***I am resolved to write my blogs with a more conscious effort; thus, please enjoy this blog as the first of many that will apply my comprehensive writing style :-)
Yesterday I had the confirmation of what I already knew was true—I am different. I say these words with a smile, confidence, pride, and a secret sense of conceit.
Yesterday I traveled to Calpe, a coastal city in Spain, with a group of students from my study abroad program. Calpe is a small, beautiful town with a touch of city. There are three main things to do in Calpe: beach, stroll the streets, or climb the mountain. What did we do? I’ll give you one guess…
In retrospect, the first confirmation of my individuality came the moment I stepped off the bus and saw what we would be climbing. I was excited and anxious to start. The size did not intimidate me, nor the fact that I would have to exert a substantial amount of energy to make it to the top. While other students were debating whether to go to the top or only the half way point, my mind was made up. For me, it was not a question of making it to the top or not, it was a question of what I would discover on my way up— man-made or natural paths, animal life, plant life, breath taking views, personal reflections, etc.
On the journey to the top, I had my second and third verifications that I stray from the common thought process of young adults my age. Before this trip we were told to wear trekking/hiking shoes, so of course I wore my durable, land-to-water, lime green Keens. I also thought it obvious to wear my sweatpants: they can be rolled into shorts when I get hot from climbing and let down to their original pants form when it got cold (the mountain was bordered by water on three of the four sides, so I assumed it would get cold). I was astonished to see others come in jeans and converse! There was even one girl in a skirt and another in heels! While others were complaining or making half-serious jokes about their lack of preparation for hiking, I was quite comfortable. The third confirmation came in the form of well, form. The way others climbed and descended the mountain was much different than my style. I stayed low to the ground to maintain my center of gravity, while others stood erect trying to maintain their balance. Some were apprehensive to touch the ground with their hands or to grip a rock for stability. When I go hiking, am prepared to get dirty! That is the part of being in nature, because it reflects the bond that forms between you and the environment! The most disheartening aspect of the form of others was their singular desire to make it to the top, rather than enjoy the journey. I was the last one to the top, not because I was slow, but because I would pause and enjoy what I was doing, where I was, and how I felt.
During the descent of the first of two groups, I split from the group. Everyone was moving so fast to the bottom, and I still wanted to see and experience more. It wasn’t enough for me to just go to the top and be done; I was not satisfied. As everyone hastened to the left to get to the base, I went to the right. In the words of Robert Frost, I took “The Road Not Taken.” I walked through the greenest part of the mountain that no one else will know. I stood in peaceful solitude looking out across the sea. When I explored a little more, I came to the end of all the trails. I climbed a rock and sat. The rock was at the edge of the bluff. Below me seemed to be a break wall—I could hear the waves crashing against it; Behind me, the edges of the other four cliffs that comprise the mountain; To the left, the Mediterranean Sea decorated with sailboats, birds, and a little fishing-town; to the right, the green side of the mountain (trees, brush, and grass); in front of me, the last bluff that made up the mountain; surrounding me, a tornado so seagulls soaring through the sky. I sat in this spot for a while, just thinking and feeling…
I thought how lucky I am to have the opportunities to see places, like this mountain, that I literally can’t even dream up; to experience precious moments while I’m living them; to see things that I know half of the world never will; to have my health and a positive attitude; to have the mentality to help, rather than harm; to have a loving family that supports me; to have a best friend who is silly, smart, supportive, and adventurous; to have a boyfriend who loves me, challenges me, grows with me, and makes me a better person. I felt content and blessed. I felt a sense of selflessness induced by the idea that I am living these moments to share them with others: I am a vehicle for those who without my accounts of these moments and places would never know their grace. For a brief instant I felt that everyone who I’ve crossed paths with was with me on that mountain—seeing and experiencing everything as I did. I liked that feeling: being alone, without feeling alone.
On the way back down the mountain I got to watch the sun set to the west, forming a fiery pink-orange-purple sky. Two minutes later I saw the moon sneaking into view from behind a cloud. I literally watched it transform from a sliver in the sky to a breathtaking golden full moon. I’m glad I stayed behind.
Like anyone who has ever felt like the outsider looking in, I sometimes feel sad and alone when others don’t understand me or feel the need to be blatantly hurtful; however, I would NEVER change the fundamentals of who I am. Unlike the majority of young adults my age that numbingly walk through life, I LIVE. I experience and appreciate the life that I’ve been given. There will always be people who have been to more places than I have, but quantity holds little importance when compared to the quality of those experiences. While the majority of the group took the path to the left, “I took the one less traveled by,/And that has made all the difference.”
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