Reflections on a Quarter-life Crisis

A Moment of Peace Atop a Mountain

The Town

Charmonix: a small French village surrounded by the French and Swiss Alps. Modest ivory houses paneled with dirt brown crossings, all soaked up by the mountains and unaware of the rest of the world. White French script on nutmeg-colored wood panels hang from the corner shops. The crosswalk, weathered by time and hard work, is still as effective as the first day it was painted. The tempting scent of pommes fritas and paninis du fromage waft into the street and catch the attention of a young boy. "Mamma, mamma," he pleads as he tugs on the knee of his mother's camel-brown slacks, "Je veux pommes frites... et barbe a papa mais bleu por les garcons."
A small bell chimes as we enter an old tourist shop: weathered postcards of a majestic mountain, thin T-shirts with the French flag, and knick-knacks of every sort. The faint must envelops our group; it reminds me of the scent of a rarely opened book from a local library. I touch everything within my reach. The substance of the abundant postcards is fragile and the corners are starting to fray; the jar of Peach preserves is cold against the back of my hand. I handled a mini stuffed cow with a Charmonix t-shirt on, just as small. The fake fur meets on the top of the Cow's head and I swirl my finger in the pattern. I even try to forge the fur straight but decide to allow the cow to exist as it is.
Finally it is time for our hike. Our group huddles together for warmth as we wait for the trolley to bring us further up the mountain. Anxious chatter fills the vestibule as everyone prepares their vestments for the threatening cold. I slip my hands into a soft pair of ivory gloves and wiggle my fingers inside. Perfect fit. The gray and silver scarf wraps around my mouth and nose like medical bandage and I am ready to go. The way up is filled with picture taking. Click click click, zoom in, zoom out, change the setting, delete that one, are my batteries charged? The photography session is abruptly ended by our harsh bang into the off-loading dock. We step out on the unsteady platform and adopt a serious demeanor.
The high-altitude cold is harsh on the soft tissue of our faces. Kristina's nose is red from chapping and Perrine's nail beds are blue from escaping blood vessels. I feel around the crescent of my ear that is burning from the wind's bite.

The Hike 

I'm not much of a hiker so I wasn't really sure what I was getting myself into when I agreed to go on this trip with my Public International Health professor, Phillip, and the rest of our class.  Of course, I'll do anything for the sake of the story. (A good friend once told me that everything is worth trying twice and I theorize that it is pretty sound advice. ) I figured I'd get some nice views of France, a little bit of fresh air, and some time to bond with the rest of the girls from the program.  Charmonix gave me all of this but, mostly, left me with an altered state of mind that left me understanding how people can become so addicted to this hobby.

I hadn't any hiking gear so I made due with what I had. When we reached the point where we would begin our hike, I could barely stand the cold. I had a tank top, a turtleneck, and a purple wool coat on but none of these layers seemed to do the trick. The cold air seemed violent and left me incessantly reaching for my chapstick. The hair blown into my face obstructed my view of the foggy mountain. Perhaps it was the time of day or my anxiety surrounding the trip, but the famous mountains looked black peeking over the clouds that, also, seemed angrier compared to their usual inviting demeanor. I stood stiffly with my fists dug firmly into my pockets and against my hip bones as I watched the others snap pictures all around. After a few minutes, the frenzy calmed and the flashes became less frequent. Our attention turned to Phillip, who was acting as our guide, for the next step. He began to brief us about the trip but I was more interested in my peers, each with different reactions conjured by what he was saying. The isolation of the mountain had brought out our strongest qualities. Stephanie, always ready for an adventure, rocked back and forth on her feet pulling the straps of her backpack forward causing the pressure from the sack onto her back. I couldn't help but notice her perfectly white teeth smile behind her lips as she gazed about the scenery. Jessie seem to eagerly agree with everything our guide told us. If I hadn't known any better at the time, I would have been under the impression that she had been hiking since childhood.  An amateur herself with little skill beyond basic, she aimed to impress us.  Kristina was all business. She listened intently with one leg up on an imposing boulder. Her movement was crisp and deliberate. When Philip pointed, she looked. When he demonstrated, she learned.

 As soon as we embarked on our mini-adventure, I found myself backing away from frivolous group chatter and enjoying the company of one person at a time. Feeling so small and insignificant compared to my surroundings, I forgot about some of the social barriers that held me back from fully knowing the people I'd been spending all my time with for the past month and another 2 and half to come.  

"So life... what do you want from it?" I'd say, skipping all the polite chit chat. Thankfully, my interviewee found my blunt question a bit charming and entertaining as opposed to rude. She looked at me smiling and playfully shaking her head. We sat on a boulder on a flatter piece of ground overlooking the valley below. She held her her knees into her chest with her feet crossed widely at the ankles. I watched her intently but she only stared out into the ravines across the open space.

"I want... well... I want this. " At this point, I realized that she had entered her own zone, oblivious to my existence. "I want this. The tips of my fingers are frozen, my feet are beginning to blister, I can't lift my right arm past 90 degrees, and I basically ache in my every fiber. This, my friend, tells me that I have done something significant. Yet, I sit here on this mountain that has been basically unaffected by any of my efforts. I have seen only a trillion-enth of what there is to see and made the slightest effect on this juggernaut. I want to remember how small I am in this world but never, ever let that hamper my efforts."

Neither of us spoke. I stopped watching her and turned my attention to the scenery. I peered below into the small village situated in the heart of the valley. The mammoth mountains surrounding boasted greenery at the bottom with small streams but imposed dangerous snowcaps at the top with icy threats piercing the heavens. I laid back onto the seemingly flat rock, using my laced fingers as a support for my head. A deep breath in and out allowed me to tune out individual conversations behind me and leave only a white noise as background music to my peace. The back of my body was quite chilly against this rock but the front was graced by the presence of the afternoon sun. I took in all that my rock-mate had said on an inhale and released a smile on the exhale. Like this, I stayed.

Her air changed and she left her pensive mood. "So, Tara, what do you want from life?" I lifted only my neck and head off the rock with my winged elbows and interlocked hands exerting all the effort in the awkward lift. I was less dumbfounded by the question itself than by the fact that she asked it. All morning I had been posing this same question to others in the group and had not once been expected to answer it myself. "Well," I began propping myself up fully on the surface and then coming to a standing position. "Well, I'm not too sure about that, my friend." I dusted off the back of my legs and twisted my arms to view the reverse side of my sleeves. "In fact, I'm not even sure that I want to know what I want." I walked away leaving her sitting in the sun, positioned to gaze over the gorge but only watching me. With determined steps, I rejoined the trail.

Thank You for Thinking.