May I Make A Suggestion? Keep Going

I recently learned that in times of strife, confusion, doubt, and fear there is no choice. We have to keep going.

This past year I learned that the right direction does not matter much when the only direction is forward and the only choice is to keep moving. It did not matter that I wanted to stop and rethink my decisions. It did not matter that I couldn’t see anything beyond the hills. I walked through it. In September, I found myself thirteen-thousand feet above sea level in the Andes Mountains trying to calm my heart and catch my breath wondering, “What am I doing here? Why is this a good idea?” This was on day number two of a four-day trek on the Inka Trail in Peru. I had been travelling in the country for about three days by the time I asked those questions. As I walked up an endless path of stones and the air became thinner and thinner and my lungs worked harder and harder to get oxygen to my bloodstream, it occurred to me that this may not be a good idea.

It was too late to turn back, “but what if I just stop?” I thought to myself. “What if I sit down and do nothing?” The low air pressure made it difficult for my mind to communicate with my body. I was tired in my head. I knew that I could push my perceived physical limits through a strong will, but my thoughts were at home. I wanted to be comfortable. At the very least, I wanted to complain to someone about the injustice of the terrain, but I had no familiar friends with me. Of the five people in my group, I was the only American and the only person travelling solo. We were scattered along the trail, everyone going at their own pace. The two German women were about ten minutes ahead of me. The Dutch couple were about twenty minutes behind me and our guide was bringing up the rear to ensure that none were left behind. We were among many expedition groups with the united objective of reaching the ancient city hidden in the sky. We shared our energy and our looks of desperation along the way. I walked and passed those who were resting and then they would pass me when I was resting.

We developed a kinship softly asking one another: “You ok?”

Or offering support: “It’s just one foot in front of the other. We’ve got this.”

A teenager and I who did this dance for a couple of hours looked at me and said, “You know there is a train to Machu Picchu. We could have taken the train.”

Most of the people on the trail were couples or small groups of friends who paced themselves, hiking throughout the day until meeting up with their larger groups at rest stops and campsites. I, however, was hiking alone.

I imagined that I was there to experience a grand epiphany, a message from my mom, or a burning bush moment where God would tell me how to provide for my family. I thought that all would be revealed, and I would receive enlightenment on the mountain. By hour four I was struggling. My body was trying to compensate for the loss of oxygen and my brain fog was thick. I felt like I was moving in slow motion though my heart was racing like I was being pulled over by the cops in 2020. I mustered just enough energy to ask God in my head,

“Lord, please…please, tell me why I’m here. Did I make a mistake?”

My head was light. I was not thinking straight. I wanted to get to the campsite so that I could sit down, but I still had four hours to go. I began to question my decisions, my life trajectory, my faith. I was folded over my trekking poles, despairing about my predicament when God answered me with clarity and kindness.

“Just keep moving.” he said,

It took all my energy to relay his message from my mind to my brain to my body. I stood up with renewed hope and pushed on. I felt deeply that I understood the intention, goal and mission. He restored my faith…until I stopped about twenty minutes later and asked the same questions and received the same answer. All day for eight hours of hiking, that was my program.

I fell into despair, asked, “God, why?”

He replied, “Keep moving.”

I moved.

When I finally made it to the top of Dead Woman’s Pass, I was thankful and reserved. We looked like a people who had been through something equitable in its level of personal challenge. A few guys toasted beers to celebrate the victory. I sat down and tried to get my thoughts straight before we began our two-thousand-foot descent to the next camp site. Alex, our guide told us that we would begin feeling better as we trekked down the other side of the mountain. I sat there more afraid about going down than excited about arriving to the top.

“Jo,” Alex said, “Extend your poles to chest level and do not walk straight down for the first mile. It is really steep.”

While the other four members of the group took off down the mountain eager to get air, I walked at a snail’s pace believing that every step could be fatal, and I was sure to go tumbling down the rocks. I was pissed. I started thinking how it was unfair to go down after all of the work I did to go up. I was afraid.

I fell into despair, asked, God, why?

He replied, “Keep Moving.”

I moved.

I did not train my brain or my body for a two-week trip to Peru, I trained my soul.

I saw an ancient city in the mountains built by people with profound faith and legacy. I experimented with my body and discovered what the mind can do with just a bit of assurance. I know what happens when my body and my mind are in synch. I keep moving.