I remember slowly drifting down from the sky and looking out of the airplane window. White clouds shrouded our view, briefly, to tease us, and our eyes would catch a glimpse of emerald green, rolling hills. I was looking upon Middle Earth – floating from a dream in the clouds into a real life tangible dream as the wheels touched the ground and we landed in a place I had dreamed of going to nearly my entire life. We had arrived in The Land of the Long White Cloud. Aotearoa. New Zealand.
We weren’t here to just spend a short two week vacation. We were here to live. Our working holiday visas we had been granted allowed us to live in the country for a year.
Josh and I had just been married a mere 5 months before embarking on this journey together. We had sold pretty much everything we had, quit our jobs, and the hardest part was saying goodbye to our families. I’m so thankful to this day that our parents allowed and encouraged us to follow our dreams.
I will never forget that day of landing through the long white clouds and into a breathtakingly beautiful country that I know God must smile upon, for He did a grand job when he created that place.
Arriving in Wellington felt like it was just yesterday, although, in reality, it has been nearly six years ago that our feet first touched that soil.
I have a fondness for travel. It’s in my blood. It’s in my husband’s blood. We crave it. Our hearts leap within our chests just imagining and dreaming up our next adventure. We’re always asking and wondering to ourselves, “Where to, next?”
We are wanderers. We grow restless when we are in the same place for too long.
Our wanderlust spirit sent us to New Zealand. I remember the first day of walking around Wellington, or “Windy Welly” as it is often called by the locals, and I felt so alive. I felt like my heart was in my chest and I was on a high. For those who love to travel, you understand this feeling. You can’t believe it. You can’t believe that you are there. You want to soak it all in. Savor it. You can hardly wait to explore every nook and cranny of this newfound place. This place that is new to you. There’s something invigorating about that. Knowing your eyes are about to behold sights they have never seen. It’s unnerving but also exhilarating to be out of your element, and to be away from your dull routine you just left behind. The possibilities are endless when you travel. The world is yours.
This is how I felt in New Zealand.
The people of New Zealand truly have my heart and admiration, for they are the most hospitable people I have ever met. I noticed our first day there that they are proud of their country. They have a passion for life.
While living there, our first year of marriage (I must mention that again) we found ourselves growing. Not only growing up as we were figuring life and marriage out on our own, away from our family, but growing as individuals. Josh and I had days where I found myself walking down the street, “running away” from home because of a fight we had just had (though I was really only running away to the nearest Starbucks). There were days when I think both of us wondered how in the world we were going to do this, and there were other days when we cleaved to each other. I am so thankful for that experience, of living in a foreign country away from everything we both knew, so that, in reality, we were forced to cling to one another. As Lucy tells her friend Ethel in one episode of “I Love Lucy”, Which I often thought that it applied to us – “We’re all we’ve got!” And these two wanderers found delight and happiness in sharing in so many adventures together. Arriving there and not really having a plan. Just winging it those first couple months. Driving around all over the North and the South Island. Doing odd, “backpacker” jobs like apple picking. Cleaning houses. Working at an adventure lodge, albeit one day, but… that one’s a long story!
Our love for each other grew as we were trying to make our way through the first year of marriage. It grew despite this force against us. And it grew because of God. I believe with all of my heart that God sent us to New Zealand and that he had a purpose for it. He wanted us to share in this marvelous adventure together, especially in the midst of a time as being known for being hard – marriage – especially the first year. I think God was sitting back and smiling as he watched our year unfold in New Zealand.
There were so many close calls, where we didn’t have a job lined up or money was running low, in those first couple months of being there, and we were so afraid that we were going to have to give up and go back home. I truly thank God that that didn’t happen. And at those close call moments, people would magically step into our lives and literally say, “I have a job for you!” This happened more than once. And after the couple of months of vagabonding, God blessed Josh with an amazing job back in the city where we had first arrived in. Wellington. This is where our friends were. Our church family. We soon found a flat that became our home. It had sweeping, panoramic views overlooking the very southern edge of the North Island. We could see ferries coming in from the South and watch them make their way into the harbor. Our flat overlooked the airport, and we’d watch planes come and go from distant lands, perhaps from our own home that was nearly 8,000 miles away.
