Yeah, that’s pretty much what I did over the weekend. My plan was to enjoy a leisurely hike through a state park, with waterfalls and spectacular views of the autumn colors dressing up the trees like Dolly’s coat of many colors.

I overpacked for the day, but realistically, only expected to walk a few hours and miles in the woods followed by a shopping trip down the main street of Madison, Indiana to take a look at some antique stores and local attractions…well that was the plan anyways.

Entering the park, I remembered that there is always a parking fee. I’m not one to carry cash. I use my checking account debit card for everything. So it was fortunate for me that when the park ranger said it was $7.00 for the day, I had thrown a roll of quarters in my backpack on my way out the door that morning. Great…three bucks left for water if I needed a refill.

And my day likely wouldn’t have been much to write about after taking pictures of the gorgeous views. Except that from the moment I set foot on the trails, it became one huge alliteration of life.

The first few trails were mild, with dozens of man-made steps of wood decking. The waterfalls were running after a week’s worth of rain. Not so much that the trails were impassable, but maybe a little more treacherous than usual with wet leaves and slippery rocks here and there.

I finished the first two trails in about forty-five minutes. The stone walls surrounding the various lookouts were quite low and I found myself slowly moving to the edge in order to enjoy the view without getting that upside down feeling in my belly. And that was my first observation and comparison between life and this random hike I’d planned out.  We don’t always approach danger with caution or even see it as such. Sometimes we dive headlong in, even knowing the risk. I’d say I’m an adrenaline junkie in matters of life choices, but when it comes to my physical safety, I’m much more wary. And I make a mental note to consider this more fully at a future time because life choices should be approached with at least as much caution as physical danger. Heck, at times, I’ve felt like emotional upheavals were just as difficult from a recovery perspective.

So moving on, I relocate my car to the other end of the parking lot to be closer to what I believed to be another “moderately rugged” trail. That’s when my mind morphed into a sidebar conversation for the rest of the day. I imagined life choices and wondered what if when we reach those metaphorical “forks in the road,” we could actually see the signs of what was to come. Like, “rugged” or “very rugged.” Would we choose different paths? So begins my meanderings and ponderings of one lost Saturday in the middle of fall. Because I can definitely see points in my life where I walked some very rugged paths to reach some of the best views. But given the choice, if I’d had a trail guide or some indication of just how rocky the terrain would be? I might have chosen a more well traveled and safer bet (maybe).

But here in this moment, I see Trail 6, which was labeled as a “rugged” 4.5 miles. I’d come to hike, so I decided to give it a shot. I mean, if it was too rough, I could always just turn around and go back…right? Again, the convo inside my head continued. As if life lets us do anything even remotely similar. I’ve never once been on a path in life where I was like, “damn, this sucks…better go find the trail and get the hell out of this wilderness.” If anything, that Mary Poppins optimism always kicked in and regardless of just how dire things seemed, I’d always be telling myself another story of how life is full of unlimited possibilities and things can turn on a dime. Which is completely true and a dangerous world view all at once. Because sometimes the state of “suckiness” lingers way longer than we expect. But I’ve had those unlimited possibilities roll out in front of me out of nowhere enough times to know that calculated risks masked as optimism can pan out and make a difference for the long haul.

Turns out I’d picked a rather remote trail. I was surrounded by trees in every direction and completely alone. My imagination reminds me of a recent NCIS episode I’d been binge watching. A lone woman in yoga pants, with a bottle of water in the middle of the woods. Well, we all know what happens next. My steps become more deliberate and hurried. I have taken a few precautions. I had the “Find my Iphone” locator on and had given access to one of my sons. And I carry with me a small can of mase in my front pocket. The occasional wildlife crunching leaves in the distance warranted me grabbing said mase and clutching it in my hands a few times as I was at the ready to combat any would be foe or barrier seeking to undo or prevent me from enjoying a liberating day of solitude.

I try to be light and airy…I really do! But for someone like me, who actually does that whole “appreciate the little things”…well it’s a really conscious and deliberate way of life. And once you turn it on, it’s hard to turn it off. There were diversions everywhere, requiring me to grab acorns and buckeyes and the most massive and perfectly colored leaves scattered on the path. I am both immersed and content in my solitude while feeling a pang of something akin to feeling like life is so freaking amazing …. Well, on that day, on that path, I kind of wanted to have a fellow navigator. To both compensate for my directionally challenged mind as well as to share a bit of trail conversation.  I geek out in the woods, in nature, fishing…anything where you feel energy in the air and tingle down to your toes.

As I continued on, the trail did indeed become more “rugged” and the ground was quickly replaced with stones of every shape and size, with mud and wet leaves.

