, because it’s going to test my physical limits AND be freezing each night. I don’t feel prepared—and yet I’m as prepared as I’ll ever be.
I’ve read countless bloggers who trekked the Inca trail to Machu Picchu and most agree that it’s stop-on-the-trail-and-cry difficult at times—and all say they did, in fact, eventually finish and that it was worth it. Knowing that I will wish I could quit—hourly—leaves me anxious. Knowing temps will drop to freezing in our tent atop the Andes Mountains in the midst of winter mortifies me. Knowing it all seems ultimately doable despite my intense discomfort and lack of athleticism comforts me.
So that’s me today: scared and excited.
If I never step out of my cushy comfort zone and go toward my dreams despite fear, I’ll miss out on some of Life’s BEST.
Ready or not, here I come…
August 12, 2013
It has been over a week since we returned from hiking in Peru and I have not been able to write a word.
Not. one. word.
Somehow it feels writing about it will diminish the size of those gargantuan mountains and the breathtaking beauty of what we saw and experienced there.
Yes, I felt faint when I looked at them and it wasn’t just the high altitude. No picture or words will capture their splendor—or the struggle and sheer thrill of nature and Life victoriously merging. Each and every time I glanced up, even in the toughest moments on the trail, I felt joy that surpassed awe. Seriously.
IT. WAS. SPECTACULAR!!
And, yes, the challenge for someone who’s not an athlete was tough. The entire trek wasn’t a struggle, as I feared, but Day 2 definitely had its moments!
Hmm. Truth be told, each day had its moments.
One step.
At times, that was more than I could muster. As our team of 15 continued what seemed to become a vertical climb to the highest pass nearly 14,000 feet up and the air heaved through my lungs with the effort of thrusting one more boot forward, I chose to stop.
More than once.
And so I would eye the nearest protruding rock—anything wide enough to support my arse and backpack—and slough myself down onto it.
And attempt to breathe.
Breeeathe.
Each time, it worked. Just yay. My gasps would soon settle into a steady calm and, as I eyed most of the rest of our group stopped above to catch their own breath and, at times, wait for me, I would grasp my walking poles and launch, again.
One step.
Carlos, our head guide, gave the group a pep talk that was inspirational—and felt transparently aimed at me.
“If you feel you must stop, keep it short,” he suggested. “On some treks, we don’t permit our teams to sit. We’ve found that, when people begin to rest, their breaks get longer each time. First you sit, and then you get lazy the next time and want to lie down. To get where you’re going, you must keep going.”
Snort.
While it seemed good advice, I knew I wasn’t capable of going any faster. Every break felt like a lifeline.
And yet, as we continued, I began to force myself to honor his advice. I did still sit, because it seemed I caught my breath faster that way, but I didn’t linger. Exhaling instead of inhaling each step upward seemed to help, too.
Sometimes—more times than I should probably confess—I talked myself into plodding farther by envisioning myself as a mule.
Yes, you heard right.
Mules don’t get all keyed up about the road ahead—they just keep going, steadily placing each step on the flattest ground and trudging forward. Maybe they think of the food at the end or the whip behind, but when all is said and done, they just go until they don’t. Oh, and sometimes they act like an a**.
That was me: At times stubborn (ha), but putting distance behind what was and moving toward what I wanted to believe could be.
The only way to make it happen was to make it happen.
My dreams don’t always come true, but this one did.
One step at a time.
When I didn’t think I could keep going, I would plant my pole, breathe, and take another step.
On the day of the steepest climb, the final 50 steps were the most grueling. I could already see my son and the others perched along the top of Dead Woman’s Pass, eying my unsteady ascent.
Photo credit: Mike Warrington I so wanted my son to be proud and not embarrassed that his momma was last. I could feel the prize nearing and, still one grueling step at a time, I planted my poles. And breathed. And climbed. And planted my poles and breathed and climbed. AND PLANTED MY POLES AND BREATHED AND…
I HIT THAT TOP STEP!
Tears still spill down my cheeks each time I relive that moment of HOLY CRAP I DID IT!! My son was there to hug me and the rest of our team was cheering each other and high fiving and celebrating the incredible views at the peak.
