Finding Myself at 10,000 Feet

Internal chatter of a melancholic introvert

Recently, my daughter left for her first sleepaway camp. This was a momentous milestone as a single parent who spends 99.9% of the year with my child. Excitedly planning, I anticipated having some alone time with a new love interest-that quickly was evolving into something less favorable. So I shifted plans and took some time in deep contemplation to consider what I truly wanted to do that week.

I landed on the idea that I wanted to travel alone and hike, spending time in nature somewhere where I had no service and was beholden to no one. No one in my household including my ex and my child liked “mom walks.” They were always steep, and what I would call a walk, they considered to be an intense hike.

As a free spirit, becoming a parent was a huge challenge. I always preferred to float about my life and do things to the beat of my own drum. In having a child, all of that changed. Despite this, I fiercely guarded my independence and became even more self-reliant than ever before, partially due to my circumstances and partially because of my personality.

In my new role as mother, those small moments of respite away from the world where I can hear the wind, the birds and my thoughts are what I live for. So when I finally accepted that Big Sur was booked and landed on Lassen National Park, the excitement swiftly grew into a monsoon of feelings.

As a serial planner, I decided to arrive and just go with the flow. This is not like me at all. Although I do enjoy moving about in a featherlike manner, I am very organized and plan everything (almost to a fault).

The night before was an exciting blur as I walked 8 miles around San Francisco with an old friend, bar hopping, catching up on life happenings, and enjoying Mapo Tofu together while*gasp* indoor dining. He asked me what I wanted to do to which I replied “I just want to live like a normal thirty-something year old, beholden to no one! I want to live freely!” My soul was on fire and happy. Our Gemini banter crossing many areas of life, playing at an arcade, observing his bartender friend entertain guests at a wine bar, feeling the fresh air of the ocean, just taking it all in. At our final bar stop of the evening, he mentioned we had been talking for eight hours. “Wow.” I thought. “This has been great!”

In all of this fun I was fully present in enjoying the sweet life and was living life wholeheartedly. BART had stopped running and I didn’t make it home until well after 1 am. I realized my plan to leave early to Lassen might be pushed out but that was okay.

The Grand Excursion

I rose later than usual and still had some errands and packing to do. I decided not to worry and to take my day with ease, only leaving when I felt called to hit the road, was fully awake, present, and centered. What I had planned to be a 6 am departure became a 12:45 pm departure and the manager in me was actually okay with the change of pace. As I finally left the familiarity of places I have ventured and entered Shasta county a different part of my amygdala was activated. The magic slowly started creeping into my nervous system. My body started to relax, my mind still racing, eyes darting about, taking everything in.

“There’s not enough time” my mind prodded “You should have booked more days” it proceeded. I tried to push the internal chatter aside to take in the trees, the new bird sounds, the water. It all felt so familiar. It was my ideal version of ease.

Once I arrived to my campsite, I began to settle in and read the park provided map. “Too many decisions” my mind commenced “not enough time.” Over time, I am practicing the act of redirecting my mind to positive thoughts. This has been a fairly new practice, but with time, I believe there will be personal improvements. I proceeded with “it’s okay, what resonates will come to be.” My mind quipped “you’re a fool.” and I stepped outside to take a deep breath to prevent a downward mind spiral.

I decided I would like to enjoy some walking and recalled seeing a Campers Store on the way in. I packed up enough water and snacks to start my journey on foot to find the store. I became lost as usual and took deep breaths, keeping frustration at bay. After getting turned around numerous times, praying the store was open past 6 pm, I thanked the trees and the spirits for getting me out of my head and prayed that they would guide me to the store. Eventually, after almost two hours of detours, I discovered that had I turned left instead of right I would have arrived at the store in about 400 feet.

To treat myself for making it to purchase firewood and ice, I bought myself a bag of chips and headed back to camp to prepare myself a warm meal.

As I was fumbling around with large firewood logs, forgetting the basic principles of fire skills is building heat, many men approached to assist. A wonderful retired Boy Scout introduced himself and kindly asked me if I was open to some tips, to which I replied yes, eager to learn from someone who has seen more than I. He shared his knowledge on basic principles of building heat and how I needed to forage a bit for some twigs. His advice was sound and soon enough, I had a steaming pot of fresh vegetable ramen, prepared to enjoy at the lake while watching the sunset. It was such delicious ramen that I nearly bit my cheek off, and yet the calm arrived. “This was a perfect day.” my mind complemented. It seems my internal dialogue was adapting well to the solitude.

