It was easy. It was a sunny September day, no plans. A trek to the top of Tiger Mountain was intriguing. Four miles round trip. Having just arrived home from the Salmon Days festival with my family, I knew if we left quickly we could be home before dinner. I threw a couple water bottles and granola bars in my backpack and we spontaneously all jumped into the family van. I told our kids of the adventure about to begin. Many times since moving to Issaquah we had seen the paragliders jump from the summit of Tiger Mountain and gracefully glide around and eventually down to the grassy ground. I joyfully told our giddy kids that we were going to trek to where the paragliders jump from. My then only three year old looked wonderfully amazed and my seven year old started to ask questions. This is where our journey began.
It ended in the same way, in the car. Five hours later.
But what of the middle? The kids scrambled out of the car. So exciting. Walking sticks procured. Seven year old bounding ahead. Parents cautioning the fast pace. Slowing down. Taking pictures. Stopping for a water break. And then the complaining. Are we there yet? My Love and I peered into each other's faces not wanting to break the silence. Trying to read each other's thoughts. It was supposed to be fun. Should we give in? Should we turn around? We had only been hiking for 20 minutes. Positivity still abounded. We trudged on. Fascinating items were pointed out to small children. Snails traveled faster. My Love and I kept glancing at each other. We still could not figure it out. Should be keep going?
Continually moving out of the way of descending trekkers we started to ask, "how much further until the top?" "You're almost there," is what we heard 25% of the time. "It's totally worth it!" we heard from another 25% of them. "You're only half way there," is what we heard from the half of them.
Only half way. Only half way. The middle. How many water breaks and complaints could one put up with until deciding to turn back? My Love and I weren't sure. And then my 7 year old sat down. "I am not going any further," he blankly stated. Ok, there is was. My Love and I decided that it was commendable. We had gone far enough. Had a good time, but it was time to turn back. We both agreed -- and then our eyes fell on our three year old. Big crocodile tears slide down her cheeks and she started wailing. "I have to get to the top," she wailed.
My son was content. He had done and seen enough. He had enjoyed his journey but was done, ready to descend. My daughter was not content. She had to keep climbing. I was torn, but only for a split second. I turned to my 7 year old and blankly stated, "we have to get to the top." He was not happy with his sister for quite some time.
We of course made it. It was gorgeous. The view was exquisite. Our happiness on having made it was paramount. The icing on the cake: while we were soaking up the view, three paragliders jumped and took off on their journey. My three year old was awestruck. My seven year old seemed content still.
I have looked back on that day many times. There are some people that have to reach the top. It is in their blood. No matter the mountain. They have stamina, perseverance, a dream and just the right amount of silliness to make it possible. Others are content with the middle. Others still are content in the journey whatever that may be. On this specific day however it did not matter what any of us wanted. We had to reach the top. Our spunky three year old demanded it. We had to climb. We had to sweat.
I am so thankful for those that have to reach the top. She will not be the one to sit with another because they are content and don't need to go on. She will trek ahead, always returning but with new found memories and emotions. She appreciates the view from the middle but knows deep down it will always be better from the top; for the view and her essence will mix to form something entirely new. She will always recognize the middle for she will always be a part of this family but there will always be enough love to allow her to keep going. This perseverance will earn her the right to discover new heights and to take risks. To take the leap. To change the organic world by being an active participant.
Looking back I don't know why I just didn't sit with my seven year old while My Love took her to the top. Why was it so important that we did it together? It was so important because we had to show her that we all believed in her. The ones that are constantly reaching for more (for the top) need so much encouragement and so much support. They crave other's belief in them.
To this day, whenever we pass the Tiger Mountain trailhead, my now four year old belts out, "remember that day, when I changed all your minds?" I smile and know that no matter the hardship, I will always believe in and strive to meet her at the top.