The Hillosophy is personal. It’s a story without a definite ending. It’s a constant work in progress. The Hillosophy is you. It contains your innermost values, your dreams and your motivations. Thus, each Hillosophy is unique. Here is mine.
Letting go
My first Munro was Ben Macdui. Like all of the other firsts we experience in life, you will never forget your first Munro.
The magical feeling when you arrive at the summit cairn, sweating and panting, but happy that you’ve made it to the top.
Every fibre in your body has worked hard to achieve this goal for you. Your reward is a feeling of accomplishment and the view of a magnificent landscape stretching in all directions towards the horizon.
When I stood on the top of Ben Macdui, I felt at peace. Nothing mattered at that moment, even though I was at a very low point in my life and a crossroads, not knowing what path to take. Should I quit my job in Germany, where I was so unhappy? What if I leave? What would I do next? Could I just throw away a promising career as an engineer?
All those questions were irrelevant at that moment. My mind was blank as I took in the majestic views of the Deeside peaks and the deep gorge of the Lairig Ghru unfolding in front of me. I felt at ease with myself and with my life – a feeling I had never experienced before.
During that 2-week-long holiday in the Cairngorms, I bagged a few more Munros and was delighted to find out that this feeling of absolute and profound peace was my loyal companion on every walk. One day before I headed back to Germany, I bagged my last two Munros: Sgairneach Mhòr and Beinn Udlamain, south of Dalwhinnie.
When I reached the summit of Sgairneach Mhòr, something was different. I felt happy because I had reached the summit and sad because I had to return to Germany soon.
I took in the views of Ben Alder and Loch Ericht as I continued to the last peak of my holidays: Beinn Udlamain.
When I reached the summit cairn, I cried. And suddenly, I knew. I didn’t know where the thought came from, but it all made sense at that moment. Everything was clear. Standing on the summit, I could see my life from there.
I flew back to Germany on a Saturday. On the Monday after, I quit my job.
Life and nature follow the same patterns
Letting go is the most natural thing in the world. Trees do it every year in autumn: They let go of their leaves to recover and gain strength for the next cycle. Nature is in constant change. It’s normal – natural – because there is no growth without change.
So, why do we cling sometimes so hard to things, people and situations that prevent us from growing or are even detrimental to our health? Because we oppose change. The underlying reason for this is fear. Fear of uncertainty in particular.
Hillwalking and spending a lot of time in nature have shown me how limiting my life had been. I opposed change so much that I stayed in an environment that made me physically and mentally ill. Worst of all: I knew for a very long time that I needed to make a change, but I was scared.
The day I took the leap, I felt relieved but also anxious. The fear of uncertainty was still there, but on the other hand, I felt excited because this decision would bring along opportunities I would never get otherwise.
Change is uncomfortable – even painful sometimes, but it’s necessary for growth and to evolve as a human being. And this cycle never stops: We let go, we change, we grow, and then we let go again.
As we evolve, our goals, our values and priorities may change. Things, people and circumstances that served us well for a time may become useless or even destructive forces in our lives and keep us from walking our desired path.
If we don’t let them go, we won’t grow anymore because there’s no change. The result: We die. Maybe not physically, but mentally, emotionally and spiritually. It makes us unhappy and will lead to depression because we will always feel that we aren’t living our best life and aren’t making the most of our potential.
My Hillosophy: Embrace change & go with the flow
More than three years of hillwalking have taught me by now that change is nothing to be afraid of.
Nature changes throughout the year. That’s how life is sustained. So the only logical conclusion for me is that change can’t be a bad thing.
It is only bad if we focus on the risks rather than the chances.
Walking through nature always reminds me of that: Change and adaptation to new circumstances – going with the flow of life – are more valuable to us in the long term. Yes, it is uncomfortable and sometimes painful. But just like walking up a hill, there will always be a reward for the effort. If we embrace change, we embrace life. And maybe that’s all we’re meant to do.