The next morning, I awoke as usual, right before the first birds started to sing. The day prior, my new acquaintance had recommended I visit Bumpass Hell and shared the story behind the name so Bumpass Hell was first on my no-list list. I prepared myself for the day, went to the bear locker to stock up on snacks for when my hunger arrived, and checked that my water bottle was full. As I prepared to leave, I said my final goodbyes to my new friend who was now en-route for Idaho, and got in the car. I drove for 45 minutes deeper into the park, navigating myself byways of the mountain and really trusting my instincts that I was driving in the right direction.

The world was still and I enjoyed repeating the same song over and over to stay in a meditative state of mind. “This feels nice.” My mind wandered. As I arrived at my destination, there were only a scant few starting their day to warm beverages. In true Serah fashion, I settled into my body, gathered my belongings, and proceeded to walk the wrong way. This small detour quickly helped me realize I had too many layers on my body and that I should immediately change clothes so I returned to the car to change clothing. After changing, I reached out to a friendly couple whom I’d recently exchanged smiles with to ask them where the trailhead was located. They pointed to the opposite direction I had started in and I chuckled. They then mentioned they had enjoyed hiking Lassen Peak around sunset and that I should definitely check it out. I made a mental note and added it to my no list-list.

As I descended in, fear slowly crept in.

Where am I?

You’re never going to find it.

This trail is so deserted.

You won’t make it out.

Breaking my focus, my ears caught wind of a familiar sound: bees! Bees are so calming to me. “If the bees are okay then I am okay.” I thought. I kept walking and to distract my mind I started to look around-really taking in the splendor of a quiet nature park. If you have never experienced a nature park before the crowds arrive, it is a delight even rarer than the splendor of the Turkish sweets. It was perplexing, the trail was so lush and green and I was looking for a sulphur spring. Nothing in sight confirmed I was on the right path. I was certain I chose the wrong trail and was going to miss out on an eye-opening experience, but after fifty-five minutes, the trees started to part ways for a different colored volcanic rock and then I’d arrived. “Sigh.” I let out the biggest sigh of relief in timing with my mind and started to trot and then skip down the hill, my inner child rejoicing that I found my sanity once more. “See, you do know how to find places!” My mind started. “Shut-up.” I said aloud. “I want to take this all in.”

You see, nature has a way of calming all of those nervous, circular thoughts, and I realized that I need more of this. I sat for a snack break and enjoyed the bubbling springs, steam, and taking in all of the familiar sounds and smells of sulphur. As I felt into when it was time to leave, I headed up the hill to return to my vehicle.

Returning to camp I decided to push myself further out of my comfort box and swim in the lake. I changed and sprinted over to the lake to swim a few laps. The water was different, and after passing rocks barefoot, I arrived at this sinky-esque mud, full with all sorts of sea sprites, and kelpy feeling items. It was unfamiliar and I loved it! I tripped on a log and gently reminded myself that the park host did mention that there were many fallen trees in the lake. I swam a bit more, checking in with myself to see how tired I was before swimming too far out and struggling to return to shore. Once my appetite arrived I knew it was time to end my swim, and on my way out I met a friendly woman from Texas who was also traveling alone and on her way to Yosemite. We exchanged travel plans and I shared that I had forgotten my tea to which she offered me some of her bags after she kayaked the lake. We agreed to meet once more when she finished and I returned to my campsite to have a snack, change, and possibly shower. I made sure to watch my time, and returned to meet up once more. We laughed over traveling in sedans as outdoors lovers and I felt so incredibly blessed to have some new teas to try. As we parted ways, my exhaustion settled in and I went back to camp to rest and prepare my daily meal.

After fumbling about with my new Jet Boil for what felt like ages, I enjoyed my tamales and decided to rest. I played myself guitar, soothing my excitement and settling into my body even more. Once truly resting, a feeling arose, “You must go to Burney Falls today.” My mind told me. “But I’m tired.” I replied. “No, you are not so tired, you are resetting, pack up, and go.” So I prepared for yet another journey, 55 miles further North to the falls. The drive reminded me of our 2020 trip to Portland and brought me feelings of joy remembering memories of great food, fun, and laughter. Once I’d arrived at the falls I was greeted by the friendliest park ranger I have met in my life. His energy was contagious, warm, and bubbling. As we smiled beamingly at one another, my mind only had one word “ease.” He told me I picked an excellent day and time to come. “Serendipitous.” I thought. My mind replied, “You are trusting your intuition.” I beamed with my interconnectedness. I felt whole.