Ahead in the distance, I caught a glimpse of an older couple hiking. I was relieved to catch up and start a closer following, grateful and feeling like there was safety in numbers. And let’s face it. I am directionally challenged and the thought of having to retrace steps that equated to miles was not something I wanted to end up doing.

The “older” couple turned out to either be some undercover spies or bionic super beings because I could barely keep up with them. But I persisted lest I lose my newfound compasses that would get me back to my car. Strong motivation and just enough for me to push ahead at their pace.

It was more than a little rugged. We climbed up a nearly completely vertical angle over rocks and logs until I thought my heart would pound out of my chest. I again considered life and these paths that if we had any clue what was around the bend, we might never have tackled. Especially when you’re halfway up and have to admit that the effort required to go back down is likely equal to the amount to finish your climb. Just curious enough to see if it was worth all the work. I am reminded of something someone said recently, “Failure isn’t failure until you stop trying.” I laugh to myself. I can find no fault with this simple statement, but it doesn’t feel any easier. Just a different perspective. Yeah, I’ll keep trying…on this trail and in life. But still…when is failure really failure? Can you avoid it entirely if you never try or get out of your comfort zone? I decide that is a topic for another day. There’s enough noise in my head already in this parallel comparison to the trails I’m on and the paths I’ve taken.

We took a brief break about halfway up. I gulped a little water and grabbed a handful of salted almonds. The Incredibles wonder couple pause momentarily. And I resume the climb as soon as they jump back on the trail.

As we reach the top and consult the map, it’s obvious we will have to go back to the bottom to pick up another trail that would (might) lead back to the north gate and my parked car. More truth in life paths I consider. There are places we reach by choices we’ve made that bring us where we no longer wish to be. And sometimes, we’ve climbed so many hills and footholds that in order to extract ourselves, we have to backtrack and experience other places in order to get to where we started. And sometimes, I think (for me at least) those places are not even reachable any longer depending upon how much growth has taken place during the journey. For good measure, I am now channeling a Miranda Lambert song, “The House that Built Me” and reminding myself of my own meanderings that have taken me so far away from where I started.

On the second ascent back up Clifty Falls, I considered slowing down and taking a break. But I was terrified I would be lost and end up on the evening news as a lost hiker. So instead of giving up, I powered on with the energizer bunnies hiking at a freakish fast pace. I asked if they hiked often and learned that he was a runner and she did pilates, spinning classes, and walked seven days a week (year round). I hitched my horse to the wrong wagon so to speak…and while I’m not necessarily out of shape, I’ve been lax with my walks and haven’t been as aggressive with my pace at my local park. I’m reminded that life is not a race against other people and that we keep our own pace. Except when you are relying on said people to get you out of a tight spot. You can’t conditionally accept help or expect help from someone else. Ya gotta meet ‘em and take ‘em where you find ‘em. And importantly, you better be there to do the same when the roles are reversed. Or at least that’s been my experience and belief in being both an extreme giver and occasional taker in this life. Balance is everything.

We reached a stream that needed to be crossed. The trail had no well placed boulders to jump across. This was my big chance to outshine the dynamic duo. I’m skilled in jumping over rocks to avoid getting wet. Creek beds are a favorite pastime for me looking for fossils and cool rocks. I’m proud to say I was the only one of the three of us to escape with dry feet. A moral victory to be sure. Forget that my heart was still threatening to pound out of my chest. I’d live..I thought…most likely. I digress…

Just as I was congratulating myself on my nimbleness, we took a look at the map again and aligned to jump onto yet another trail, which gave a whole new meaning to “onward and upward.”

I kept pace for the most part and rationalized that as long as I could see them ahead in the distance, I could slow my pace at times to grab an interesting leaf or examine the rocks more closely. But eventually, my need to examine rocks shifted from close-up observation to intense focus, so that I didn’t lose my footing on the narrow paths hugging the side of a very deep dropoff. And I began to wonder if there was a purpose to reaching these extreme highs atop the hillside only to drop back down to the very bottom…all the while getting subtle cues from trail signs letting me know that the already rugged terrain I was traipsing through was about to become even more perilous. Again I am back in my head with that sidebar soliloquy shared only with myself. And I consider the times in my life where my choices and paths took me to extreme highs. And looking back, I did take a minute to remember the climb (not the Miley Cyrus theme song…though I will admit it’s a song in my Itunes library because regardless of whatever else she’s done, Hanna Montana does sometimes show up with soulful lyrics that I feel a kinship to every now and then…and her godmother is Dolly freaking Parton). The climb I’m considering, though, were all the times I knew I was going through stuff and saw no end in sight. There were no signs coaching me along…no, wait. That’s not exactly true. I think we all get signs for a course correction. We choose to ignore them. We keep going because we’ve invested so much time and effort in a single direction that we are reluctant to pull out and give up halfway through (wait, there’s that “failure is not failure until you stop trying”). But think about it. How do we even know what halfway looks like? Or if a little more effort will net results or more fatigue and battle scars. It’s not a mountaintop we look up towards in anticipation of. In this very physical moment where I’m showing a little bit of my crazy in sharing this inside voice, I hated the idea of backtracking and seeing the same things I’d already experienced. The opposite can be true in the real world, where the things we’ve experienced feel like the most comfortable way forward. Ask any adult kid from an alcoholic family about comfort and you’ll see what I mean. It’s the very act of discomfort where we learn the most and can grow and recondition learned behaviors for healthier choices. And we hang on to only the kindred spirits that shared that journey and subscribe to similar views. Damn, I really do think too much…

