Recommended soundtrack This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody) by Talking Heads. 

I should have known it was going to be a year of ups and downs when I found myself piled into a tiny sedan with five friends in the early morning hours of January 1st singing the lyrics to  Fleetwood Mac’s Landslide aloud together…

Oh, climb a mountain and turn around
And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
Well, the landslide will bring it down
And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
Well, the landslide will bring it down

It seemed absolutely apropos at that time and space, pulling away from the final night of Dark Star Orchestra, preparing to go back to our real lives after three nights of magic, music and friends. Little did I know it would become the theme song of my 2018, a year of peaks and valleys, figuratively and literally speaking.

There were the regular life ascents and descents – car issues, traffic violations, home improvements, growing flowers,  seeing roommates come and go, and dealing with bats, mice and broken hearts. And then there were the mountains that I never really anticipated climbing – six Adirondack High Peaks to be exact – Wright, Algonquin, Phelps, Gothics, Armstrong and Upper Wolfjaw.

The plans for my first Adirondack excursion were solidified over the winter at a goddess night. During a powerful 24 hours of self-care – yoga, vegan meals, sewing, vision boards and heart-to-hearts – my girlfriend and I hatched a plan. In May, we made it a reality. We headed to the Adirondack Loj to take on our first three peaks and get lost in the woods in the hopes of finding ourselves.

With each boulder we climbed, we became more emboldened. With each step we took, we meditated. With each breath we inhaled, we exhaled gratitude. With each peak we reached, we celebrated our perseverance. We talked as we walked, attempting to make sense of life, realizing neither of us had the answers. Experiencing a new level of sore together, we realized we were so much stronger than we ever imagined.

We were Girl Scout Troop 46.

That’s when I began to realize life is a lot like hiking. You walk for hours, sometimes feeling lost, grasping to rocks, clawing your way to the top where the most incredible view you could ever imagine awaits – only to have to turn around and go all the way back down. I left my first high peaks experience feeling like nothing could bring me down. Then I entered a valley.

Summer began with three carefully thought-out plans for my new side business Cavalier Living – a weekend in Lilydale in July, a sold-out tour of Watkins Glen during a Phish Festival in August, and an-all women’s Adirondack high peaks hike in September.

Lilydale didn’t sell, which I anticipated might happen. It takes years to grow a successful business, everyone knows that! Then came Curveball.  I had 70 people paid in-full to take five tours tours from the Phish’s festival to the nearby Watkins Glen State Park, and a 50 person wait list! This was going to be my big break! But this peak was not meant to be.

To say I was devastated when the festival was canceled due to nearby flooding is an understatement. I spent the next few weeks nursing my wounds and trying to find the motivation to promote the final Cavalier Living cruise of the year -an all-female high peaks hike to celebrate the Fall Equinox in the Adirondacks. Going into the experience, I felt like a miserable failure. I had let myself get so swept up in planning the Phish tours that I had neglected to sell more than two spots on the Adirondack trip.

I began to wonder if I’d veered off trail. 

With questions about my sanity for attempting to start my own business gnawing at the back of my mind, I began the planning for three days in the mountains with three other woman. This was my first experience having to carry in all of my food and equipment, much less planning for three others. On Friday, the four of us set out from the Garden parking lot with nearly 40 pounds on each of our backs, for a three-and-a-half mile hike in to Camp Peggy O’Brien for three days of tranquility, soul-searching and one foot-in-front-of-the-other therapy.

Any of the doubts that had built up in my mind about my ability and desire to continue planning group excursions were wiped from my mind as we scrambled up slides, ascended three alpine mountains, helped one another overcome fears and vulnerabilities, reflected on what we hoped to shed, and set intentions for what we wanted to take away from the experience. It was better than I ever could have imagined. I learned about myself through the experiences and stories of the women I climbed with.

We carried each other.

As we all hiked out that Sunday, we were quiet, submersed in our own thoughts. Over the hill came a woman in her late-60s from what I could surmise. Around her neck she wore a set of Mardi Gras beads announcing ‘Happy Birthday.’ They stood out to me and I asked her if she was celebrating hers.

“No, but the next woman about to come over the hill is,” she replied.

A woman with a ‘Happy Birthday’ crown crested the trail, followed by two more women, all sporting older-style external frame backpacks, one a guitar on her back. They paused and the four of them began telling us their story of hiking into the high peaks region to spend time together in nature for nearly 30 years. Ranging in age from 60 to 70, two had traveled all the way from Washington State. As we compared gear and the amount of weight we had carried, the elder four women proudly exclaimed…

“We were girl scouts.”

We continued on our way out while the birthday crew continued their way deeper into the woods. We half-heatedly joked among ourselves about heading back in rather than out. Something about cheeseburgers garnered some laughs, but I was holding back tears of joy and gratitude. The universe truly has a way of giving you signs if you’re listening.

Over 40,000 steps and 20 miles later, we returned to the Garden parking lot empowered, inspired, with lighter backpacks and hearts and plenty of inside jokes. Thirty-six hours in the woods, three peaks behind us, I felt ready for whatever the next valley had in store.