Some months ago, I discovered how it felt to drive a scooter alone on a snaking mountain road over 10,000 ft high. At one point I became disoriented and panicky as the way ahead climbed higher and higher; yet I knew I hadn’t come so far to tuck tail and turn around. Though hardly any other motorists were in sight, I pressed forward, opened my eyes, and gazed out at the rolling vistas with wonder and gratitude. When I finally arrived at my destination, I felt a small sense of accomplishment; especially when a group of locals fed my ego by praising me for completing the trip alone.
In reality, it’s hardly anything to brag about. But I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how this existence is an ongoing ascent toward something greater. There are those who would say that life peaks in one’s twenties/thirties and goes downhill from there but I believe as we age we climb closer to the most divine experience of all.
When I started my journey overseas about two years ago, I wasn’t exactly sure why I had to leave but I knew staying was no longer an option. The climb has not been easy.
There are moments when the language and cultural barriers seem too extreme, when I feel like that fish out of water, when I look around at my surroundings and wonder what I’m doing here. There are moments when shadows linger around my soul, times where I feel cut off from my calling, my family, my friends. When I was stricken with MRSA a few months back, I almost felt like throwing in the towel. Dealing with such a thing while thousands of miles away from those I love has been rough but I realize it’s just another twisting, zigzaggedy turn up the side of the mountain. Though the heights may be dizzying, sometimes outright scary, after the beads of sweat fall and my heart stops pounding I’m left with a breathtaking view. My travels and this country leave me with moments of stunned silence. Out there, on the horizon, I see the reason why I’m here.