The Great Wall 長城 – Zhuàngdàokou and Huánghuā Chéng, China. My heart sank before we really got going. Just a few steps in, barely out of the tiny village named for a yellow flower where our driver dropped us off at the base of the mountain, I knew we couldn’t go further. The hike along a “wild,” largely unrestored, section of the Great Wall of China was just too steep and the brickwork underfoot too smooth and slippery. My worn Converse All-Stars mocked me from below, and the beautiful, rugged mountains closed in, making me feel small and foolish. A longtime dream was coming true, and all I could think of was losing my grip and skidding down a stone slope with no parapet to break the fall and not a soul around to witness. I made a mental note to purchase traveler’s insurance.
Perched uneasily on a narrow, crumbling ledge, I waited for my partner to catch up. I’d tell him that we didn’t have to go further, that we couldn’t. We’d need to see this portion of the Wall — and the reservoir and stunning panorama we’d been told spread out forever beneath the highest tower — some other time. We’d visited the Mutianyu section of the Wall that morning and had already had our fill of amazement. This hike was a bonus, a tourist- and hawker-free side journey. It would have to wait.
I’d had this feeling before. The dread that seeps in and pools in the pit of my stomach when my ambitions seem to exceed my reach. The disappointment. The sheepishness and responsibility that weigh me down if I’ve dragged someone else along. The overwhelming urge to turn back when a new career path tests my mettle, or the life I’ve dreamt of seems more folly than possibility, or relocation to a new city is more disruptive than anticipated.
When the wall is just too freaking hard to climb.
I’m learning that these are the moments when I have to keep going. So, I did.