It was in this land that I felt like Bilbo Baggins from the trilogy, The Lord of the Rings. I had been afraid to leave my comfortable hobbit hole, my home. But the call for adventure was louder than the thought of sitting in my home, looking out my window, wondering what was out there. It was more enticing than sitting down with my books, and reading about travels, instead of being the character myself and living out my own story.
And adventures did I have. With my husband – my best friend. One of my favorite memories was hiking 19.4 kilometers in one day on the Tongariro Alpine Crossing. It was overcoming myself – my thoughts of self doubt and that, many times on the hike, I’d tell myself, “I can’t do this!” It was extremely physically taxing and challenging and tested your endurance and your belief in yourself. But, because I pushed on, with the help and encouragement of my husband, I traversed across volcanoes (not dormant volcanoes, by the way) and gasped in awe as I saw the magnificent, turquoise blue of the three pools of sulphuric water. The views were phenomenal, and the clear blue skies gave us a vantage point to see as far as the eye could see. And the best part is, that I did it. I didn’t turn back. They didn’t have to bring a helicopter to get me. I didn’t give up. I will never forget the sacrifice my husband made as he, weary as he was, gently took my heavy backpack from me and carried both his and mine. It was towards the end of the hike and I, like many times along the way, felt like giving up. His sacrifice gave me strength to finish. I will never forget the tears I cried as we were on the last mile and I didn’t know if I could take another step. And the feeling of arriving at the end of the trail and seeing all the other fellow hikers who were just as excited – it was a glorious sight and a feeling of relief washed over me. And I was proud. So proud of us.
This is just one of countless adventures that we had during the course of our year of living in New Zealand.
New Zealand felt like home. I felt like I belonged there. And that, my friend, is a good feeling to have.
I miss it. My heart longs to see The Land of the Long White Cloud again.
That’s what traveling and living abroad can do to you. It makes you feel a little unsettled or discontent with where you are living and what you are doing. This is one of the hard parts of having a wanderlust spirit, and I strive to be content with where I’m at and make the most out of where we are, wherever that may be. But when you’ve been to a place like New Zealand, your mind can’t help but drift off to those beautiful memories. Those picturesque pastures dotted with sheep. The green rolling hills. The snow capped mountain peaks. And your heart can never forget the warm, kind people that you met along the way and that are now forever a part of your story.
One of my favorite travel quotes sums it up quite well:
“Once you have traveled, the voyage never ends… The mind can never break off from the journey.” – Pat Conroy
New Zealand will forever be imprinted upon our hearts. I long for the day when, through the airplane window, my eyes catch a glimpse of the emerald green, rolling hills. And, at last, Middle Earth will be my home again.
If you have it — you can do anything. No one can stop you. Nothing. You can walk into the conference room with your head held up high, papers in hand, and give a presentation of a lifetime. You can hop on a plane and fly across the globe to a foreign country — where the language barrier is just one of the many odds against you. When you have it — you can climb a 14’er — summit the mountain without even thinking twice about all the dangers. When you have confidence, you can do brave things.
But what if you woke up one day and realized that it was gone? You didn’t have it anymore. Your confidence had left the building.
First, you might ask yourself and wonder, “How did that happen?” and “Where did it go?”
I came to a realization one day that I had indeed lost my confidence. I’m not talking about “self-confidence” in regards to how you view yourself, but the confidence you have in your ability to do things.
And I knew why. Why I’d lost it.
I’ve always been a girl who loves adventure. Who loves to do things that are brave and to be seen as brave. I wasn’t a wild daredevil, but I found exhilaration, when I was a little girl, to take my shoes off and run around barefoot — risking the chance of getting a “sticker” in my foot. Over the hot, Texas, summer days, I’d run across the street barefoot to my friend’s house — the black pavement burning my feet —but also toughening them up so they became hardened and resilient — perhaps even more resistant to getting those pesky thorns in my foot. I was a “girly-girl”, but I was also a tomboy. I loved climbing high up in the trees that grew in our backyard and sitting there feeling like I was Pocahontas and that I had a connection with the spirit of the tree.
As I grew up into a young woman, adventure was still on my heart and wanderlust filled my soul. I dreamed of traveling the world.
I met my husband Josh in December 2009. I loved this man — his passion for life and that we shared an affinity for travel. He had already traveled abroad and his stories filled my heart with a longing to see these things. But, more importantly, to see these sights with him.
We married in the Spring of 2011.
