Following the flow within

Ambition, discernment, and hiking down to the base of the mountain

Have you ever hiked down into the base of a mountain range?

Climbing a mountain is surely a grand experience, but have you ever felt the magic of going in the other direction? Of descending to the lowest points? Of climbing down towards the lush and water-filled base of things?

I’ve only done it twice. The first time was a hike down into Linville Gorge in North Carolina. The trail was long and difficult. As a novice hiker, I was largely unprepared for how much effort and patience would be required. But wow, it was worth every second. Along the way, we were met with moss and mountain laurel, as well as with winding views of creeks and old trees. You can feel the earth breathing when you’re deep enough in the forest.

As we finally reached the very bottom, situated between at least two massive mountains, we were met with glorious, rushing water. It felt like we were standing just in Middle Earth’s Rivendell. I’ll never forget the thrill of Alex and I kicking off our shoes and socks, rolling up our pants, and carefully making our way into the water. It was a baptism. Cold waters. Pure joy.

Linville Gorge in October 2016

The second time I hiked down into a mountain range was a just a few weeks ago. Alex and I, in search of the wondrous below, hiked to Stinging Fork Falls in Tennessee. This trail was much easier and faster than Linville Gorge, but it was no less rewarding as we watched the waters pour over rocks and cliffs into what must be one of the best swimming holes in the area. I wanted to jump in, but didn’t have what I’d need to do a winter cold plunge. So we just stood there, holding silence between us, taking it all in.

Another sacred encounter with the majesty of our beautiful world.

Stinging Fork Falls in January 2023

When I consider the confluence of both my religious upbringing in the Christian tradition, as well as my formation as a person living in the United States, I find that nearly everything in me has been taught to value mountaintops over and above the gorges, the valleys, and the deep inner places that nurture and sustain our lives.

I was taught that we should live with heaven, this transcendent and far off place, at the forefront of our minds, because the “earth is passing away”.

I was taught to get the degrees, get the good job, and climb the ladder to achieve success and security in the world.

I was taught to find a partner, have a few kids, make sure those few kids believe they are rare/special/amazing/destined-for-greatness and bend over backwards to give them everything they need (and most of what they want) so that they too can achieve success and security in the world.

And even outside of that limited, religiously-informed frame, almost everywhere I look is some sort of variation on the theme.

Find your “higher self” and let that version of you make all the decisions.

Pull some cards and burn some palo santo and then you’ll uncover the mystery of the universe, guiding you to some better or transcendent place.

Meditate more. Clear your mind’s eye. Be present. And then you’ll reach a state of true knowing.

All variations on the same theme: ascend and transcend. Be great. Reach the highest possible point. Escape death. Cease to be human. Cease to be of the earth.

When our sole focus is on ascending life’s mountains and transcending our body’s limitations, we forfeit the gift of feeling present and at home in the unique possibilities and capacities of the lives we’ve been given.

A more beautiful way to navigate this might be to descend to the base of the mountain every now and then. If life is only about the mountaintops, it becomes all too easy to end up climbing a trail that was never really meant for you.

But when you are able to slow down enough to go inward and to listen for how the rushing waters within are shaping your inner world, you are better able to live in accordance with what’s most true within you instead of according to the maps and guides of all the voices outside of you.

This practice shifted my goals for the year quite tremendously. Towards the end of my sabbatical, I decided to not write my second book proposal. Or rather, to not force it. Even though I have an outline, a nearly complete chapter, and even a marketing plan, when I slowed down to listen to the rushing waters within, I realized they were flowing in a different direction. So I had to decide: I could either to use my will power to push out a book that’s not ready for the sake of climbing this mountain that I’ve chosen or I could follow the flow within.

When you consider the things you’re striving for, even the good things, how aligned are those goals with what’s truest within you?

When was the last time you made space to hike down into the mountain ranges of your own experience to find the magic and the life there?

For years, I avoided this type of inner work because some part of me was afraid of what I’d find inside. When your religious frame teaches you that it’s holy to hate yourself, it can take years of care, support, and unlearning to believe that there is something good, holy, and utterly glorious about the innermost parts of you.

But the work it takes to place one foot in front of the other as you make your way to those deeper places—gosh, it’s worth it every time.

I have more thoughts about this, but I’m going to stop here for now.

I’d love to hear what’s shimmering for you in light of what I’ve offered. I know it was a bit of winding road, but we are talking about mountain trails after all.

Thank you for reading and feel free to leave comments below.

Be well,

Bethaney