When Hiking is a Metaphor for Life

 Hikes don’t always turn out the way I planned. Maybe I should rephrase that to say hikes never turn out exactly the way I planned. There was the time I got stung by a bee. That time my friend broke her toe and gamely showed up for our hike wearing a soft boot. The multiple times I somehow got off the trail and ended up with a longer hike than expected. Often, the unexpected is joyful. Like rounding the bend of a switchback on a hot day and finding a shady picnic shelter. Like the time Paul and I were hiking down in Roanoke—about three hours from home—and happened to run into a dear friend.

Yesterday, Paul and I set off on a five-mile hike around Quiet Waters Park in Annapolis. The first thing we noticed—Quiet Waters wasn’t quiet. Between the maintenance crew with leaf blowers and the construction crew repairing the paved trail, there was plenty of noise. I’ve never seen a “road closed ahead” sign on a trail before…which may be how we got turned around and heading in the wrong direction. We were supposed to be heading to a scenic overlook of the South River; instead we ended up at a compost heap. By the time we corrected course, we had already hiked four miles and we were running short on time. And possibly a little short on patience.

“Do you want to skip the river?” I asked, frustrated. “We’ve seen rivers before and we have a lunch reservation in an hour.” We looked at our map again.

“Look, we’ve looped back to the Visitor’s Center by our car,” Paul said. “And there’s another parking lot by the overlook.” So, mid-hike, we hopped back in the Buick and drove down the road towards the river.

I know—I’m the one who suggested we skip the river. I’m so glad we didn’t. It felt so peaceful as we sat in a little gazebo overlooking the glistening surface of the water. I propped my phone against the gazebo railing and set the timer. “Smile!” I called.

We walked back towards the car, forgetting that my sunglasses were still sitting on the wooden bench. Darn. Despite this, I’ll there are many moments I’ll remember from our hike. The slick bright fall leaves against the wet asphalt as we walked. The buck munching on the tree branch at the edge of the path. Paul’s hand, warm in mine, as we walked.

Today is November 23—our 27th wedding anniversary and also Thanksgiving. Today I’m extra thankful for Paul. If hiking is a metaphor for life, we’ve logged a lot of miles. Sometimes it’s a tough uphill climb, and sometimes the views are spectacular. No matter what, I’m thankful to be on this journey together.



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