I had confidence back then. Oh yes, I had my doubts and my fears, yes — that is only natural for all of us. But I knew I could do things. I had a mindset, perhaps a bit of pride, that I could do anything.
And so, within the first few months of marrying, my husband and I quit our jobs, sold almost everything, packed our bags, said our goodbyes to family, and we moved across the world — from Texas to New Zealand.
This was brave indeed and it took a huge amount of confidence in oneself to be able to do this. With our working holiday visa, we were able to live in New Zealand for a year. And, along the way, I got to climb trees again! Well, not technically, but climbed a ladder and picked apples from the trees. It was like being a kid again. Wild and free. Yet working. So, I’ll admit, I didn’t like apple-thinning too much. I hated it. Josh heard me moan and groan a lot. It took only four days to figure out that Lindsey wasn’t meant for manual labor. But I had had my hand at apple-picking. I had tried it.
While in New Zealand, Josh and I hiked several trails — that’s one of my favorite activities in life to do is hike. Our greatest accomplishment was hiking the 19.4 kilometer Tongariro Alpine Crossing. I had confidence enough to do this treacherous day-long hike and to climb across volcanoes.
And, in New Zealand, I finally overcame my fear of driving on the opposite side of the road, and, after trying it, my heart swelled with pride and confidence. As the saying by Eleanor Roosevelt goes, “You must do the things you think you cannot do.”
I had a nickname growing up, given to me by my youth minister who later became my brother-in-law. It was “Linzena – Warrior Princess.”
New Zealand was a time when I truly felt like I was a warrior princess.
We eventually had to move back to the States, and our next destination became Colorado — so that we could continue to breathe in mountain air and revel in God’s creation. I “bagged” (the term used in Colorado when you accomplish summiting a peak) three “14’er”s as they are called in Colorado — meaning mountain peaks where the summit is over 14,000 feet.
To climb a mountain, it takes courage and bravery. It requires confidence in yourself.
Little did I know I was about to climb the biggest mountain — the most rugged, treacherous, dangerous one I would ever have to attempt to conquer. And I’m not talking about Long’s Peak.
I’m talking about postpartum depression.
Our first daughter, Isabella, was born to us on a sunny October day while we were still living in Colorado. It was one of the happiest days of my life. A flood of tears poured from my eyes when I saw her for the first time and heard her first cry. Everything was good — despite the anxiety that I felt intensely every day from the moment she was born.
A month after she was born — my mountain appeared. Postpartum depression hit me full force as I woke up on a Monday morning and had my first of what would soon be countless panic attacks.
I couldn’t take care of myself. I couldn’t take care of my baby. I was a wreck. The depression and anxiety debilitated me to the point where I could barely eat or drink, and I had thoughts of just wanting to end it all.
That is when it happened. Postpartum depression grabbed my confidence, my dignity, my pride, and it ripped it away from me.
I had no confidence that the “mountain climbing, world-traveler, Linzena Warrior Princess” could “bag” this foreboding summit that towered above me. That laughed at me. That made me say things like, “I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t!”
It made me feel weak. I couldn’t do anything. And I needed someone to be by my side 24/7, because I was afraid of being alone. I was afraid of the scary thoughts in my head.
But, amazingly, after four months of inching my way up this mountain towards recovery, I finally reached the summit! I conquered that which tried to take my life. I won. Postpartum depression and anxiety had been defeated.
When I found healing, you can imagine how my life changed. I was on fire! So thankful to be alive. Thank you, God! I had a deep appreciation for life again; for my life. A deep appreciation for my family. A bond that grew between my husband and I as we weathered this storm together. As we, like all the real mountains we climbed together before, this time, my husband carried me on his back many times along the way. I know he did. Our love for each other grew tenfold. I started connecting with my baby daughter again and not feeling so scared of her. It was all so beautiful.
It’s in the aftermath, after a battle as intense as the one I went through, that I realized I had suffered many wounds. One of those being, that I lost my confidence. There were ways in which I actually gained confidence after going through that. But, I felt robbed — like something was missing that I once had.
Even after recovery, I doubted myself.
That’s one of the worst feelings. And it keeps you from doing things. From doing what you used to be able to do.
Fear and anxiety still remain with me, even after recovery, and I struggle with anxiety to this day.
They say that, after falling off a horse, you have to get right back on. Shake the dust off and keep on.