As I walked down to greet the falls the ancient energy surrounded me, the spirits arriving to greet me. I sat and took it all in fully. It was one of the few times my brain actually took a pause. My heart filled with gratitude. I sat, and I sat, and I sat, and I wasn’t sure how I could make the energetic shift to leave the magic behind. I observed families taking photo after photo, asking their children to change their poses, jumping into the icy water for a cool shot. I chuckled and was reminded of my sweet yet occasionally brooding pre-teen I dropped off for camp. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a bee drowning in the water and quietly observed, unsure whether the bee was still holding onto life. After a few moments, realizing it was better to help the bee over wondering, I made a decision. I put my backpack on and precariously climbed down from the rock surrounded by water I was on and scanned for a tool. I found a piece of bark the size of my hand, reached over for it, and proceeded over to the bee’s location, inviting the bee to climb on. The bee was all wet and tired, but did accept my invitation and climbed onto the bark. This poor bee was exhausted, and in the numerous bee rescuing missions I have embraced during my time on earth, I am fully aware that oftentimes bees at this stage are near the end of life as this they know it. My goal is always to bring comfort and joy to the bee in their final moments. My hope was that this bee could recover. I caught notice of some tall yarrow with happy bees working and I decided this was the perfect place for my bee friend to rest, hopefully dry its wings, and be on its merry way, if not, enjoying a final moment atop yarrow (seems splendid to me). I captured the memory in my mind and started to leave, locking eyes with another introspective nature lover who’d arrived after me to take photos. “He looks friendly.” My mind said.

As I was leaving I felt the tug to stay until sunset and it dawned on me that the only way I was ever leaving was if I made a pact to return. I settled on a date and bowed to the heavens and spirits for gracing me with their time and guidance. “Lassen is the goal-you are already late.” My thoughts negged. “Okay, okay, I’m walking.” I replied.

Driving back to my home base my mind was calm, quieter than usual, new song on repeat, enjoying water to drink, the open road, and my own company. I felt so happy and free. When I finally made it back to camp I was beat. My energy was so low, and I knew I needed to try to rest as much as I could before starting what could possibly be my last journey of this trip. In my attempts to rest my mind was dutifully tracking the time as I let the minutes creep past 5:30. Finally, at a 15 til 6, I rose to start my adventure, tired, double and triple checking that I had everything needed to comfortably trek the mountain sola.

The feelings that ensued are things I have never experienced before. I felt bursting with joy. I felt a deep awareness of my body. I felt fear. I felt love. I felt sadness. All the emotions were dancing inside my bones, shaking me to my core, and I was ready to take it all in. After the 45 minute drive, I finally arrived 26 minutes behind schedule. Upon looking at the hike facts at the trailhead and my heart sunk when it said it took average hikers 4–5 hours to complete. “Shit.” I thought. I took a deep breath and high tailed it up the mountain so fast passing a hiker descending that shared with me that he ran out of time. My panic was so heightened that I didn’t feel into my body that hypoxia set in. I took a long pause at the top of the hill to collect myself, check in to my heart, and see if I could make the journey, especially with the 5 miles plus a swim I had in my rearview. My inner guide said I was okay to continue and I proceeded to walk, checking in with myself at every opportunity I could, hand on heart, asking “how are you feeling?” If I received a resounding “good to continue” I continued up the mountain, making sure to check my time and be mindful that the sun would eventually set and I was alone, prepared for the worst-just in case.

Peculiar things happen when you hike alone as a woman. The world is filled with so much fear, but as someone who has always loved my own company, I take myself to birthday dinners alone, I go to the movies alone, I take trips alone. I don’t feel fear in the same way that I perceive others experience fear. I just walk through the world and watch it unfold, making sure I watch where I step.