Each Life has a few high points that stand out as beyond special—this was one of mine that will be tough to top.
So was waking up two mornings later in a tent with an incredible panoramic view (that felt earned after conquering two more rugged passes) of snow-capped mountains—on my 50th birthday.
The beauty (and morning chill) was breathtaking and all I could do was sit atop the highest point, hug my knees and smile.
My grin grew even bigger when our entire team of Peruvian porters, who all grew up together in a little Andes village, gathered and sang happy birthday to me in Spanish with that crazy raw beauty as their backdrop.
There is so much about the entire experience that I hold dear inside me and wish I could share. Indeed, I’m grateful to those who have written through the years about the minutiae of their trek experiences, because it helped me prepare mentally and physically. But somehow I just want to sit with my memories a bit longer and process them. There was so much to savor and I wanna hold it all tightly in my mind so that not a moment fades.
It was real, right? I didn’t imagine it?
It’s true that I lagged behind our group the first two days of the trek. And then I moved to the middle pack on Day 3. By Day 4, I felt positively energetic, striding just behind the Kiwis and my son, who led the way the whole week. I arrived at our final goal as one of our lead hikers. (Can you say miracle?)
The combination of descending altitude and increasing fitness gave me just the burst of adrenaline that I needed to stagger up Oh my God! staircase. (Yes, our guides say it’s really called that. I wish I had the videos of Doc and Carlos trying to beat each other’s time racing up this last bit of insanity before we reached the Sun Gate. Hysterical – and impressive!)
Thank you Carlos and Ricardo with Andean Treks for being impossibly patient and gentle as you eased us into the rigors of the Inca trail. We know that we got the ultimate professor in Carlos, whose steady history knowledge and flawless English delivery wowed us all. Ricardo, you became a quick friend with your thoughtful ways and cheerful personality. Thanks for not using your whip too often at the back of the trail!
Meg, John, Stina, Jamie, Katie, Ron, Mike, Doc, Barry and Daniel, you were the perfect trail companions. Amazing that it’s possible to grow a family in a few short (well, long) days, but we did. It’s good to know my family tree now includes New Zealand, Vancouver, Seattle, San Francisco, Boston, Florida, London and Peru. Let the road trips begin!
Shout out, too, to the tireless porters and chefs, who carried the weight of our camp upon their backs, literally, day after day across miles and miles of rugged terrain, and then pitched our tents and cooked our meals (gourmet – and how is that even possible?!) before we finished each day’s trekking. It seemed inconceivable that they could do ANY of that.
Photo credit: Mike Warrington
Thanks especially to my husband, who gave me this birthday gift of a lifetime, and awesome son Corey. Despite our physical capabilities being dramatically different, Jim never left my side and I’m not sure I could have done it without his quiet and steady encouragement. He was sick for a couple of days, but even when he felt better and could have surged ahead, he stuck right beside me. That made the trek even more meaningful to me.
Having a few days away, in a world so different from our own, with my 18-year-old son was a dream come true. The trail was an opportunity for him to have fun outdoors and challenge himself (only a little bit—he is in awesome shape) along the way. As always, I was proud of his cheerful and social personality, relaxed ways and independent spirit. Corey heads off to Auburn University this weekend to launch his own adult life and I couldn’t be prouder of him or more grateful for each moment of our time (and life) together. He hasn’t had a perfect momma, but I’m pretty sure I have the ultimate son.
There are inside stories not yet told, of toilet tents (and flashlights – ahem, John), drugs (legal) and extra backpack/duffel support (thanks, Doc!), privileged seats in the meal tent (haha Kiwis), bug spray, sunscreen, hydrate, hydrate, hydrate. (You were right, Carlos.) Yes, tales of perfect weather, coca leaves, wakeup tea, wet clothes, sick bay, baby llamas, wet wipe baths, a reality TV star amongst us, fascinating Incan history, remarkable ruins, the world’s largest hummingbirds, bananas foster flambé, Peruvian Independence Day, main vein laughter, guinea pig appetizer, Pachamama toasts, the reclining breast, Milky Way moments and sleeping bags built for one. How oh how to tell it all?