And I have to do the same.
And so that is what I do. I “do the things you think you cannot do”. It’s not easy, and I’m still struggling to get a better hold of my anxiety, so that it doesn’t control my life. It’s not easy. But I’m trying.
I will continue to climb those beautiful mountains. I will do it with confidence —despite my fears and anxieties. I will and have continued to board those planes to foreign places that light my heart on fire.
And I will, despite the wounds I carry, live my life with courage and adventure. I will regain my confidence and, with hardened, tough feet — I will carry on as Linzena Warrior Princess, living out my life Wild and Free.
Ignorance is bliss, they say, and I believe this to be true sometimes. My husband and I were ignorant about this trail we were about to embark upon. The brochure and the sign at the head of the trail said it was 2 1/2 miles. From what I read and interpreted this meant 2 1/2 miles…total. Roundtrip. I thought this trail would be a walk in the park.
We began walking on the trail with the adrenaline, energy, enthusiasm, and excitement that awaits hikers as they begin their adventure. A new path…a new forest. A beautiful array of trees covered in moss that our eyes had never beheld, a vast emerald canopy above our heads. Ferns that felt like feathers as that lightly brushed against us as we passed beside them. We didn’t know where this trail would lead us. Would it lead us to the sea?
I was ready to accomplish something. I was seeking a challenge – for me, that’s part of what hiking is about. Little did I know, I was certainly about to have my mind and my body challenged.
As we walked along in the early morning hours, the cold rain dripped down on us and we could see our frosty breath. The cold air was invigorating. We didn’t see a soul on the trail; we had it to ourselves, something I long for. It was just my husband and I….and the tall, towering trees. It felt magical and I imagined I was in the fairy tale world of Mirkwood where the elves dwell and sing tales of old and have great feasts in the forest. We began to hear a rushing river and finally caught a glimpse of it through an opening in the trees, flowing down below us. We were excited. We were having fun. Every few steps, we would stop to take pictures or use our GoPro. The going was long, but I was okay with this, thinking to myself that we were already about halfway there. The going was also tough, as we dodged tree roots, and thousands of puddles of mud.
My husband Josh had downloaded an app that tracked our distance. We were hoping this was going to be a loop trail; to see new sights on our way back to the car park, and to not have to retrace our steps.
We then heard a sound that made our hearts skip a beat…the sound of the sea. Our pace naturally quickened as we were eager to hopefully catch a glimpse of the roaring waves of the Pacific.
At last, we rounded a bend and saw the thundering ocean. The view was breathtaking as the sun had peaked out from behind the clouds and was in its full glory…a rarity for this time of year on the Oregon coast. We paused for a moment to take it all in. There were surfers waiting in the water for the next wave to ride and we could hear their enthusiastic shouts even from where we stood, hundreds of feet above their bobbing heads.
All the hiking we had done this beautiful morning had been worth it for this wonderful moment – this view and to feel the warm sun upon our faces.
But we still weren’t at the end of the trail! I’m not a wildnerness or hiking expert, but I was pretty sure that we had already gone at least two miles and I was beginning to think that this was no loop trail at all, but that we’d have to go the way we had come. This was starting to get to me a little bit, and I was already feeling quite tired. Each step further that we took meant we would have to turn back and take that step back. I love hiking with all of my heart, but today I wasn’t feeling my best physically and something I am quite familiar with was starting to creep in.
We were about to turn back, as we looked at the map on our hiking app, and thinking that perhaps we had already made it to the end point of the Cape Falcon trail, and that now we were on the Oregon Coast Trail (which leads north up the Pacific Northwestern coast to Canada).
Just as I turned to walk back, we finally saw a couple of other people headed our way on the trail. They informed us that “yes, you are still on the Cape Falcon trail, and yes, you must keep going … just 10 more minutes until you reach the amazing viewpoint.”
Ok. Keep going.
That gave us a little push to continue onwards. It lit a fire, albeit a small one, within me. At this point, for me it was a bit of pride to be able to say that we had completed the trail, and, of course, we had come this far, so we had to keep going, even though I was starting to feel physically taxed. We finally made it to the lookout point of the trail, and the view of the expansive sea thousands of feet below us was phenomenal. It was unnerving to see a massive drop off and only a few bushes that served as a barrier between us. We continued on to another viewing point, which was a steep path downwards in order to get to the spot. I felt vertigo start to settle in somewhere within me and I was beginning to feel a little bit of fear. The waves thundered angrily, slamming against the massive rocks and boulders with such loud force, sending foamy waves raging down onto the other side of the rocks. I was amazed and in awe by the strength of the ocean. I was intimidated by its power.