But when the world starts to worry, and if you share your plans with other worriers, they worry too. Eventually, other people's thoughts influence your mindset and you start to worry too. As I traversed the mountain, negative thoughts started to surround me. Worry sat perched, like an old friend on my shoulder which I tried keeping at bay.

I’m lost

I’m never going to make it

Why did I leave my map!!!??

My mind mercilessly taunted me with thoughts of demise, anticipating ways to get out of possible chaotic scenarios.

At least I have my knife.

No one will be able to do anything to me.

Worst case scenario I will roll off the side of this mountain to safety. I’ll only be a bit banged up.

After a good hour plus of fiending off the darkness of my mind, everything went silent. This is what I was waiting for. A blissful break from my ever racing mind. Respite on the mountain. I smiled with joy as my heart felt assured, calm, and safe. I took pictures, deep breaths, and enjoyed snacks.

The closer I was to the peak, I checked in even more frequently with my heart as the air changed. Naturally, I have the tendency to ignore my internal queues to achieve a goal and stick to my plan, so I allowed myself the option to change plans if need be. I saw some small silhouettes of bodies at the top of the mountain and felt a twinge of envy, picking up my pace, remembering maybe I needed to stop for a break and a snack. So I paused, sat, and I scarfed down the other half of my tamal. “You were hungry.” My mind spoke. I smiled with delight and considered sitting some more, realizing if I sat too long I would likely not finish my journey. I got up, and with the nourishment of my meal I made the final leg of my journey-0.9 miles, which felt like eternity.

I am not sure if it is the fact that your body and brain has to conserve and operate differently in higher altitudes but despite struggling, I felt bliss. A quiet mind is a gift for an overthinker. The wind picked up, I was debating whether or not I was cold or hot, and I was determined to find out something new about myself by the end of this walk. Towards the end, I was met with two different groups. A solo hiker who warned me it was cold at the top of the mountain and asked me if I was prepared with clothing in my backpack-of which I assured him I was well prepared. Next, I passed a wonderful couple and they informed me that there was a kind couple at the top of the mountain.

“How wonderful!” My mind thought, curious to lay my eyes on the two individuals. I started moving more swift as the sun started to shift in the sky, signifying sunset was approaching. As I reached the top I wanted to yell and scream with excitement but I was in company. There was a woman at the top photographing the landscape who said her husband proceeded to climb the rocks to the peak. My mind did somersaults with glee in thinking:

I made it.

Life is great.

I am calm.

I had conquered my catastrophic thinking.

As an ultimate decision in this journey, I decided to climb the rocks to the peak of which I instantly regretted due to my lack of comfort around heights and high wind. I climbed the rocks, congratulated myself, and came right down-carefully.

The couple told me they were staying at the peak until sunset to shoot photos, and that I could join them on the descent down. Their warm invitation melted my soul as that was my one true goal of the trip, to shoot a spectacular sunset. With ease and gratitude, I accepted their invitation and relaxed in my newfound comfort of having company down the mountain.

The sunset was breathtaking. It danced in ways I have never seen before, defying all bounds of what is possible in my mind. As we chatted, we realized we were going to miss shots, and took photos of each other for memories. My happiness cup was overflowing with joy and forever memories, and each way I rotated my sightline shared more of nature's splendor. In finally wrapping up, I couldn’t contain my joy, my smile was radiating my internal state of being.

On the descent down the mountain, I fell in love with myself. My tenacity, perseverance, and drive all led me to finish one of the most mentally challenging hikes of my life. Being alone with your thoughts can be too much, but it can teach you vast knowledge about the health of your internal world. Your inner state of mind, which immediately affects your external world.

My new friends and I bonded over stories, I stumbled and caught myself gracefully like a cat, the husband astonished I didn’t hit my head, and made it down the mountain in record time. As we ended our hike, the wife shared some knowledge with me that she had observed about my character, bursting a story bubble I have been telling myself that is simply not true. What a gift.

As the temperatures lowered, we shared personal stories over dinner in their RV, finally sharing moments taking in the Milky Way in the night sky. I never wanted the night to end, and I made new friends. As my journey closed I felt so incredibly grateful.

11 miles is what it took me to find a piece of myself. My sanity was restored in Lassen National Park, and for that Mother Nature, I thank you.

p.s. The next day, there was a state park advisory that Burney Falls would be very hard to reach due to fires slowing the roads, so trusting that inner voice came quite in handy.