Behold the Stars

Years ago, I spent some time hiking alone in England’s Lake District. You’d recognize the Lake District from any English travel brochure or Merchant Ivory film you’ve seen – green hills dotted with sheep and criss-crossed with stone fences. My plan was to walk from Windermere, where I had spent the night, to a nearby town where there was to be a bed and breakfast and another warm bed (and, of course, breakfast).

I walked from my hotel down to Lake Windermere, rode a small ferry across, and headed off. The weather was sunny and cool, perfect for hiking. After crossing, I followed a trail that ran, it seemed, straight up the mountain, no switchbacks. The English are a hardy bunch, apparently. I walked on and on, occassionally running into locals out for a day hike. We’d stop and chat, and they’d tell me the history of, or recommend, one local landmark or another. I’d thank them and go on my way.  As my hike went on, I saw fewer and fewer fellow hikers.

In the late afternoon, in a heavily wooded area, I lost the trail.  No matter where I looked or in which direction I hiked, I could not relocate the trail. There I was, in a foreign country, lost in the middle of the woods with darkness slowly approaching. Added to this was the unfortunate fact that no one knew where I was since the decision to go to the Lake District was done on a whim after I got to England.  Tired and frightened, I found myself in a low-grade panic.

With my fear-addled mind spinning, I tried to figure out what to do. I was near the crest of the hill when I lost the trail, so any time I was going downhill was probably the right way. And I wasn’t in the middle of deepest, darkest Africa. There would be a road or a town within a couple of miles in any direction I chose. All I had to do was walk downhill in any direction until I found a landmark. Okay. I headed straight through the woods in the general direction of the next town. After an hour or so I found a trail, the trail led to a road, and the road lead ultimately to the town I had set out for. It turned out that the B&B I had counted on didn’t exist, but by that time I didn’t care.

My Dark Period worked that way for me. Lost and alone during the worst parts, I tried everything — counseling, psychology, philosophy, religion, and exercise. I must have read half the books in the public library, but nothing really made any significant difference. I kept going, though, putting one foot after another, sometimes crawling on hands and knees. It wasn’t pretty, and it wasn’t heroic, but I kept trying.  Then one day I was out.

If you are going through hell, keep going.
~ Winston Churchill

When I realized that I had come through, I found myself trying not only to understand what I’d been through but how and why.  What had made the difference?  Winston Churchill had it right when he said, “When you are going through Hell, keep going.” I have no doubt that my efforts had a cumulative effect. Each book, each effort, was another step on the path.  But I think what made the difference was my willingness to get up each morning and try to make it through another day.

Do you want to know how to pass through the Valley of the Shadow of Death? By walking out.

Make a great day.

Photo: magnusfranklin