Sunset at The Grand Canyon

Last spring, I had my first visit to a national park with a visit to Yosemite. I know I have waxed on many times about how glorious that trip was for me, but it truly affected me in the most profound way, and I couldn't wait until I could repeat the experience at national park #2: The Grand Canyon.

Unlike Yosemite--which I had heard little to nothing about--one has undoubtedly heard many reports of The Grand Canyon. Last year, a colleague returned from a trip there and explained his experience looking into that vast expanse as a feeling that "We are so small, and God is so great." One person told me about how her husband found it so overwhelming he could barely look at it for more than short periods at a time. Just comprehending the Canyon's depth--a mile down below--seems so impossible that it was easy to imagine that it was just too much.

When we first arrived at The Grand Canyon, parked our car at a vista point, and took in the view below, it was definitely magnificent. Certainly vast. Certainly unlike anything I'd ever seen before. But, if I'm being honest, at first I was a bit underwhelmed. Had my expectations not been so high and the reports of the Canyon's grandeur not been so great, I'm sure I would have been floored, but given what I'd heard (not to mention the countless postcard-perfect photographs I'd seen), I found it to be beautiful, but not quite as overwhelming and incomprehensible as I'd imagined. I wasn't disappointed--just a little surprised not be completely and totally blown away.

I learned, as the day went on, that part of the Canyon's magic and mystique comes from seeing it from different perspectives. As we drove and walked and took the shuttle from vista point to vista point, the grandeur of the place started to sink in and there were endless beautiful views, but something still wasn't quite clicking for me. I did not feel the same instant love--or the same feelings of intimacy--that I experienced at Yosemite. Perhaps it was the vastness of it. Perhaps it was the seeming lack of variety in the landscape (rock after rock after rock). Perhaps it was the lack of abundant trees (I'm a girl who loves her green). It was beautiful, no doubt, but it didn't stir my soul in the same way.

At the start of the day, we (me, Dan, his mom, and his sister) had decided that we were going to stick around the park until sunset. About eight hours later, plagued by vertigo and sunburnt skin and dehydration, tired from endless walking and shuttling about and waiting for each other countless times for bathroom breaks, I wondered if we really had the stamina to give it a go, and if it would really be worth it. For a moment I contemplated suggesting we just go back to the hotel, but then it felt silly not to just stick around for another hour, so I dug deep for a second wind.

We opted to forgo the most popular sunset viewing spot and picked another vista point. Compared to other points at the park, it was pretty sparsely populated--about a dozen or so other people sat nearby. We carefully climbed over the low wall to stake out our spot. It's hard to comprehend from this photo, but just over the edge of where I'm sitting here is, in fact, a long mile down.

After a day of looking at The Grand Canyon from dozens of spots, and after taking dozens of photos, I feel that, in many ways, sitting there out on that point at sunset was the first time I truly saw The Grand Canyon. The harsh light of day had softened, and the sun brought the colors and textures to life in the most incredible way. The crowds were gone, and we were seated with a small group of people who rarely spoke in little more than a whisper. After a while, the cameras were mostly put away. We were there, not looking for a few minutes and then moving on to the next spot, but sitting quietly for well over half an hour, just waiting for the sun to slowly descend. Once I had that moment to really just be with The Grand Canyon--rather than to be a spectator of it--my heart opened up to it in a new way. I had tried to be present with it all day but had not found the right moment until then. Even now, just thinking about the way it felt sitting there with the golden sun all around, in the chilling wind, with the vastness all around me and down below me, with the sun setting fire to the colors, makes my chest ache with the memory of the beauty of the landscape, the feeling of peace, and the sense of oneness with everything.

I could post dozens of other photos from our trip, but you've likely seen them on my Facebook page. If you haven't, the others I took look at lot like the ones you've probably seen in books or in calendars or those from other people's trips. We got some really nice ones, but the one above is my favorite. At the time, I didn't even know that Dan was taking this photo, but for me it captures the moment where I felt that feeling of awe. That feeling of being one with something so big and beautiful and knowing that somehow, in some way, we are all where we should be. That feeling of wanting to shout and dance and sing about the beauty of life and all the wonderment in the world. That was what I had come for. And The Grand Canyon did not disappoint.

Year 32

Truthfully I'm not even sure what's happened to the last three weeks. In my memory everything is just one big blur: birthday celebrations, visits with friends, a job interview and an offer and salary negotiations, walks in the spring sunshine, a Passover Seder and an Easter brunch, looking at houses, a dinner with relatives, phone dates, volunteering at The Philadelphia International Festival of the Arts. . . the list goes on and on.

Thus has begun the first few weeks of my 32nd year. I decided, about a week before my birthday, that this year was going to be the best one yet. Not that I know that to be true, but that I need to believe it to be true--and perhaps believing it is the first step to making it happen. On my 32nd birthday, while walking around the mall with Dan before popping into The Cheesecake Factory for a birthday treat, I got a call. A call with a job offer. Very exciting indeed. After several days going back and forth about salary and start date, of weighing all the pros and cons of an awesome job with a lousy commute, of trying to silence the endless stream of "What ifs?" that are always in my head, of reminding myself that what is familiar is not always best and that I can't plan for every contingency, I took the job. I start May 31. I can't wait to begin this new chapter getting back to work that really means something to me--supporting children with disabilities (in this case, autism) and their families, at an awesome organization, in a move that will help propel my career forward.

I feel as though I've been scrambling up a wall and tumbling back down for months and months, just needing something to happen. Now, finally, I feel like I've made some headway over the top. Things are starting to move in the direction I've been hoping for, making it so much easier to hope for more. Along with the job, there has been other good news. After spending the last few years really wishing for friends nearby, Dan and I both realized this week that we've had so many outings with new friends that we're looking forward to some time to ourselves! Dan got a story accepted for publication in a print journal last week, which is amazing, and his mom, who graduates with her Masters in Library Science on Friday, just landed a job. The weight loss I began last year has turned into maintaining my new weight for the last several months--no easy feat. And who can feel anything but good with this amazing spring weather?

Though there's still lots I'm hoping and waiting for, including finding a house to buy and getting my business launched part-time (both of which are on hold for a bit), I feel like I can finally take a moment to breathe. As much as I've tried to stay focused on the present and be grateful for the endless blessings in my life, I haven't been able to help wanting more and wishing I could get a break. I've spent a lot of time in the last year or so paralyzed by doubt and fear and having moments where I've been convinced that things just couldn't go my way. I feel like, with these new good things, I feel empowered to make more things happen.

On Wednesday, Dan and I leave for Arizona to attend his mother's graduation. Later in the week, we are driving to The Grand Canyon, where we'll stay for two days. I've been told that nothing can prepare you for what you experience at The Grand Canyon when standing on its rim. I can't wait to be there, looking out over something so vast and ancient and unknowable, knowing that I will likely feel just as I felt at Yosemite--that everything is so mysterious and out of my control, and yet, all in its rightful place. As I wait for the next pieces to fall into place over the next year, I feel reassured that even though there is much that is unknown and worrisome, with a little hope and some acts of faith on my part, things will probably unfold as they should. And even if they don't, I can't avoid peering over the edge of that big abyss and risk missing the wonder that might be in store.

I'm hoping that, as I begin the next year, I'll leave behind the doubts and fears that have plagued me and keep moving forward to create a better version of myself and my life. I feel good. And happy. And hopeful. Here's to a great start to my 32nd year!