I turned 40 in the Spring of 2020, just as the world started to lockdown and a global pandemic changed our lives forever. Since then, it has felt like one catastrophic world event morphing into several other catastrophic world events leaving a lingering feeling within that life is passing me by and the adventurous, idealistic (admittedly naive) person I once was is gone forever. I’ve been missing her, grieving her aspirations and dreams, along with the world that once existed.
I’m now 45 and at this milestone age, it becomes increasingly easy to lean into the math of life. If I live to the average life expectancy of Canada, I have roughly 36 years left. But then I need to factor natural aging and other hereditary concerns and consider that both my father and grandmother died well before that (at 63 and 49, respectively). The years pass by so quickly, even trying to plan around decades is often a futile pursuit.
And, of course, none of this is promised.
Last Fall while sitting on my couch, not paying attention to the noise of either the TV or laptop in front of me, I paused and asked myself “what are we doing?” What do I want to do?
Almost instantly, the answer came to me. I want to see Mount Everest. Why the fuck not?
The mountain landscape has been a big part of my life from annual family road trips to the Canadian Rockies to climbing and watching the sunrise from the peak of Mount Fuji in 2015 (1, 2, 3, 4). Seeing the highest point on the planet in a mountain range known for spiritual pursuits is exactly the elixir I need at this point in my life.
I’m keen to reintroduce myself.
So with no kids, no divorce, a spoiled goldendoodle and all the ambition in the world, I will be setting off on an epic solo adventure of China, Tibet and Everest Base Camp later this year. It will be in honour of my mother and grandmother who did not have the choices, opportunities or longevity that I am (so far) blessed with.
See you at the top of the world.
