It has been a good couple of days. Don’t get me wrong, I like visiting with these people – and am amazed by how often we see them, considering they don’t even live on this continent. My own family I hardly ever see, though we could drive to them in five days, or fly there in five hours if we had the money.
The first night we were here, we drove to the beach. Maybe five minutes from our house, and so beautiful – on a clean lake, surrounded by mountains… we live in an amazing part of the world. Just five minutes away, and we never go. I’d like to go, but… well… it is easier staying home, and the anxiety gets too strong, and my husband is too tired, and my son doesn’t like to leave the house, and…
We sat at the beach with our visiting family for about an hour. Maybe a little more. I waded a little, but didn’t swim, as I had my dog with me. She doesn’t like the water, and was even trembling up in my arms. The water was warm, and free of weeds – just as I like it. The beach was sandy, and soft on my toes. We sat at the edge of the beach, on a grassy hill, and just enjoyed the moment – watching the birds soaring on the breeze, watching the swimmers, and the boats going by, talking, and laughing, and watching the trains go by just behind us. It was a good evening.
Yesterday, my husband was at work. His brother asked if I wanted to go along on their trip to the waterfall, and a hike above it after. My initial response is always, “No!” Stay home, be comfortable, calm the anxiety. Years ago I decided that wasn’t the best answer, and that in a moment like that my answer should be, “Yes.” It is a conscious decision every time, and definitely goes against what I feel in the moment, but I am often glad that I went (once it is over.)
The waterfall is a little over a twenty minute drive from my house. We park, and then walk through this valley filled with trees and other vegetation, and mountains on each side. Even on a hot summer day, it is often cool in there. We follow the path along the stream, until we reach the rushing waterfall on the other end. The sound of the water, and the smell of the forest… so calming, so soothing – even when there are many other people around (which there often are.)
On the other side of the parking lot, there is a trail that leads up above the falls. Though we have taken that trip at least yearly since I moved here sixteen years ago, and often more, I have never done the hike above the falls. My brother in law said he last hiked it with my husband – but my husband’s knees have gotten bad since we were married, and he can no longer do such hikes.
The way up was steep, and I am not used to the climb. I struggled to breathe, my chest and shoulder kept sending out sharp pains, and my face was overheated. I was afraid that I wouldn’t make it – that either a heart attack, or a fainting spell, that would send me down the steep slope to my right would end my life. Mine, and my dog’s with me, as I was carrying her up the hill (she’s only a little dog after all – and even if she could have walked it, the drop made me afraid to let her try.)
I didn’t say a word. I often don’t. I just followed along beside praying that I would make it. Not that I was afraid to die so much – these days situations I think I might not survive leave me thinking, “I’ll see Gryff soon,” (Gryff is my dog that I lost just about 2 months ago.) But it wouldn’t have been… polite?… to die there and leave my brother in law to explain that to my husband and son. Plus there is my son I would be leaving behind – and I don’t want to do that to him.
Obviously we made it – and the view, and the smells, and the exercise were worth it. I was glad to get home, but was also thankful that I went – against my very strong inclination to decline (especially when my husband wasn’t coming, too.) I rested for the afternoon, and in the evening, we played cards. So much fun!
I enjoyed the visit. I most always do. However, I am really looking forward to getting back to the way things ‘should’ be: To my routine. To my diet. To quiet. For I can’t be me when other people are around, and it is so, so, exhausting – and I can already feel myself crashing, and being pulled towards those fixations that help to calm me: drawing floor plans, spending hours on Pinterest, researching and planning things that I will likely not follow through on… living.