My Metaphorical Mountain
What experiences can teach us, and how a stranger’s connection can alter your life
Waking at the rise of dawn, tiptoeing around even though there isn’t a person to wake — still doing it out of habit for my old life. Packing my bags again, sneaking out of the room being sure to hold my foot out behind me to avoid the door from slamming and hustling to the bus station only to wait for 15 minutes. It’s not my first early morning and certainly not my last.
I arrived at the valley floor the sky still with a dark glow, looking up and peering to the top, where the light was making its first penetration of the day. Glancing to see my objective, orientating myself and taking a breath just to grasp where in the world I was currently standing.
Swiftly I moved with my two bags, swiftly as I could anyhow. My attention was caught by the only other person at the bus station, he said a warm hello and went in the opposite direction. Talking my way into getting my bags stored in the hotel in the valley, which is strictly reserved for paying customers, which I by no means was. A kind act by the gentleman behind the counter.
I hustled over to the trail, underprepared by unwilling to fail. The ranger the day before had informed me the trail was icy and he didn’t advise me to take it on due to the snowfall. I had asked if it was possible and he responded with sure. I didn’t hear the rest. This wasn’t something I wanted to do, but something I needed to do.
On that cold December day I stood at the bottom of the valley craning my neck to look up, I didn’t know myself and I am not sure I do today. I was emotional as I took the path, 7 hours return trip. With a ridiculous gain in elevation and questionable weather on the horizon. Easier to look back now and say it was a stupid decision, but you couldn’t convince me of that at the time. I wasn’t prepared just wearing sneakers, a shitty old pair of shorts and a bag which consisted mostly of Doctor Pepper but I began the upwards slope. Noticing the trees, the rocks, the birds, the valley, the soul of the place and really noticing myself.
The hike one way took me 3 full hours, there were 1500 meters in elevation and my quads felt every step I saw no one on the trail — alone through and through. I was afraid when I lost the trail because of the layer of snow, not sure I’d be able to find it again. More afraid when it started to dump snow. Within the space of 45 minutes, I’d lost my shoeprints and most of the trail with 3- 4 inches of fresh snow.
Knowing I was risking not being able to find my way back to the bottom of the valley in time for me to get my bus back to San Francisco. There are worse places to be stranded I knew but I did need to make it back to San Fran in order to get a flight the following morning to Portland. It took me a while to reach the upper lookout which viewed the whole valley and to be honest the view was amazing except it really wasn’t. Cloud had engulfed the valley.
There was still something serine as I stood atop of Yosemite national park overlooking the valley below. Part of me not understanding how I had got to stand in this spot. Part of me not believing I was standing on this spot. And part of me not feeling I deserved to be in this spot.
What mattered was what I had sacrificed to be in this position. I was the person who was concerned with never having enough money to leave my hometown, let alone move interstate and fly to the other side of the globe. The view was lost within the clouds and mist, occasionally you could see cars slowly moving like ants on the valley floor, mostly they were lost in the clouds. I took a few pictures on the self-timer and started the trek down in order to not miss my bus. The view didn’t matter, it’s what getting there signified.
The events which had led me to be in this spot were cloudy and I’d ridden out a metaphorical storm. Never in my life did I believe I would be standing in this spot 15,000 km from home. I didn’t think I’d be smart enough, successful enough, never thought I’d have any money and certainly didn’t believe I was brave enough.
I was further away from home than I had ever been. Standing on a cliff and not a single soul knew I was there. I peered over the edge and pondered the meaning. On my knees, I overlooked one of the most famous spots in the world, alone on the clifftop. I yelled at the top of my lungs with relief and was reduced to tears.
My trembling legs now had to get me back down to the valley floor.
So how did we get here? They can’t kill us. Until they kill us. I’d worked the entire year, spent very little money and finally had some time to work with. Time I wasn’t studying, a time I didn’t need to think about money and time I wanted for myself. I needed to see things I hadn’t seen before. I was unorganised almost didn’t get it all sorted. In fact, I’d booked so little I wasn’t sure where I would be heading after LA and I was certainly right, I didn’t have a plan and that was liberating.
I was the classic case of winging it.