And then, of course, there was Machu Picchu. What—have I not mentioned IT, yet?
Oh good heavens.
I haven’t even gotten started. Maybe this WILL be a book someday, after all.
I just lived the foreword and it was a doozy.
[To see my entire Peru album, go HERE. Flickr puts the most recent images first, so you might wanna scan to the end and start there. Thanks for coming along on my journey with me! ]
So I began to wonder why we wait until we get cancer or our health begins to fail to plan the year of our dreams.
I mean, really.
No one would fault you, if your life’s calendar was suddenly running out, should you plot those final months to include your most treasured destinations. Cramming in each bucket-list item would make perfect, albeit desperate, sense.
Not enough money? We find it, don’t we, when the chips are down?
But, when no medical threat is looming (at least to the best of our knowledge), somehow it is regarded as irresponsible to spend our time exactly where we most want to be, doing what we dream of doing.
I’m bucking the system.
Next week, I’m having a milestone birthday and so, at the beginning of 2013, I proclaimed this the Year of 50. This, you see, would be the year of always saying yes.
Should someone ask…
I vowed in advance I would just say… “Yes.”
So, when my sister asked me to join her on the annual trip that honors her son lost far too young, I said yes. We had a marvelous time at the beach.
When the beach retreat that serves families who have kids with cancer asked if we could pitch in this summer, the answer was again yes. We met wonderful people and worked our butts off, laughing all the while.
When our church requested our presence as counselors at the high school beach retreat, we jumped in. Nine hundred students on one quarter-mile stretch of beach and up all hours for nearly a week? No problem.
Hang out with friends from Germany at our cabin? Absolutely.
Take my sister away for a week at a friend’s lakehouse? Yup.
Travel with my husband on business to New York City? Yes, please.
There has not been one time this summer that I’ve dreaded one wonderful thing ending, because something new and exciting lay just ahead, each and every time.
Say it with me: Yes.
Oh, I could have buckled under the loaded questions my husband began fielding. “Doesn’t Cheryl ever stay home? She always seems to be somewhere else. Must be nice.”
Um, yeah. It is.
I’m finding that it’s always nice when you honor your intuition. It knows what you need most. This year, I needed to breathe. And laugh. And see and do, surrounded by those I love so dearly, while my health is at its peak. I’ve achieved most of my career goals, my kids are grown, nest is empty and heart is stoked.
“What about work?” you ask.
Well, as the saying goes, where there’s a will, there’s a way. For most of my life, I’ve carved out work that suits my personality and passions. As luck would have it, I’m a writer and there just may be a book in all this. In any case, I saved and planned ahead.
No matter what, this has been the year of my dreams and I wouldn’t trade anything for it. My time in the disaster-relief nonprofit world proved the world is full of courageous souls who have clarity and live joyfully despite little money.
Every year won’t look like this. But, when I die, you can be assured that I reached for my dreams—and LOVED fulfilling them. The credit is not all mine – it has taken a village at times but, most of all, each yes.
Next week, I will celebrate my fifth decade of living. Oh, the walls could talk. But on this birthday, there will be no rooms—only a tent on the steep side of a Peruvian mountaintop.
Yep, tomorrow, a new adventure begins—perhaps the most challenging (and exciting) of my lifetime.
It’s finally time.
::deep breaths::
Tonight, we carefully fill our backpacks with the barest (lightest) essentials (for me, that is two changes of clothes and my precious, albeit somewhat-heavy camera gear) and reassure ourselves one last time that our passports are valid and accounted for.
By tomorrow night, we’ll be in Cusco, Peru. On Sunday, we’ll step onto the Inca trail to trek for five, sometimes-grueling days along ancient steps to Machu Picchu. It has been called one of the Seven Wonders of the World.
[Photo credit: Google Images] All I know is those mountains are STEEP, the air is thin and I’m no athlete.
So yeah, I’m pretty nervous. Even what will surely be thrilling can also be scary as the unknown.
