Mountains

You can grow a lot in two weeks, even when you just want to be surrounded by some of the most spectacular scenery on Earth and plan nothing more complicated than enjoying road trips and evenings eating and drinking with your pals. And so, as I gallivanted across Scotland for the third time in twelve months, the visit once again proved to be more than I bargained for.

Our time was divided among friends, and some of my favourite evenings were those where our different circles overlapped; I loved seeing friends meet up and enjoy themselves among new faces, because to bring together good people to your table makes the conversation richer and often results in the most delightful banter. I will never understand those who are threatened by this natural step; this kind of possessive, exclusive view of relationships is unhealthy in my opinion, and the result of insecurities and fear that are detrimental to good mental health. On this trip, I feel like I truly let both those things go.

It happened on a mountain, as I climbed between my husband and a dear friend I call ‘little brother.’ My Scottish sibling towers over me by almost a foot, but we have a natural affection that is best described as playful and sometimes brattish. We are siblings in the true sense of the word, connected by a love of literature, music, and our love of the natural landscape of Scotland. Being in his company brings out the best in me, and quite possibly has a similar effect on him, for we both have a spontaneous, dog-like joy and the same wondrous reaction to seeing beauty around us. “It’s magical”. Indeed.

He took us through the break-taking scenery of the Isle of Skye, and then to the Southern Uplands of Dumfries and Galloway, where we climbed our first mountain together, the Grey Mare’s Tail. He is experienced, and while it was our first time at it, the 2000 foot climb was feasible given our decent fitness levels.

It was not exertion that concerned me as we quickly ascended the first quarter of the distance to the summit, but rather the cliff edge that was just inches away from our scree path. I knew I could turn around at any point, that my brother would support my decision if I grew adamant and vocal enough, but I willed myself not to give in to the terror that gripped me as the field of heather on my right contrasted with the vertical drop on my left. I took deep breaths and believed him when he gently said there was something magical waiting for us at the top.

There was beauty all around us, from a rushing waterfall whose shape surely gave the mountain its name to leaping sheep and feral goats; as we moved ever higher, the cliff face disappeared, and the flatter ground almost convinced me that we were in rolling grass fields. My fear had now been replaced with joy as we approached the summit and the promise of a magical treat. An hour and forty-five minutes after we took our first unsteady steps at the base, we turned our last curve and saw it: I had expected a stunning, “every shade of green” valley between the few mountain tops that surrounded us, but instead we were greeted by Loch Skeen. Magical indeed, an unexpected lake that had been worth every step towards the sky.

The descent, though it barely took an hour, proved to be a repeated test of mental fortitude. The sight of the patches of heather once again caused my stomach to churn, because I am fully aware that going down a mountain is generally more dangerous than its initial climb. Again, deep breaths, a lean to the left this time, and eyes steadied as I remembered my brother’s sage advice: “one careful step at a time.”

There was, at the end of the day, immense satisfaction in conquering my fears, and the three of us (four actually, since we had taken a dog with us) bonded as a result of the journey, which was duly celebrated in Glasgow a few hours later over some of the best curry the city offers at a restaurant called The Village.

Fear. It’s been a recurring feeling these last few months as conflicts and negativity darkened a small part of my social circle, which included friends we would meet up with in Scotland during the trip. The mountain climb cleared my mind in a way that was unexpected yet absolute—it was an epiphany of sorts, the realization that fear and negativity can cloud matters and convince you that nothing can be accomplished. You overcome your fear by facing it, accepting that it’s real but ultimately respecting that your abilities are greater. Once you put it in a box off to the side, it loses its power over you and you can reach your goal.

And so I decided the time had come to let some tense and conflicted friendships go. They served a great purpose at one time, introducing me to people, places, and music that are now wonderful additions to my life, and I will always be grateful that our paths crossed because of that. It was by rethinking their role as conduits that I was able to be thankful and let them go. I don’t know what the future holds for any of us but it matters not at this point whether there is a possibility of reconciliation. What matters is that I can move forward in peace, surrounded by those friends who are kind and generous in my company, with the full realization that connections with people sometimes shift and that it’s okay to adjust your footing on the path when it happens.

“One careful step at a time.” Sage advice. I’m still working on the careful part.