Humboldt Peak – A Destination of Relief in the USA

When I was 17 and living in Northern Virginia, I ran around suburban bars with a friend two years my senior. She and I would chat it up with the regulars and make up stories based on whatever age they thought we were. I was always the English major at Virginia Tech on my way to be a writer, and she would change her story depending on the bar we were at and her mood that day.

It was fun, I guess, until I became what I said I was. Before I knew it, I was a technical writer well into my 20s and living in a one-bedroom apartment. I had a great job at a great company and lived in great neighborhood all tucked away nicely in a well-off suburb between Washington, DC and the Blue Ridge Mountains. My goal was met, but it didn’t feel right.

I constantly felt this tug when looking out my office window – high enough to see past the bland buildings to treetops out west. No harsh stop of the coast, just land as far as the sun would let me see. Almost 30 years old and I was yet to go on a grand adventure. Hell, I was yet to move out of my hometown state. Years of my life spent in an office. A music festival here, a beach getaway there. Long weekends that were supposed to be enough to make up for stressful deadlines and smoggy air. I had a job. I had a life. Why didn’t it feel right?

Then the man I was seeing left for the west. He packed up his things and drove off to further his music career. We never promised each other we’d be together forever, but damnit if we didn’t make each other happy. Suddenly the spotlight was back on me, and I realized I was living my life too much for other people. I should have left sooner if for no other reason than my desire to.

So I did. I left. I used the pain of the breakup as a catalyst and my dream of a freelance life in the mountains as a destination. I quit my job, packed up my things, and drove to Colorado. Within a week, I had my own place. Within a month, I had money coming in from writing gigs. And within six months, I was prepping to hike my first 14er – a mountain that exceeds 14,000 feet. I went from feeling stuck in a life that didn’t feel right, to living in a new city, free of social restraints, and ready to conquer a mountain.

It was three of us that went on that hike – myself, my friend Lia, and her brother Louis. Our bags were packed the night before, and the day was still dark when we woke. Louis scribbled on a post-it and secured it to the fridge, “We are camping in SOUTH COLONY LAKES and hiking HUMBOLDT PEAK in SANGRE DE CRISTO MOUNTAINS.” A three-hour drive later and we were staring up at a distant peak. The Blue Ridge Mountains felt trivial compared to this, but I knew no other option than to make it to the top.

We trekked in a few miles with our 40 pound packs strapped to our backs, surveyed the scene, gathered firewood, and set up camp just before hail came storming in. It didn’t matter; we’d come too far. The next morning, we strapped water to our backs and started our final ascent. Switchbacks with chipmunks. Rock scrambling with marmots. There were so many steps. Step after step. Faint breath after breath. But they were just steps. The air was thin and the number of steps felt endless, but all I had to do was keep stepping – right then left, rock after rock until I made it to the top.

Finally, I was there – looking out over more than I’d ever seen before. My whole body felt lighter. I let in the mountains, the landscape, and magnitude of space that existed completely outside of myself. It was this great mixture of feeling so small in the scheme of things and invigorated to be a part of it.

Humboldt Peak gave me a destination that when reached, I could breathe a sigh of relief. I could feel another dream come true and make room for the next. My life was more than a conversation with bar flies. I look back on that moment with arms out wide, muscles flexed, open to whatever’s next, and still feel the crisp air tickle the hairs on my skin. I was exactly where I wanted to be and I had never felt more me. On to the next adventure.

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