But my 18-year-old son and husband, both of whom are plenty fit, will be tugging me along and helping me to achieve my goal. I’ll also feel you there, rooting for me.
Oh the celebration we’ll have at the top at sunrise on my birthday!
[Photo credit: Google images] My greatest wish for your next 50 years—or however many you actually have left—is that you will say yes to your dreams each and every day.
Your Life depends on it.
And so begins the year of 50!
Oh sure, you can also call it 2013 and even the year of the snake, if you love reading the table mats at Chinese restaurants.
But this will be no ordinary 12 months. In July, God willing, I will celebrate—and I do mean CELEBRATE!!!!—my 50th birthday and I am psyched!
I’m not certain why God has given me this long to hang around on earth, since I’m not exactly the best steward of the many gifts he included during upload to my mom’s belly.
Seriously. I look around at those who died far too young and am baffled at times that the lottery keeps smiling my way. The list of things I don’t do right is long.
Last week, for instance, I visited my sister and came across the cute sterling ring my niece had inadvertently left behind. I slid it on my finger and wore it throughout my stay. Quite frankly, if my sister had not reminded me TWICE to take it off before I left, I would have headed home with it on my hand. It looked great there! I’m sure that, eventually, I would have returned it to my niece—unless she forgot about it.
Did I mention that I’m nearly 50 and tempted to steal from a teenager?
I’m also lazy at times, am a chronic procrastinator, can’t seem to stay organized, don’t make nearly enough time for my friends, cuss like a sailor on occasion, and toss pistachios back into the bag when their shells are locked tight. Let ‘em be someone else’s problem!
Just between you and me, I think God is curious to see how I’m going to turn out, so he lets the angels step between me and disaster (sometimes self created) at times.
This year, they might need their A game. I’m ramping up for some serious adventure!
In July, I’m planning to hike for 5 days to Machu Picchu in Peru with my husband and son, who will have just graduated from high school and will be stepping into his own future. I’m beyond excited and plenty nervous about my capabilities.
To prepare, I’m dragging my fanny off the sofa and onto the jogging trails so that I can run (haha, yeah right, I’ll run—think stagger) a half marathon in March. Pretty convinced that will be in no way be good for my health!
Pretty sure something cool’s gonna happen in Montana this year, too.
During 2013, all bets are OFF and the sky is the limit!
I also want to giiiiiive! Which brings me back to my list of flaws: Sure, I show up and do things for others because it helps people, but holy cow, it’s also this lifetime’s headiest drug!! I am utterly addicted to how I feel when in the nitty gritty of being there for someone else. I don’t have much money, but I don’t have to work a lot, so I have puhlenty of time!
Oh dang. Which cycles me back to those gifts God gave me in the beginning. Despite my ability to create beauty through words and photographs, I don’t do nearly enough of either.
Did I mention this is the Year of 50?
Here are just a few of my plans!
50 published images.
50 published blogs.
50 authors. (Haha. OK, five.)
50 acts of kindness.
50 healthy habits.
50 adventures. (If I get the chance, I’m taking it! Do the things you fear the most FIRST!)
50 notes to friends.
50 notes to strangers.
50 learning opportunities. (Study! Grow! Learn!)
50 volunteer moments.
50 shares (beginning with this one: http://bit.ly/ImbaLove)
Seem like a lot? Yeah well, so do the years that God has inexplicably given me. Time to show Him my thanks by living joyfully!
Stay tuned—the Year of 50 has begun!
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Nate - Wow this is epic! What an awesome way to document share such an incredible trip! Almost feels like i was there! I love it
Cheryl Lewis - Thanks, Nate! Your message made me SMILE! It was truly an incredible trip. Next time you’ll have to join us!
Sharon Sudu - Wow Cheryl, I was riveted reading your account of this awesome foray into nature herself! And what captivating photos! My annual boy scout summer camp week seems so tame compared to this epic outdoor adventure! Bucket-listing this…You guys truly make life come alive! Big hugs to you and Jim.
Cheryl Lewis - Thank you, Sharon! We didn’t see many people all week, but one group had four boats filled with students. We talked about how awesome that would be! Love you!