I walk down the path and I can breathe. Suddenly, I’ve risen above. I’ve risen above the traffic, the incessant rumble of rubber meeting pavement. I’ve risen above the strip malls filled with stuff that melts my brain into a mush of consumerism and more, more, more. I’ve risen above the clouds, and I’m at 7,000 feet taking a hike, skirting between California and Nevada. Sunrise red snow flowers spring up from piles of auburn pine needles, promising new life among the rubble.
Again I’m hiking at 7,000 feet and reaching my fingertips toward the clouds. There is supposed to be less oxygen the higher one climbs, but my lungs don’t feel strained; instead, they feel a sense of release, saturated with leafy nasal libations. This time around Piegan Pass is the goal with Glacier National Park as its backdrop. I keep my freak flag snuggly tucked in my back pocket, but pull it out on these occasions. Even though it’s mid-summer, snow patches still cover the ground up here, and glaciers remain hidden between mountain peeks (glaciers in Glacier, you don’t say). Instead of snubbing the frosty patch of ice like I normally would, I leap onto it and lie down to make a snow angel in July. The cold is welcome this time of year, and something in the air spurs me to action.
In New Zealand’s Arrowtown the sensation is multiplied. Everything is in high definition in this town and in this country as a whole: trees, mountains, trails. I look at my hands and feet and feel their connection to my body. Everything is working as one well-manufactured machine, but my soul skips like a little girl galloping through a field of lupine. A dozen trails take off from the Arrow River and I choose the Sawpit Gully Trail, which leads me up a hill peering over Arrowtown and Lake Hayes. I stop, equipped with my journal, and jot down a few thoughts. Then I grab my ankle and prop my foot on the inside of my calf in tree pose. I rotate through a series of spontaneous yoga poses, lifting my eyes to the sky and pointing my body toward the mountains in prayerful meditation. Time stands still as I focus on the air filling and emptying out of my diaphragm.
It doesn’t matter where I am in nature. As my boots meet the dirt, I feel free. I feel brave. I can “say what I want to say” as my husband and I walk and talk — about our dreams, about our next big adventure in Iceland and Norway, about the U.S. road trip we want to take next year. Heck, who knows? Maybe we’ll go work in Hawaii come January.
Out here, the possibilities are endless. I want to run and leap and boulder up rock walls. I want to be great and humble, calm and ecstatic, quick and slow. I want to be present in this moment and savor every crisp, full lung inhalation.
About the Author: Sarah Reijonen sold her house and 80 acres in eastern Washington to travel the world — that was five years ago. Since then, Sarah and her husband, Spanky, have traveled to nearly 30 countries and wander and work in California in their RV. Last year Sarah published her first book, a travel memoir entitled Country Girl: Letting Love and Wanderlust Take the Reins.
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