My Mountain Heart

Among the mountains, my inner world would feel less knotted.

I had a moment with my younger self recently, as I was driving along a forest-lined, winding mountain road, the light speckled through the trees and my playlist setting the mood. It felt like nostalgia. 

We used to head up to the Blue Mountains a lot when I was growing up in Australia. I lived in a town called Penrith at the bottom of the mountains, named Blue because the dense population of eucalyptus trees gives off that hue from a distance. I always welcomed that drive. 

My Nan and Fossil (grandfather) lived up there. And perhaps it was about visiting their house, exploring their garden rich in hydrangeas, being among the trees, feeling the crisp air on my cheeks, letting my mind wander in the quiet surrounds interrupted only by birdsong or the occasional chatter. But I also think it was as much about the drive. 

I could tune out the tension I felt at home. The uncertainty and anxiety I harbored within those walls. I could leave it all behind for a little while as we drove up into a different world. I remember gazing out the window, letting the dappled light kiss my face through the trees. My dad loved listening to music, so usually Fleetwood Mac or Billy Joel was serenading my daydreams. 

The rule to be quiet while we were in the car worked in my favor here. My heart had the space to simply be… 

I have distinct memories of feeling things along that drive in a way that hit different. Heartache, longing, anguish, and feeling small. All the things that would normally sit tangled, but among the mountains, my inner world would feel less knotted.

One of my favorite experiences was actually driving back at night, with the stars sparkling as we meandered down the slope. Sadness almost always felt so much closer there. The heaviness of going back home, mixed with the beauty of the moment, culminating in something I couldn’t truly understand. But it felt good to just feel it, in the safety of a moving car, surrounded by the mountains. 

As I was making a new memory that felt very much like an old one, I placed my hand on my heart and held her, the younger me. She showed me her grief. Hot tears built up behind my eyes as my soul sighed in understanding and gratitude. 

“I’ve got you. I get it,” I whispered. 

Even though the playlist and the location have changed, the sentiment is the same. This scene means more to me than I realized. I suddenly felt a desire to meet the need for more of it. More time in the mountains, more time with the starry night sky, more of what actually helps my heart exhale all it carries. I think I’ve overlooked some of these things simply because they weren’t always the most convenient.

This reminds me of a quote from a children’s book I love, Ruby Red Shoes: A Very Aware Hare by Kate Knapp:

“Ruby also loves the peace and stillness in her garden. The floating butterflies, dancing green leaves and whispering trees are perfect for soothing an aware hare.”

I used to think I wanted to be a beach girl. That perhaps the ocean would soothe me. I heard it was true for so many others. It sounded good, and I was envious of girls who had that bohemian, chill, coastal vibe. They were so cool and free-spirited. I tried. But eventually I realized the beach scene mostly overstimulates me. It tends to compete with the noise inside.

Among the rumbling waves, lack of shade, and constant drone of voices, I’d usually spend most my time looking toward the sand, finding unique rocks or shells.

The truth is, I have a mountain heart. The way I feel hugged and tucked in when the trees crowd my view and the horizon doesn’t endlessly stretch out before me feels like home.

Here, I don’t feel the need to cast my eyes downward. I can take it in and feel my breath expanding, filling and softening places that have been bracing.

Perfect for soothing my aware heart.