Glisser en arrière

Snow is slowly adorning the foothills behind our village, delicately decorating the summits white and creating a tantalizing sight from our hilltop.  Mounts that were recently verdant and colorful are now salt and pepper with wisps of soft clouds winding among the folds and valleys.  Freshly baked gingerbread wreaths dusted with powder and pearled sugar. 

This snow has come in bits – first making its mark in the upper alps and then descending gradually closer to the sea.  These recent winter storms are bringing unusually heavy rain and near freezing temperatures to Mougins.  Clouds, thick and low lying, mask the foothills and mountains that typically rise dramatically beyond.  

But when the sky clears to that brilliant azur bleu and the latent clouds part, the mountains have their big reveal – stunning us each time with new sections of hills clothed in white.

All of this rain and snow has turned our local hiking trails into skating rinks of moist clay and detritus. The crisp air is fresh and sweet, beckoning us with its scent.  So Tuesdays and Thursdays Bobby and I huddle around weather.com conspiring to find moments between the storms to hit the trails – each successful outing a victorious coup.

This week we dared to try two new routes.  The ground soft, we plodded carefully up the hills adorned with trees still bearing the bright orange and gold of late autumn, yet sparkling with frost. 

As can happen from time to time, my online trail map failed me (or possibly the trail map reader was at fault!) and we ended up on a random offshoot trail heading the wrong direction. I could see the main trail ahead on the map, but between it and us lay a dense thicket. 

I picked a through-line and we moved ahead.

After a few hundred meters, my through line evaporated and we found ourselves stuck among thorny overgrowth staring at a steep incline.  Bobby wisely spotted a more realistic climb and ventured off to the right.  But I felt certain I could make it – I was strong, athletic, capable.  I ventured up the embankment undeterred. 

A few feet up I paused to search for a foothold or at least a sturdy branch to pull myself up.  As I hitched up my right leg, my foothold gave way and the branch in my hand broke free at the roots. 

The feeling of falling is something that we as humans have been programmed to avoid.  They say cats have an internal mechanism in their bodies that allows them to orient themselves in space no matter how far they jump or fall. 

Not so with our species. 

All at once I went from strength and grace to disassociated movements of torso and limbs.  Feet grasping for something steady.  Sliding down my knees and elbows, mud caking on my white fleece and maroon yoga pants.  Berry briers scratching my pinky and wrist.  Bits of shrubbery lodging in my wild hair and a new crack on my phone.  It wasn’t a glorious moment. 

I regained the ability to stand and pressed my palms into the aches in my shins.  But as I caught my breath, I had to laugh at the freakish mess I had become and give a knowing wink to my over-confident/over-zealous self. 

My backslide was a matter of a few feet, which barely merits mention compared to serious falls of many hikers.  Yet in the moment, with my heart rate a little elevated and my pride a bit bruised, I stopped to appreciate the lesson I was being shown. 

Footholds are tricky things, especially when the odds aren’t stacked in our favor.  It’s natural to cast about and in our haste place a bet on something that seems steady when, in truth, it is not. 

We are conditioned to put value in forward progress – marking our movements against that place on the horizon that we yearn to be. 

But with our eyes trained ever forward, we miss out on a couple of critical truths.  First, our footholds are only as good as the time we take to find them.  Sure we can get lucky and plod ahead for a while, but if we don’t pause and study the ground right in front of us, we miss the root system or the tiny space between the rock where we can reliably rest our toes.

Second, sometimes the backsliding is necessary for us to reorient and adjust our path.  Backsliding tells us we might have missed something critical, maybe where we have prioritized something that isn’t leading us where we want to go.  Perhaps the destination itself is precarious, threatening our balance. 

And so, we must regress to progress.

I glanced over at Bobby who was easily climbing up an alternate route, choosing his footholds and checking his course.  No mud-caked elbows, no twisted ankle. 

I’d like to say that right then and there I learned my lesson and chose a better path.  But I didn’t.  I drove myself Iike a bull up that hill, determined not to let it beat me.  And that’s ok…my lessons sometimes take a while to hit. 

It is inevitable, we will all slide and we will all flail.  We will end up filthy and bleeding, shaking a bit and gasping for breath. 

But maybe we can appreciate the tears and the pain, recognizing that the backslide is the magic moment.  The moment when we slow our progress and seek the through line that feeds our deepest desires. 

Or maybe it will take a few tries. 

Bisous,
Hanna