By this time, I was ready to go back. I wanted to be off this trail. I wanted to be back in town, back to Cannon Beach, where all the people were. I was beginning to feel that we were isolated, and I wasn’t liking the thought of that.
I had barely stopped for a moment’s breath the entire hike, as I was just in the mode of “Go, go, go!” We had to hike back up the steep paths and my heart was racing and pounding. Josh was a little behind me, and I was a girl on a mission: “Just make it back to the car.”
It was happening. I was starting to panic.
I became aware of the fact that I had been holding my breath most of the hike. I had a cold, too, making it hard to breathe through my nose. I was thinking to myself, “I feel so weird. I feel so weird.” I began to feel lightheaded and dizzy. I felt weak.
I think the panic and anxiety had started to set in once I found out that we had to go back the way we had come – I was finally certain this was no loop trail. The app said we had walked four miles. That meant four miles back the way we had come. As I said, ignorance had been our bliss, but when reality set in that this was going to be an 8 miler as opposed to the 2 miles we had originally thought, I immediately felt disheartened and discouraged. I didn’t feel prepared for this.
My mind was two steps ahead of me and I walked as fast as I could, knowing each step I made would get me closer to where I wanted to be. Just back at that car park. I was envisioning and replaying what lay before us. And I knew how long it had taken to get to the viewing point, and that it would take us that long to get back to the car. The roaring of the ocean could still be heard, and I wanted to get away from it.
It didn’t take long. You see, it didn’t take long at all for the panic to set in. I was aware of everything and fear was overtaking me. These were some of my thoughts: I’d only seen about five people on this whole trail; where was everybody? We were so far away from our car, and away from civilization. What if I needed medical attention? How would they get to me? Why was my heart beating so fast? Why do I feel so weak? Why am I so exhausted? What if I can’t make it back to the car?
I finally stopped, turned around and told Josh that I felt weird. That I felt scared. I was feeling emotional and wanting to cry.
I told him all my symptoms. He was like, “Just stop baby. Stop and take a break. Breathe.”
No. I didn’t want to stop. I felt this urgency that we had to get back to the car. I wanted to be in our lodge, in our cozy room, away from the elements, and just sitting by the warm fire. I imagined this scene and this was my beacon of light to press onward, was thinking of the comforts of our “home away from home”. I realized how ravenous I was, and I dreamed up a feast waiting for me.
Josh, being the practical one, and me not being levelheaded at that moment, said, “Baby, you need to drink some water! You’re probably dehydrated.” Maybe he was right. Had I drank any water this entire time? Maybe a couple sips now that I thought about it. I said I was hungry, too, but I didn’t think we had packed any snacks. I felt like I was going to pass out.
Those moments were scary. Those moments of panic. I wanted so desperately to be out of that forest. “Get me out of here!” I felt like screaming, if I had had the strength. I couldn’t remember any of the “tools” I’ve learned along the way of how to deal with a panic attack. I grabbed the water bottle and guzzled down what I could, which helped me focus on trying to breathe through my nose. I had to calm myself down. I had some anxiety medicine in my backpack, but that didn’t even cross my mind at that moment. We did thankfully have some snacks in our packs, (thanks to Southwest Airlines for the peanuts and crackers) which I inhaled and I found an old protein bar. I said to Josh, “Let’s keep going.” The panic was still there and my only hope of escaping it was escaping this quiet, peaceful forest.
I started focusing on my breathing as we walked along and I continued eating my protein bar. My pace started to slow. I thought of how I would breathe in yoga, and focused as hard as I could on trying to have rhythmic breath and breathing slowly in and out through my nose. My breath deepened.
As we continued at a slower pace along the trail, the sound of the ocean subsided and was replaced by the quiet of the forest, and I felt a calm finally wash over my mind and body. I became suddenly aware of the beauty around me. The sun rays shining down into the forest around us, making the ferns and moss-covered trees an even more vibrant green than when we had seen them earlier that morning. The light and warmth from the sun brought me peace and comfort. I heard a bird singing for the first time I’d heard on the entire hike. The sound of quiet streams filled my ears. Strength was being renewed to my body.
