on top of the mountain

falling downhill and imperfect progress

Snowboarding in Whistler, BC

Hard white snow crunches beneath my feet as I walk to the edge of the mountain, peering out at the snow-covered peaks surrounding me.

Silence fills my ears and I take a deep inhale of the crisp cold air.

These ancient mountains appear barren and still — not a hint of life across its vastness, except the few skiers carving downhill in the distance.

Up here, I feel a sense of tranquility and peace; an embodied presence as I take in the wonder and vastness of this mountainous horizon.

A single star in an endless universe; a breathing body amongst a sea of clouds… somehow, up here, I feel home.

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The wind brushes across my cheeks as I carve down the mountain, feeling a rush of exhilarated joy as my snowboard moves effortlessly through the thick hard snow.

It’s my 25th year of snowboarding, my favorite winter activity, and my first time riding the Coast Mountains of British Columbia.

Whether it’s winter or summer or somewhere in between, I love being in the mountains.

I love the challenge of a summer hike to the top of the peak, my sore legs trekking through miles of terrain as I take a deep breath of the pine-infused air.

I love the sensation of riding down a winter mountain, those same sore legs carving from heel to toe as the evergreen pines are weighed down with snow.

I love how I feel when I’m in the mountains — like the strongest, most vibrant version of myself, awake and alive to the experiences before me.

On this particular day, maneuvering on my snowboard, I’m reminded of the many life-changing experiences I have had on one mountain or another.

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It’s March 2021 and I’m snowboarding with my partner in Mont Tremblant, Quebec. My birthday is a few days away and on one morning, my partner nudges me to wake up early.

I have a surprise for you, he says.

We’re awake before the sun and quickly get changed. We head to the gondola where we’re greeted by a photographer for “a birthday surprise”.

The three of us take the gondola all the way to the top of the mountain where there is not another soul around (the lifts aren’t even open to the public yet).

The view is absolutely breathtaking as the golden sun begins to rise over the horizon ahead. We put down our snowboards and walk towards the sunrise, my partner a few steps behind me.

When I turn around, he’s down on one knee, a ruby red ring box propped open with the most perfect ring that he personally designed.

I feel an overwhelming rush of love and joy as the photographer behind us captures the moment.

This day, on top of the mountain, a new life begins.

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It’s July 2024 and we’ve been backpacking through the mountains of Yosemite National Park for the last 2 days.

In our final push up Half Dome mountain, I’m faced with the most terrifying experience of my life.

I’m willing myself not to hyperventilate as I use every ounce of strength to get me up this nearly-vertical climb. The only thing separating me from tumbling to my death are my sweaty-gloved palms gripping onto the cable ropes tethered to the mountain.

The climb up Half Dome was without a doubt, the hardest thing I’ve ever physically done.

That is, until the decent back down… and the millisecond moment where my feet slipped out from under me and I slid down the glossy granite rock, holding onto the cables for dear life.

This day, the only thing that separated me from tumbling to my end was a thin cable pole that my caught my feet from sliding all the way down the cliff.

This day, on the mountain, was the day I almost died.

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I have been on too many mountains to count and have many more experiences to share — but when I think of my most life-changing experiences on mountains, these are the first that come to mind.

And both of these experiences have taught me some profound truths.

The first is that reaching the top, reaching your destination, is not the end of the story. There is no arriving, there is no neatly-packaged conclusion once you reach the peak.

On a hike, as in life, the climb up the mountain often feels like the most daunting part. The destination feels relentless and long; you doubt yourself and wonder if you have the strength or capacity to keep going; your feet hurt and your body is sore and you wonder why you signed up for this in the first place.

At some point, you undoubtedly get lost. Everything takes longer than you expected at the beginning. Challenges arise that you couldn’t foresee. You quickly realize that there is actually very little in your control.

Except, to keep going. To keep climbing. To keep taking one baby step in front of the other.

On the most challenging hikes or snowboarding runs, you’re confronted with a force that is more powerful than your physical body. A force that can make or break you in the moments when fear threatens to override every part of your system.

