There’s really only one thing to do—especially when you’ve made your home on the British Isles—when you’re tired, overwhelmed, and need a centering force: have a cup of tea and a book.
We needed a Plan B.
And so, standing in my friend's living room with Sigur Ros' "Hoppípolla" in my ears, I said:
"Well, what about Iceland?"
And so my adventure began.
After seven hours of climbing my body had reached a point of utter exhaustion. My limbs complained and my head swam and every single cell voted. The results came in a resounding “HELL NO” (with no need for a re-count) The sun began to set, and water was low. I was done. Simply done.
As I watched the children, I felt the weight and interconnectedness of humanity. I felt that these beings were of my species and that we were the same.
Inevitably in my travels, there comes a time when I ask why.
Usually more than “a” time, several times in fact, and I notice these times as I ease through them as if I’m passing through Kübler-Ross’s five stages.