I had gained some confidence in myself and felt proud that I didn’t need medicine to get through those moments. I was thankful that it had passed, those moments of panic. It wasn’t a full-on panic attack like I’ve had before, but it got pretty close.
It doesn’t take long for our minds to get ahead of us. For our thoughts to start racing. For the fear to take over all rational.
When you are in a state of panic, you can’t think clearly.
But I had made it through. And now, the forest was peaceful again, and I was calm.
As Josh and I continued walking at a slow pace back to the car, I found an energy I can’t explain take over. I was relieved and elated that the panic and anxiety had left me. I began thinking about what had just happened and all the reasons why I had gotten to that point.
When you’re hiking, there’s something about knowing you have to go back the way you came. You know the trail . . . you know what it looked like – you know all the obstacles that you encountered. A mighty tree that had fallen across our path before we came upon it, blocking our way. The lengths we had to go through to get past the tree. The river we had to cross – the feeling I had holding my breath walking steadily and cautiously on a fallen tree that was a bridge to cross the river. I knew the methodical steps I had to take as I stepped carefully around the deep, sloshy puddles of mud and the care I had to take to not trip over the endless tree roots springing up across the path.
I knew how long it had taken. That it had not been easy. That some parts of it had been challenging and made me want to give up and just turn back and not finish the trail.
And so, as I walked back, I thought about my moments of panic, and how it related to life. I thought to myself, “Don’t look too far ahead into the future.” For one thing, it can overwhelm you. Take one step at a time. Focus on the here and now. Don’t get ahead of the game. Be present in this moment.
You see, I had the whole journey back played out in my head, and in my head I remembered every little obstacle. Life is sometimes about perspective, to dwell on the puddles of mud and the steep and challenging parts, instead of thinking about the gentle sound of the streams as we passed beside them. I forgot about the magnificent tree at the start of the trail that was completely covered in soft moss that felt like a cloud to the touch of my hand.
And, then, I thought of something else.
I thought back to a dark time in my life. I thought about a journey that I had taken. A long and difficult one. I reflected back to when my daughter was first born, and I suffered from postpartum depression/anxiety. It reminded me of the “out and back” trail that we were currently on. I already knew what that journey (or, more rather, “battle”) looked like. I know that trail now, because I’ve walked down it. I remember every obstacle that stood in my way from reaching recovery – from getting to the end of my journey and back to where I wanted to be -which was to be healed. I know how long it took, and how hard it was; that it nearly took me down. I don’t ever want to walk that dark path again.
I have that fear. Why would one want to go back down the same path again, when they know how treacherous it had been? There are some days when that fear is very real and present, of having to go back there.
Perhaps we all have our times in life that we would not want to re-live and that we’d do just about anything to not have to go through it again. For we know what it looks like; what it felt like. What it did.
For us, on this particular trail called Cape Falcon, there wasn’t a new trail that suddenly or miraculously appeared on our way back to the car park. We took the same trail. But, I found that the way back wasn’t so bad after all. The obstacles I remembered from before weren’t as threatening. Maybe it was divine intervention, but the steps back to our car seemed to be quicker, thus getting us to the car park quicker. The path leveled out and we soon were in sight of our destination, where we had started from.
I know that I can’t live in fear, captive to the thought of having to go down that path of postpartum depression again. We cannot live in fear. For, maybe, if I do have to go down it again, I pray that the path will be easier than the one I’ve already seen and been on. That there will be a bridge across the puddles of mud. That there will be a railing along the tree that crosses the river, to bring me comfort and to keep me safe. That the trees blocking my way, causing me to want to give up, will have been removed from my way. That God will have straightened my path.
Or, maybe He will provide a fork in the road; a new path entirely – one in which I will not have to know that darkness again.
No, we can’t live in fear. We have to keep on going. We can’t turn back. It is worth every step you take, even if you have to drag yourself through the mud to get there to your destination.
And so it was for me.
We finally saw the moss-covered tree that we had seen earlier that morning and I felt rejoicing in my heart, as this beautiful tree meant we had made it! I was thankful to see this majestic tower reaching high up to the sky.
I then wrapped my arms around its trunk as far as they would go, and I hugged that tree with all of my might.
I was smiling and laughing.
I had made it.