I peel my leggings off and pull my shirt up over my head. I’m going in. “You don’t expect me to go in too, do you?” Ryan says, perched on a rock, looking amused.
I know he’s going for his phone in his pocket so he can snap photos of me in my birthday suit. The water is a deep aqua blue, like the Caribbean but at 11,888 feet above sea level. Surrounded by the tall rock spires for which it earned its name, Cathedral Lake has always been one of my favorite hikes for the rapid elevation gain that awards you with stunning views from the start.
It’s midweek and quiet, one of those fall days that makes you feel like you’re on drugs, the colors so saturated it doesn’t even look real. The glory of fall has made its debut in the tips of the trees, so everything looks dip-dyed in various shades of green and yellow. The air is crisp but not cold, the sun warm on our faces but not hot, the air lung-piercing but in a good way, the effort that makes it all so rewarding.
I love the way time ceases to exist up here, how, despite our tight glutes and shortness of breath, it’s almost like we are mysteriously transported from the trailhead to the lake in what feels like a waking dream. It's also our anniversary, which is what inspires me to peel off my clothes and go for a swim, clumsily navigating the sharp rocks that riddle the shallows with wobbly steps until I finally make it to the depths where I can full submerge in the clean, cold water. It’s easy to forget your problems out here, and more, all the craziness that’s happening in the world, especially those things we have no control over.
I can’t tell if the issues we’re facing now as a country are considerably worse than they’ve ever been, or if it’s just that I’m older now and part of adulting is worrying about things that are bigger than you. After all, is what’s being reported in the news as dangerous as it feels, or is it just click bait? Is it normal to lose sleep over a candidate who still has the support of half this country, despite delusional xenophobic ramblings about pet-eating immigrants? Is it wrong to feel grief over a woman who died because she was denied a life-saving medical procedure? Is anyone else up in the middle of the night wondering why a woman has to die because a bunch of old judges declared the states could decide if abortion should be illegal, even when the fetus is already dead? Should I not be worried that I have friends who think I’m the one who is being brainwashed by “legacy media” of which I am a card-carrying member? Is it normal to argue with people in my head, trying to convince them most journalists aren’t paid well enough to run around spinning lies, or that we still have freedom of the press in this country, which means information is plentiful and varied — the exact opposite of propaganda? Is anyone else lying in bed staring into the darkness thinking about children in Springfield, Ohio, whose schools are on lockdown because of bomb threats from people who believe that pet-eating savages are taking over their country, even though city officials have repeatedly denied this claim? Do other people wonder about these legal Haitian immigrants, about their personal stories, imagine them in their homes or at their jobs wondering why they’re suddenly being targeted by a man who might once again be allowed to be president, even after the Jan. 6 insurrection, two impeachments and 32 felony charges? A close friend of mine recently asked me if who the president is really affects my day-to-day life.
I’ve thought about this a lot. His argument wasn’t about how I plan to vote or which side of the aisle I’m on, but about how stressed out I’ve become over something I ultimately have very little control over. I don’t think about anything, my mind deliciously blank as I slip into the waters of this remote high alpine lake, the cold water against my skin, the warm sun on my face, the feeling of being alive in every cell of my being.
As I recline in the cold lake, I notice an isolated stand of Aspen trees on the far bank in the shape of a heart. The Aspen tree is part of a larger organism, its main life force underground as part of an extensive root system. Maybe at the root, we are all connected, capable of startling beauty and resilience like these trees that make their presence known for a precious few weeks every fall, blanketing the mountainsides in swaths of gold.
Maybe this heart is a sign that no matter what happens in November, love always wins..
