A Thing Called Hope

Things change. Things stay the same. Hope comes and goes as the night folds into day. I try my best to hang on to hope, to let her rule me. Sometimes that’s easy, sometimes it’s not. On this day [Saturday, 26 May 2012], hanging on to hope feels easy.

With the warm May sun beaming into my eyes, I set off that morning for a hike. Standing at the bottom of Mont Orford, I looked up at my destination and wondered if I was really ready to make my way up to the summit, situated at an altitude of 850 metres. But I had already made the 25-minute trek by car to the Mont Orford Park, so there was no turning back. On your mark, get set, go!

In the last 10 days, this was the third time that I had hiked to the top of Mont Orford. I don’t take the “easy” route to the summit. No, I follow the path underneath the chair lift (Mont Orford is a popular ski destination in winter), scaling over large rocks, doing my best to be sure of my footing — and hoping that vertigo doesn’t kick in. It was a difficult climb, and I paused regularly to catch my breath. Then, at the peak, the spectacular view offered of the Eastern Townships made the whole journey worthwhile.

Standing on top of Mont Orford, there was an overwhelming sense of calm. Lately, I’ve been wrapped up in uncertainty, at times struggling to move forward. At the summit, while it may not be Mount Everest, I felt like I was standing on top of the world, and that uncertainty ebbed.

Late in the afternoon, my legs were sore, but it was a good type of soreness, reminding me of the great workout earlier in the day, and of the beauty that is this world. As the sun began to settle over the city, the beauty of the day remained, and so did hope.