“If a tree falls in the woods does it make a sound?”
I said: “I think this is the dumbest question in the world. The existence of something isn’t predicated on one’s personal experience of it.” My Ma’am agreed. She said: “that’s the arrogance of humanity”; I nodded.
Day 1: THE TIME
This past March My Ma’am and I travelled to Sevierville, TN to celebrate My Aunt Carolyn’s birthday. Every year she hosts this huge birthday blowout in the mountains. Divided by 3 cabins are floods of family/framily operating with the same goal in mind: to enjoy themselves, one another, and the mountains.
This year I climbed my first mountain as an adult. I suppose as a kid in the backseat, the experience of coming up a mountainside was a bit more tamed. I recall it being a shocking experience--but one curbed by the fact that My Sir was driving and we would be safe. As the woman behind the wheel, however, I was less assured (*insert “ah ha!” moment).
The shock I felt was...intense. I just knew my car would slide backwards upon every steep slope and that would be the end of Dav & Crystal. To my surprise and satisfaction there was a plot twist: we survived. Not once did my vehicle give in to the Law of Gravity and take us clean out. In retrospect I suppose that’s how I responded to many new (and somewhat daring) experiences...I associated them with my physical, emotional, or social demise when, in fact, that was never my lot.
Day 2: MY DIME
My Ma’am is fly. Shorty’s the epitome of a “Perfect 10” and has a phenomenal smile to match. She’s beautiful, and as if that wasn’t enough, her hair is white.
Not grey.
Not sliver.
Not platinum.
White.
From her scalp.
In fact, that’s one of her 2 go-to replies when folks inquire “did you dye your hair that color?” She smiles and answers “this is all me, grown from my scalp.”
It’s eye-catching and completely unavoidable.
It didn’t help that at this point in time she wore it in an afro. I once recall how an elder in the store rebutted “you’re not old enough for hair that white.” I smiled inside--not because her offense was lost on me but because she still subscribed to that archaic notion that “matured” hair was divinely reserved for the oldest (and assumed wisest) in the community only. Little did she know--when you have an encounter with God you never return down the mountain the same way you went up. Just ask Moses.
And I wanted one.
I hoped that I’d have one that weekend.
I hoped a more evolved version of myself--emptied of all laughter, good times, prayer, reflection, and rest--would descend from the mountain ready to engage with the world once again. I had no intention of returning to Cincinnati as the exact same Davia.
On day 2, this extraordinary woman and I walked to the fitness center. It wasn’t much of a “center“ as it was a room with a handful of low-resistance machines. Nevertheless, it was located near the main office at the bottom of the mountain. We were unprepared for the intensity of the voyage and were pooped by the time we made it up our first two inclines.
We pressed on though cause we’re G’s.
We learned how to gauge the terrain, how to work with the mountain to ascend and descend with each turn. It was one of those lessons which only comes by experience.
Day 3: THE MESSAGE
Day 3: My Ma’am awoke me (easily might I add) to watch the sunrise from our window. It was glorious and when I say “glorious” I mean...glorious. The streaks of red, yellow, some weird magenta-like color I never saw before peaking, breaking, and shining over the mountains in the distance was...surreal. I’ve witnessed sunrises before; each one respectfully different from the other. This one, however, left me full...and in awe. The only words I could muster were “this is beautiful.” It was so beautiful that I became anxious and my anxiety grew with each passing moment. I thought about how much fun my mom and I had the night before learning line dances at midnight, drunk off moonshine margaritas. I thought about how much we bonded just kicking it and enjoying each other’s company. I thought about how we would reconvene in our room to decompress or catch one another up on our daily activities. I thought about how I treasured our ever-growing friendship within our mother-daughter relationship. And all of that wonderment, all of that appreciation, all of that revelation made me think of time. Thinking about time scared the shit out of me. I’ve heard stories of people who’ve had their entire worlds rocked by the passing of a loved one and I did not want this to be our last shared memory. I had to breathe through it to keep from crying as I sat on the table behind her staring out of the window.
I realized during my self-reflection how days 2 and 3 reminded me of the mountain-climb trek to the fitness center. You see, when you climb a mountain it requires specific exertions at certain times. Day 2 I had to lean in to the experience just as I leaned into the mountain on the upward climb.
When you lean in, you must position your body forward and press into the mountain with each step. This helps to keep your balance and help you power through the incline. The steeper the incline the more you lean and press in. The morning of day 3 was the downslope; I had to tilt backwards to control my speed. I had to take smaller, more careful steps so I did not lose my footing. If I didn’t take control of my fears in that moment I could have tumbled down my mental mountainside.
I learned that with each direction--whether climbing up or down the slope--I had to learn to make gravity my ally instead of my nemesis.
In retrospect I think a lot of my trials were exercises to learn how to see the element--time, romance, conflict, disappointment, heartache--as an ally rather than a nemesis. I did not fear the mountain at that point. I respected it as the training ground it was. I knew from that point on I would make it down the mountain safely; I knew I would be called to climb another again.