Back to the trails…on our second ascent back up the falls, I focused on putting just one foot in front of the other. I didn’t want to reach too far or too fast for fear I would stumble on this unfamiliar path. Damned if I didn’t end up right back in this one-sided conversation with myself debating how in life, I have done exactly the same thing. You can’t really experience over 50 years of life without a few disappointments and downright epic fails. You become a little more wary of adventure and change (cue another pop song, “Because of You…I never stray too far from the sidewalks” by Kelly Clarkson…wait? Can that be? I feel like she’s a bit of a Shallow Hal, but I grew my dysfunction in the 80s with Oprah, who will always reign as the queen of complicated conversations).

Right…back on the hike. Midway up the ascent, I did wonder if my heart rate was above a healthy range. I don’t feel any different than my 20 something year old self as far as mortality goes, but I do recognize that I have limitations now and should at least be aware of and take them into consideration lest I fast track a journey that, at times, I feel as though I’ve just begun. I’ve no desire to hasten to an ending as a lot of learning has only just begun (Carpenters? Nah, too easy).

We passed a few people on the way, who said we were about an hour away from the parking lot. My heart sank, but quickly was relieved when they said they were kidding. Just a little further ahead. Phew. I’m not one to cry much, but I might have.

We finally got back to the main road, which was about half a mile (or so I thought) from where I parked my car. The skilled couple, who I decided must be trained assasins or guns for hire in their best physical fitness, suggested taking another trail to pick-up just one more, which would bring us back to the north gate, the north star of the day.

We moved toward trail 5 (of 10, which we had already completed about half of the entire set). It was about a mile on the map, so I dug deep to pull out some reserves to power through…until we began the descent (again for the third time) down hundreds of steps, which would turn into a rocky path, which would bring us to that stream again…and importantly, another ascent up rocky footholds, wet leaves, and waning energy.

I’m not a rock star or a super hero. I’m not an undercover anything. And in that moment, I felt like I was a big fake and imposter. I spend so much time in places and situations where I feel almost enough…almost deserving of the good or the bad. I follow the crowd at times. Go places and do things I don’t really want to do. I might make the same mistake three times, but in that moment, on this day? I bid my new trailblazers adieu and headed off down the road towards the parking lot…fully domesticated with a concrete road and yellow lines.

But wait…there’s a little more. The ½ mile turned out to be closer to 1 ½ miles. And near the end, I did cry a little bit. No phone signal to check direction and no one to ask, I sat down on a boulder and allowed myself a little pity party. I didn’t want to walk any longer. Screw adventure. My feet hurt, I was exhausted and now starving. And I experience perhaps the last side conversation of the day. I have had points where there was no gps or “signal” so to speak. I had to rely on just the facts I knew and the insights and experiences I’d lived. There were no tangible signs encouraging me to continue on any more than there were caution signs warning me to stop. So what do ya do? Well, I’ve seen people take a couple of different paths. The person I used to be stirred a little in my spirit lingering and reminding me of how far I’ve come from a victim mentality. “Give up, give in. You can’t do it. Cry. Someone will come. Someone will save you.” Fuck that noise…it was all I needed to gather myself back up again and continue walking, which as it turned out was just a mere 100 feet away from the north gate. And that’s when it hit me. Life really is full of unlimited possibilities. The north gate was so close and yet, if I’d given up, I might never have found it on my own without help. It’s a simple example, but so spot on to the way life works. It is almost always at those moments when we are ready to give up that an answer comes. A sign that if you are living consciously…deliberately and with intent to always learn and grow, you will find that not only do we get signs, they are like blaring bull horns that are unmistakable. And reluctantly, I admit that my friend was right. Failure only happens when you quit trying…so for anyone else out there who needs to hear it, this slightly jaded version of Mary Poppins will never give up…I hope you won’t either. Take a hike and never stop trying!