Detours for the faint of heart

In March of 2007, cognitive scientist Douglas Hofstadter published a book with the title, I am a Strange Loop.  I have not read this book, and it's likely I will never get around to reading this book, but the title has intrigued and stuck with me for years.  The phrase popped back into my consciousness this week as I was reflecting on some of my patterns over the last several years, scratching my head at what I'm sure has appeared as mystifying and idiotic behavior to anyone close to me.  "I am a strange loop," I kept saying to myself this week.  "Sometimes a silly loop, sometimes a sad floppy loop, but undoubtedly a loop, and undoubtedly strange."

And when the loop of my mind needs a new track, I know the best thing I can do for myself is take a walk in the woods.

After I made myself a good hiker's breakfast of coffee, scrambled eggs with kale and breakfast sausage on harvest bread, I jumped into my car and headed north to the Hudson Valley.  The October days in New York have been magnificent and crisp, the fall colors are prime, and just being in my quiet car space traveling out of the city gave my mind and heart some rest.  I pulled off I-87 at the New Paltz exit, to a major traffic backup - this is THE destination for rock climbers, mountain bikers, hikers, and apple pickers, and with a day like today, no one wanted to miss out.  I slowly drove through funky New Paltz, and wound my way up past the Mohonk Mountain House to arrive at the Spring Farm trailhead for the Mohonk Preserve, intending to hike the Bonticou Crag trail.

I hadn't been on a trail since my last hike in North Carolina back in late August, and it was hugely gratifying to set out with my trail map, my backpack, and the freedom that comes with being one's own company.  The trail ascended gently through a field lined with juniper trees sporting berries and then into the woods of the Mohonk Preserve.  I had to rely on the blazes on the trees to show me the way, as the trail was covered in places with a thick layer of fallen leaves, which, while providing a satisfying crunch underfoot, also proved to be rather slippery.

About a mile in, I arrived at the Bonticou Ascent trail, which my guidebook had described as a "strenuous rock scramble", only about .3 mile in length, but fully vertical.  Recalling at how I'd surprised myself with my courage and strength on Old Rag mountain in Virginia, I thought I'd have this climb in the bag.  I tackled the first few boulders enthusiastically, remembering how good it felt to engage my whole body in the task of climbing the mountain.  I kept my center of gravity low and looked carefully for rock holds, but as I moved upward something felt off-kilter in my body.  I felt not quite balanced, not quite sure of myself.  About a third of the way up the rock face, I found myself with limbs stretched across a deep crevice in the rock, and my confidence crumbled.  I sat on the edge of a boulder contemplating a different way around, trying to give myself a pep talk to push forward.  But looking up and down the trail, I saw no one, and I felt alone and scared.  I needed a hand to help pull me up the tough spots, and I had no helping hand.  I acknowledged defeat and slid my way back down the trail, taking the gentler, more circuitous path to the top.

As I hiked and contemplated my failure to pull myself to the top of Bonticou Crag, I thought about how taking the path of least resistance seems the necessary course of action in my life right now as well.  In short: there's a man in my life who I've loved fiercely for nearly a decade.  Together we make a strange, dysfunctional loop.  Every year we connect - full of promises and hope and dreams of a life together, and every year we dissolve - confused, sad, and angry.  I thought I let it go earlier this year, but call me a slow learner or a glutton for punishment or an eternal optimist, but I tried again recently, working my heart into a swooning, dreaming frenzy, and to nobody's surprise, the relationship failed, again.

A brilliant friend of mine said to me, "KJ, you have been playing with a Rubik's cube wrapped in barbed wire.  It's time to put it down and walk away."  And she's right.  I have been rearranging and reconfiguring my approach year after year, trying to solve the puzzle and win this guy's companionship and commitment.  I've never figured it out, and now my hands are all scratched up from trying so hard.  And even though in my loopy heart of hearts, the idealist in me believes that there IS some configuration that would ultimately align me and this man, I'm finally ready to admit that I'm not going to find it this year, or next year, or likely even in this lifetime.  It's time to concede defeat, slide down the mountain and take the gentler, more circuitous path.

The top of Bonticou Crag was an open white rock slab jutting out from the mountain, dotted with dwarf pines, with views of the Hudson Valley in all directions, a blanket of autumnal color.  Without the shelter of the trees, the chilly wind whipped me in all directions, and I stayed only briefly to snap a few photos before retreating back into the woods to find a calmer place to enjoy my lunch.

The hike back down was easy and uneventful, a peaceful and solitary meander disrupted only by a totally welcome and affectionate kiss from a 3 year old Labrador mix with soulful eyes who reminded me of my dog from growing up.

On my way out of town I stopped at Stone Ridge Orchards and bought cider, and a few apples, Macouns and Honeycrisps, which I'll send to my sister in Los Angeles who says that she misses the seasons.  I ate a Honeycrisp in the car, juice dripping down my arm, as I turned my way back home, tired, humbled, and resolved.