That force is your mind.

The mountains have taught me, over and over again, that while I cannot control what will happen or the obstacles I will face, the only thing I can control is how I respond.

Even when my legs are burning and my body is sore and I’m nowhere near my ‘destination’, how can I meet myself where I am, soothe the fear, and keep moving forward anyway.

This is what makes the challenge so satisfying at the end — the recognition that you have the power to harness your courage, face your fears, and do the scary thing — one baby step at a time.

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The second lesson the mountains have taught me is that even when you make it to the top, you still have to come back down.

The top of the mountain, as breathtakingly beautiful as it is, is simply another moment in time — it’s not the end.

And often, the descent back down is harder than the climb up.

This is certainly true in the case of snowboarding, where there is no climb up the mountain. The thrill is in the descent; in the unpredictability of what you may face; in the sheer trust and mental fortitude that you, united with your board, have the strength and ability to face what you meet.

In hiking, I always find the descent back down the toughest for my body, especially if the climb up was steep.

I find that my legs work double-time climbing down the mountain; my knees are sore from holding up the weight of my body; my body is extra tired after the climb up and now back down.

In life, we often view ‘going downhill’ as a bad thing — the mistakes we make or the moments we slip can sometimes swallow us whole with fear, guilt and shame.

But what the mountains have taught me is that actually, these downhill moments — while incredibly challenging and confronting — are some of the most profound experiences of our lives.

The ‘near-death slip’ of my Half Dome descent actually defined my 3 day backpacking experience — it touched and changed me in a deep visceral way. It sparked such reverence for my body and mind, for this precious life that I am gifted, for the experiences that I’ve had and that I want to continue having. It anchored me in gratitude for life itself.

Yes, it was the most terrifying experience of my life so far — and yet, I wouldn’t change it.

This ‘downhill moment’ catapulted my growth.

We can spend our entire lives trying to avoid making mistakes or failing or falling downhill… but what if those downhill moments (like the divorce or the career failure or the friendship breakdown or the health challenge or the life uncertainty) are exactly what lead you to the most beautiful experiences, the most profound growth, the most aligned path and breakthroughs ahead?

Maybe it’s not about avoiding the downfall, but about embracing the burning, stinging, aching discomfort as the truest indicator that we are here and alive and there’s still more beauty to behold.

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The third lesson the mountains have taught me, one that is obvious yet profound, is that the journey is so much better, together.

Yes, it is a beautiful and powerful experience to climb mountains on your own — and at the end of the day, we are all climbing our own unique mountain anyway.

But to climb your mountain alongside those you love — your partner, dog, family, friends…

to reach out for help when you need it; to laugh and hug and cheer each other on; to share in the journey and the spectacular views; to reflect together on what you experienced…

well, it just makes the journey so much sweeter.

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January felt like one looong hike up a mountain.

At the beginning of the month, I set out on one hell of a climb; a climb that felt daunting yet necessary for my soul.

In the first two weeks, every day felt uncomfortably confronting. Many times, I doubted myself. I doubted whether I could do it. I doubted whether it was worth it. I wondered if I would ever feel good again. I wondered what this challenging climb was all leading me to anyway.

In the third quarter of the month, I started to feel a tiny bit better. I spent more time with loved ones. I traveled and changed my daily routine. I snowboarded and spent time doing activities I love.

I felt like I had moved past the initial hump.

By this point, I had proved to myself that I didn’t need cannabis anymore. Even in the moments when my emotional waves felt completely overwhelming, I knew through experience that I could hold it, I could feel it, I could move with it.

I knew that I had changed and I knew that I could see the month through to the end.

I could have finished the story here — ‘I succeeded, THE END’.

But, if I’m honest, choosing this ending would have been a performance. It would have enforced a version of myself that was striving for perfection — striving to be a good girl that did what she said she would do.

But I’m not that girl anymore… perfection isn’t my goal. Authenticity is.

And at the end of the month, days away from ‘achieving my goal’, I felt a deep thread of curiosity pulling me elsewhere.

