When I first moved to Fresno, I used to go to Woodward Park every day after work. There are many trails there but the one I was looking for lead to the San Joaquin River. You could hardly call it a river now, what was left was barely a small creek in the summer but, at least, it was still there. And, as I water person, I needed to see it.
I didn't know how long the trail was, however, I tried every day to walk earlier and faster so that I could beat the sun to the horizon. Everyday, I had to turn around before it got dark. There are no lights on the trail and, on one of those days, I returned in utter darkness to my lonely car in the parking lot. Half shaking and afraid of what might happen to me I nearly ran to my car that evening, dropping my keys once or twice trying to get inside. I thought, as I sat in my car hyperventilating, if something had happened, no one would ever know, no one would inquire until I didn't show up to work the next day. So, that was the last of the twilight hikes.
Finally, one Sunday, I went on the trail in the morning to give myself plenty of time. I told myself that this was it. I was going to find that river if it was the last thing I do! So I walked, and walked. Up and down the hills, round the curves, over two bridges...I hadn't brought water or my cell phone. As the number of people on the trail dwindled, I felt alone and tired. Yet, I couldn't stop. I was pushed by a force beyond my control. Finally I came to a path that wound down the side of a hill. I was sure this was it. As I rounded that final curve, I noticed a stop sign where the trail intersected with a road. I had reached the end of the trail. I did not see the river.
Needless to say, I was beyond disappointed. The search for the river seemed like a metaphor for the journey of my life. I was always searching for something that I can never seem to find. So much time and energy wasted, so much fear and darkness faced, and still no reward at the end.
If anything, it was another crossroads. As I walked back, I felt like I had lost. I always thought that there was a silver lining behind every cloud, every trial and tribulation, every journey, no matter how difficult. I realized I was wrong.
Of course, for a few days I couldn't bear to get on that trail again. However, I took another route which I had seen people head down. There was a bench there and, that particular day, there was an old lady sitting on the bench with her dog. I looked at the sign at the trailhead trying to figure out if it was going to show me a map of some sort. The old lady smiled at me, "Looking for the river, hon?" I nodded. "Just follow them folks". I thanked her and smiled at the dog and followed a couple headed in the same direction. In about five minutes, I was sitting on the river bank. It was almost too easy.
A few weeks ago, I came to the end of another "trail" in my own life. I should say trial but I didn't see it as that at the time. I had to really judge myself, however, and where I was headed. I came to realize that trails teach us about possibility and how fragile that is. Hope keeps us searching and teaches that we should never give up. What I realize is that though this trail has ended, it is not the only one there is. Also, I don't have to face it on my own, that there are people to help me, and others I can journey with. The next trail may be better, and easier.
By the way, the first trail at the park that disappointed me? Well, I went back on it eventually and I think the park service actually extended it to the other side of the road. So, it doesn't end at that stop sign anymore. However, the new "end" doesn't really appeal to me so I haven't taken that fork again. It's just as well, I think. Trails are not about endings but journeys. And as difficult as they have been sometimes, I don't know what our lives would be without them. Many times the journey, rather than the destination, is the very thing we are seeking.
I didn't know how long the trail was, however, I tried every day to walk earlier and faster so that I could beat the sun to the horizon. Everyday, I had to turn around before it got dark. There are no lights on the trail and, on one of those days, I returned in utter darkness to my lonely car in the parking lot. Half shaking and afraid of what might happen to me I nearly ran to my car that evening, dropping my keys once or twice trying to get inside. I thought, as I sat in my car hyperventilating, if something had happened, no one would ever know, no one would inquire until I didn't show up to work the next day. So, that was the last of the twilight hikes.
Finally, one Sunday, I went on the trail in the morning to give myself plenty of time. I told myself that this was it. I was going to find that river if it was the last thing I do! So I walked, and walked. Up and down the hills, round the curves, over two bridges...I hadn't brought water or my cell phone. As the number of people on the trail dwindled, I felt alone and tired. Yet, I couldn't stop. I was pushed by a force beyond my control. Finally I came to a path that wound down the side of a hill. I was sure this was it. As I rounded that final curve, I noticed a stop sign where the trail intersected with a road. I had reached the end of the trail. I did not see the river.
Needless to say, I was beyond disappointed. The search for the river seemed like a metaphor for the journey of my life. I was always searching for something that I can never seem to find. So much time and energy wasted, so much fear and darkness faced, and still no reward at the end.
If anything, it was another crossroads. As I walked back, I felt like I had lost. I always thought that there was a silver lining behind every cloud, every trial and tribulation, every journey, no matter how difficult. I realized I was wrong.
Of course, for a few days I couldn't bear to get on that trail again. However, I took another route which I had seen people head down. There was a bench there and, that particular day, there was an old lady sitting on the bench with her dog. I looked at the sign at the trailhead trying to figure out if it was going to show me a map of some sort. The old lady smiled at me, "Looking for the river, hon?" I nodded. "Just follow them folks". I thanked her and smiled at the dog and followed a couple headed in the same direction. In about five minutes, I was sitting on the river bank. It was almost too easy.
A few weeks ago, I came to the end of another "trail" in my own life. I should say trial but I didn't see it as that at the time. I had to really judge myself, however, and where I was headed. I came to realize that trails teach us about possibility and how fragile that is. Hope keeps us searching and teaches that we should never give up. What I realize is that though this trail has ended, it is not the only one there is. Also, I don't have to face it on my own, that there are people to help me, and others I can journey with. The next trail may be better, and easier.
By the way, the first trail at the park that disappointed me? Well, I went back on it eventually and I think the park service actually extended it to the other side of the road. So, it doesn't end at that stop sign anymore. However, the new "end" doesn't really appeal to me so I haven't taken that fork again. It's just as well, I think. Trails are not about endings but journeys. And as difficult as they have been sometimes, I don't know what our lives would be without them. Many times the journey, rather than the destination, is the very thing we are seeking.
