The Perfect Day

English Lake District

In September I was sitting on the side of a mountain in the Lake District of northwest England, resting on the side of the trail. Behind me was Scafell Pike, England’s highest mountain, topping at 3,209 feet. The weather was ideal for a hike: 65 degrees, puffy white clouds in a deep blue sky, only a very gentle breeze from the south. We were a half mile from the village of Wasdale, which lies just north of Wast Water, one of those famous deep mountain lakes. The campground was full, even though it was mid-September, and the crush of summer tourists was over. Most were climbers, headed to claim Scafell.  The dale, or valley, below us was a tic-tac-toe of sheep folds made of tall dry-stacked rock walls. The town itself had only a parking lot for the trailhead, a pub, a small hotel, and a farm. Looking toward the lake we could see a steady line of cars arriving on the narrow road which snaked along the edge of the deep mountain lake called Wast Water.

Across the valley was another mountain, not as tall as the ones behind us, but tall and steep. It was also crisscrossed with rock walls, even high up on the impossibly steep sides. These mountains do not resemble the American Rockies at all – instead, they look more like big lumps of green pistachio ice cream, with steep sides, called fells in the local language, and lumps and some parts melting and others with rocky outcroppings. On the fell opposite was a chaotic scene: a couple of hundred white and black sheep milling around over a wide distance. It was quarter mile away and we could not make out all the details, but the two shepherds were easily identifiable, and we could even hear their shouts. Small black dots zipping around the periphery were border collies. The dogs, at least seven or eight of them, were ranging all over the mountain in search of stray sheep. It looked like utter chaos, but soon the sheep were organized into a steady line, all moving in the same direction, and then quickly through a gap in the wall and down to their winter pasture in the dell.

As we sat on that rock beside the trail, transfixed by the events on the fell opposite, two young men came up the trail toward us. I could hear their conversation as they approached. When they passed by, I said to them, “We are just sitting here waiting for the day to get better.” They were not sure what to think of this statement but said hello as they passed by enroute to the high peaks.

Obviously, our day was already fabulous. No amount of effort on our part could make it better. Earlier in the week we had made an attempt at climbing England’s second highest peak, Helvellyn. We turned back after 2,500 feet of up, at the end of the famous Striding Edge, just at the start of the final climb to the summit ridge. On the way down, Josette told me she was upset that she kept me from making the summit. I laughed. I told her this: “I have told you about summitting some very big mountains, but I didn’t tell you all of the story. I did not tell you about the times I turned around before the summit. I did climb the high point of Wyoming, but it was on my third attempt. The first two efforts were a bust. Just to reach the base of the mountain was a three-day hike, so we only made one attempt a year. When I did make that summit, in 1993, I made it because I had learned from the first two tries. And there are a couple of other peaks I failed the first time.” Relaxing with a pint at the inn at the bottom of Helvellyn, reflecting on the climb, I told Josette that it had been a wonderful day, and I thanked her for going with me. We were tired and hungry but satisfied with our effort. Another fabulous day.

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We humans are extraordinary creatures. Each one of us has a unique story. You and I and everyone we know have a completely unique lives. I used to think there were good days and bad days. One morning in Spain, an hour before sunrise with rain pouring down, I put on my inadequate rain gear. I had been dreading this for several hours as I could hear the rain pouring off the hostel roof during the night. But the rain stopped as soon as we got out the door, and the sunrise an hour later was one of my best photos. I have better rain gear now, and I no longer dread going out into the storm. Several years ago, in France, we donned our rain gear and headed into the cold driving rain. I had already decided that it was going to be a great day. Our group of three, the “vrais pelerins,” or “true pilgrims,” told stories and sang songs, and took a selfie with the inevitable rainbow. It was a fantastic day. For it had already occurred to me that every day was special, that every day is a small piece of what makes up a life.

Miriam Johnson, who contributes to the Modern Love column in the New York Times, talked about a meeting with her therapist in “The 12-Hour Goodbye That Started Everything.” Her therapist said, “There is no rule that a relationship must last a certain amount of time to count as a “success”, just as one that ends hasn’t necessarily “failed.” Every relationship we have, short or long, can be good, essential, even transformative, and have lasting value. It’s not about getting over and letting go, it’s about honoring what happened. You met a person who awoke something in you. A fire ignited. The work is to be grateful. Grateful every day that someone crossed your path and left a mark on you.”

I have had a number of relationships which didn’t last that long, and some that did. I learned from all of them. I’ve done my best to remain on friendly terms with the women in those relationships with me. I have about a 50% success rate on that.

 Friends of mine in prison have told me, “I am who I am because of the sum total of my experiences.” A friend of mine who is a psychologist and did some jail ministry for a while here gave them a notebook and asked the jail inmates in the program to write 250 words a week on their story. Many were surprised by what they learned about themselves and why they found themselves in jail. You think that would be obvious, but many of these people weren’t clear how that all happened to them.

Heraclitus, a Greek philosopher who lived both sides of 500 B.C., said “No man ever steps into the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he is not the same man.” We are in a constant state of change. I am a different person than I was ten years ago. Walking the California Mission Trail in 2021, I learned about Friar Junipero Serra. He was a Franciscan priest around the time of the American Revolution who built many of the famous missions in California, all of which still exist. His motto was, Siempre Adelante, always forward. You cannot go backward.  Do not spend too much time fretting about the past. There is only direction to go, and that is forward, and that decision is yours and mine to make, each and every day.

We stood up and continued down the slope to the pub and a pint of cask ale and a lovely sandwich. Another fabulous day..

Siempre Adelante. Always forward. Have a fabulous day!