I sat with it for a few days, contemplating and feeling into my decision.

And then I made a very conscious choice.

A choice I knew some might deem as a ‘failure’ — a choice that would tarnish any chance of wrapping up this story in neat little bow… of being able to say at the end of the month, I did it. I succeeded. I’m amazing.

Instead, I followed the thread of curiosity that kept pulling at me… not from a place of need or dependency, but from a place wonder…

What would happen if I consumed cannabis, again?

So, a few days away from the end of the month, I made an intentional choice to slip.

Up until this point, I think there was a part of me that was afraid — afraid that I would get swept up in her intoxicating embrace again; afraid that I would lose myself in the substance or erase the progress I had already made.

And I think, this fear, is exactly why I knew I had to slip.

I had to look that fear straight in the face and say — I see you fear, but you don’t hold the reins of my life anymore.

So, I picked the day in advance; a Friday afternoon when I would be alone.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and set an intention for this sesh — clarity, relaxation, release.

I turned on my favorite music and in my favorite way (alone and in flow), I slipped.

And honestly, it was the best decision I could have made.

Because what I realized was that this substance that once had such a hold on me, no longer feels the same.

The substance doesn’t hold the power anymore, I do.

Fear fell away to clarity.

The fear of addiction; fear of losing control; fear of being overwhelmed by life; fear of the unknown…

I wasn’t afraid anymore.

There really is no going back, I realized — because I’m not the same person I was before this climb.

I don’t feel the fear or dread or agony I did just 4 weeks ago; because this January showed me that I have the power to abstain when I want to, even when it isn’t easy.

Sobriety isn’t something I have to maintain out of fear, but rather something I can choose.

I don’t have to hold this rigid pressure of perfection or abstinence, just like I don’t have to hold the fear of losing myself again.

I’ve always been right here.

It’s not really that I’ve changed — I’ve just become more of who I’ve always been.

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I had a wonderful experience that day — the day I slipped away.

I danced and moved and wrote and documented and distilled and connected and created and felt.

I remembered what an incredibly powerful tool this plant can be when used intentionally, occasionally, with reverence and respect.

And what felt even more amazing was continuing on with my life the next day and days that followed, sober and clear, feeling a huge weight release from my shoulders.

I’m on top of the mountain and the air is crisp and clean.

I am not afraid anymore.

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This endless January comes to a close with me feeling more aligned and empowered than when it began.

And yet, just like any other climb, I’m well aware that the descent back down the mountain (i.e. the months that follow) will continue to test me.

There will be boundaries to upkeep and urges to ride and challenges to face...

But if I ever doubted it, now I know for sure —

I can do hard things, one baby step at a time.

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As I’m reflecting, I realize that one of the most healing aspects of this entire journey has been writing about it and sharing about it, right here with you.

Writing and sharing has empowered me to process this experience and to feel a huge opening in myself and in my life…

I used to feel a lot of shame and guilt around cannabis… or more so, about my perceived fear of not being seen as perfect; as someone who has it all together or is living life the way ‘she should’ (whatever that means).

In writing and sharing about my journey, it has empowered me to release allll this baggage that I held on to so tightly; all this expectation around what it means to be good or bad; to be successful or not.

Somehow, in sharing my journey, it empowered me to champion for myself — to love and accept myself exactly as I am, in all my imperfect progress. I can’t control how anyone will perceive me, but I can love and take care of myself regardless.

I think this openness and authenticity was so important for me — I felt so much healing in being seen and witnessed in my real authentic truth. No more hiding.

And while I really did share this journey for me, I am so touched by the level of deep connection and intimacy these stories inspired.

I received so many private messages from people sharing their own journey, the mountains they have climbed, the shame or guilt they’ve been carrying, or the intense emotional waves they too have been navigating.

Our mountains may be different but the climb is so often the same.

I’m so grateful to climb alongside you.

Thank you for being here.

Take good care of yourself,

until next time —

xx aaliyah | The Artist’s Temple

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