White Mountains

I am camping in the White Mountains at a small campground, nestled beneath towering ponderosa pines on the Colorado Plateau at an elevation of 6,343 feet. And for the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe.

This has been a difficult month, and I needed to step away for a few days to begin the healing process. There has always been something about being outdoors that restores me in a way nothing else can.

I traded my little camper van for an itty-bitty SUV. Some people call it compact. I call it freedom.

It gives me far more flexibility than the van ever did, although it comes with its own challenges. At 67, you might think I’d be looking for comfort. Instead, I seem to enjoy the challenge.

After I arrived, and between thunderstorms, I spread a plastic bag across a picnic table, sat quietly, and spent time in meditation and prayer.

Later, I enjoyed a simple supper of salad topped with baked chicken before wandering down to the lake. I sat quietly, admiring the fading light as the geese skimmed low across the water on their evening flight.

With a full belly and a quieted mind, I stretched out for a little nap.

There’s something magical about lying on an air mattress in the back of an SUV, surrounded by complete darkness, watching lightning dance across a black sky. Then drifting off to sleep as rain taps gently across the roof. The only interruption came from three mosquitoes that apparently believed they had reserved a campsite with me. I assured them, with great mercy and very little ceremony, that they had not.

I can feel the healing beginning.

It feels like releasing what no longer belongs to me and making room for what does. Slowly shedding the person I was becoming under the weight of repeated harsh words and criticism. Healing doesn’t happen overnight. It takes time. Thankfully, time is exactly what I have.

I am deeply grateful for the circle of friends who simply accept me for who I am. There is a quiet kind of grace in being loved without having to earn it.

Tomorrow’s plans include a little retail therapy, and if the rain gives me a break, my last day will be spent with my camera in hand.