I slowly but surely made my way back down, making sure to appreciate everything once I felt safe enough to know I had found the trail. I fell over a dozen times on the ice with a downhill trajectory. I reached the valley floor and before I knew it I had a shitty Starbucks coffee in my hand (The only place to actually get a coffee, and something I stood against. Do all big companies need to force their way into markets like this?) I collected my bag and I awaited my bus.
As I arrived at the bus stop, I sat down with my big Patagonia duffel bag I sat down drinking my coffee. Everything I had brought overseas sitting on the wet ground next to me. A black man in his early sixties began chatting with me at the bus stop, he was the same man who’d said hello earlier that morning. He looked big but was actually small due to being rugged up, was greying at the edges of his head and was African American. He was kind in nature and was curious as to why I was there. I told him about myself, he told me how he was a councillor. A black Gay councillor, he laughed as he told me that. He told me his name was Andre, however that felt as though it was a name he chose. His life hadn’t been easy, and I felt that. Andre seemed thrilled to notice how little I minded about who he was. I was fascinated, with who he was and what he had to say. I was born with missing fingers and toes so a certain part of me just gets it, just understands how hard it is fitting into a world that doesn’t quite comprehend.
We talked in soft voices for a while, we opened up about our lives. And for a few moments, there weren’t consequences. We talked about what it was like growing up in America and compared to Australia. We talked about the generation gap. We spoke about having a disability in a world that is yet to accept disability. We spoke about being African American in current America. We spoke about our fears, dreams and what we wanted our life to be. Our perspectives were different, our worlds miles away.
Andre asked if I could give advice on his present situation and with a warm smile, I obliged. A young couple who I sensed was having an argument sat down nearby, and I was starting to wonder where my bus was. Willing to miss the bus if I needed for this conversation. Andre’s situation had seemed complex, he had a partner who was going down the wrong path, his mother was dying and he wasn’t in the best health himself. Giving advice to a man 30 years older than me felt wrong but I pondered up the courage and I thought back to something I’d revisited in my journal. Just because something starts terribly doesn’t mean it’ll end that way. It could be the most important day of your life, but you can’t know in advance — as that’s the mystery of life. The piece of advice came out quickly and I awaited a response. He closed his eyes and I thought I’d let Andre down, except when I looked up again he had a small tear in just his right eye. He simply said thank you, and he didn’t need to say anymore.
We both went quiet for some time, looking at one another every now and then. I thought that was it, I didn’t even feel a goodbye was necessary. The couple who had been arguing was now sitting across from one another and shooting daggers at each other. Andre had a chuckle at the dagger and cleared his throat. His body language winded up as though he was going to give a lengthy talk, but he exhaled and simply said ‘Happiness isn’t a destination, our low moments are just as important as our high moments.’ With relief on his face. With an inkling, I thought this man wished he had learnt that long before he had — I didn’t ask.
This knowledge wasn’t something I hadn’t come across at some point or another, there was an element of hearing it from a person who’d learnt it the hard way. It hit harder, felt more real and I recall smiling at this beautiful man, knowing I wouldn’t ever see him again.
He gave me one more piece of advice, but I’m not willing to share that just yet, I need more words, more room to truly process his intended meaning.
I caught the bus out of the corner of my eye, and we both stood. I took the two steps forwards as did he and we hugged in the sort of way only two people who have known each other for a long time do. We said a gentle goodbye and went separate ways.
I got on the bus, giving a wave at my new friend but understanding this was the final moment of our friendship. Knowing that was okay.
I hope he knows how much that conversation meant to a young man, desperately trying to find his way in this world. I hope he knew I cried on my return to San Francisco, I hope he knows I think of his advice every single day. I hope everything turned out well for him. I hope he’s doing okay because his belief in me still radiates into my life today.
2019 was the year strangers changed and saved my life, I’m trying to pay it forward. And as I stood at the top of the mountain, I considered my life I smiled because it was the best year I’d ever had.
And as those bright city lights came over the horizon and we drove over the Golden State Bridge, I knew I wanted to be a better person; climbing more mountains.
Tim Hart is a teacher, writer and outdoor enthusiast. He’s an Australian living all over the country. Constantly chasing the next adventure. You can and should subscribe to his email list here.
