Shedding Expectations

The sun was beginning to set as we roped up on the glacier. Our camp was somewhere far above, hidden in the clouds that rolled down the mountain, lapping at our feet. The fog blurred the sun and I couldn’t tell how much time we had left before it disappeared behind the ridge and we would be left in the dark. ⁣
⁣
The cold bit my cheeks and numbed my fingers and I fumbled as I strapped crampons to my feet. Just a few hours ago, I imagined that by now I would plop down outside my tent, dehydrate a freeze-dried meal (I would do the Pad Thai, I had decided), open a novel, and let a cup of tea thaw my hands. I would watch the peaks fade in the gloaming and the stars emerge and I would listen to the wind. But that wasn’t going to happen, I realized, as I swung my pack onto my shoulders. I had climbed too slowly. Spent too long lying on my back in the basin with the waterfall and the wildflowers. ⁣
⁣
As I began to trudge uphill, I let myself mourn that romanticized evening in the mountains. I let myself sigh, “If only we had started earlier,” but I knew it wouldn’t do any good. It wouldn’t change anything. The only thing to do was to keep walking. I leaned onto my ice axe as the ridge steepened and I leaned into this new night. Somewhere along the way the sky turned black and we didn’t eat dinner and I drank cold water instead of tea and the novel stayed buried in my pack. ⁣Our headlamps made the glacier glow.
⁣
The mountains have a way of teaching you to let go of expectations. Teaching acceptance. Of saying, “Sorry, but this is how things are going to be. Can you deal with it?” And there’s no other choice but to say yes and keep going.