We walked up a gravel road, our first practise walk for this year’s pilgrimage over the Swiss Alps. Where the road got steep there was a gate across the road and signs directing walkers to detour on a winding path.
From where we stood at the gate, the road rose before sweeping around a corner and we lost sight of what exactly was ahead.
I didn’t want to take the walker’s path. I wanted to walk straight up the steep incline to get to the top faster. Despite my frustration, I followed the signs.
As I summited a small ridge, I saw below that there were bulls (or steers) on the road for the steep section; that was why the gate was across the road. Relief flooded my system. Would I rather go the long way or walk through an enclosure with bulls? Suddenly, my attitude flipped and I was grateful to be on the winding path.
We continued up the hill and wound our way around a tight corner to find a slip on the side of the path. An entire tree had repositioned itself, blocking our way. This wasn’t a tree falling over; this was a tree that took a couple of steps forward to grow in the middle of the path. I stopped to take a photo. It was surreal. I started pondering the walk.
I read the sign and knew which way I was supposed to go, but I didn’t want to obey. By my logic, I had a better idea.
The fact that the road was steep didn’t deter me, I was training to climb the Alps after all. But if I had continued on the road, I would have come across the bulls and either turned back or walked through the animals, potentially disturbing them, definitely disturbing myself.
Following the sign annoyed me, but once I got a fuller picture, I was glad I obeyed.
We don’t always gain insight into what we miss on our journey. We wish for the other thing, we think the grass is greener there, not understanding the full implications of the road we would have walked. The grass isn’t greener on the other side; there are bulls eating that grass! If we knew everything, we’d have a stronger basis for our decision making; but, let’s face it, we don’t.
When we don’t understand a boundary, we feel as though it restricts us. But that boundary, that day, was protecting us from a herd of bulls.
I had limited understanding of why the gate was shut. From my perspective it seemed arbitrary, but there was good reason behind it. Would I have grumbled for longer if I hadn’t seen the bulls? Probably. But, seeing them challenged me. It was easy to change my mind once I had more understanding.
When our attitudes turn sour or we come to a detour, we can seek clarification. Ask questions. What is really behind this detour? Why are they asking me to do this? What happened (past or present) to cause my friend or colleague to redirect me here? When we gain understanding it is easier to keep our attitudes sweet. We might not fully understand their redirection, but where we trust their character and competence, we can choose to assume they have a good reason for their request and comply.
We think of boundaries as restrictions, but boundaries create safe spaces for us to live and enjoy. Perhaps that gate was less about keeping me out and more about keeping the bulls in.
If there were no edges to a volleyball court, the ball could go so far without consequence that the game would become unplayable. If a surgeon didn’t stick to the body part in question, we’d have many more medical misadventures. If we didn’t allow each other space, we’d develop unhealthy attachment.
As a child I had a book called Harriot Help-a-lot. Harriot saw a need and helped whether the person wanted her help or not. She helped an old lady cross the street, but the lady didn’t want to cross, she recrossed the street once Harriot was gone. Harriot helped all sorts of people, but she never asked whether they wanted help in the first place, nor if her contribution was welcome. People shunned her and she got frustrated because no one appreciated her efforts.
Harriot needed to ask the question: would you like help with that? Something as simple as a question creates a healthy boundary. Bulldozing your ideas onto someone (even with the best intentions) doesn’t make it a good idea. Honouring someone’s boundaries might be annoying at first, but in hindsight, it’s worth it.
Once she started offering help rather than assuming help, others appreciated her work, making both her and them happier with the outcome.
The other thing I saw from the ridge was that after the gate, the road descended before it got steep. That meant that the gradient I imagined from where we were standing at the gate was a gross underestimation. What I thought I wanted was actually much more difficult than I could perceive from the gate.
How often does that happen? We imagine a journey from point A to point B, but we don’t see all the challenges and obstacles between here and there.
By taking the winding path, I thought I was getting duped. But at that ridge, I realised that I was climbing at a comfortable gradient and I didn’t have much climbing to go. If I had taken the road, I would be lower by this point than where I started and I would have been looking at a very daunting climb. I wanted to get to the top faster… it turns out that the winding path was the way to do that.
When we take a detour in life, we lament what would have been. How about we choose to appreciate where we’re at instead of allowing frustration to take hold? When I take a wrong turn nowadays, I choose to go with it instead of beating myself up. I don’t know what I missed, but I trust that what I’m experiencing is going to shape me.
The road was a greater challenge than I imagined… with the bulls and the extreme gradient, if I had gone through the gate I would have got a lot more than I bargained for. But on the winding road I found my obstacle.
That tree. It just looked so out of place. It was growing, but it was right in our path. One side required clambering over a mound, the other side was easier, but it was right beside a steep drop off. My husband went the challenging route, I surveyed the situation and decided that I would have followed him if it had been wet and slippery, but because it was dry, the clay was safe enough to navigate near the drop off. I took the easier path.
When an obstacle is in your way, you have to come up with a solution. You can choose to turn back or figure out how you’re going to get around it. It’s not necessarily that you can’t get through, you are just forced to change how you approach it, even if only slightly.
As we navigate life, we’re going to face boundaries, challenges and obstacles. Where we grumble and take offence, we fail to realise the bigger picture. Where we give up on our journey, we miss out on the realisations and achievements that we would have discovered as we walked. If I hadn’t followed the sign, I wouldn’t have come across the nomadic tree.
Ironically since that walk, we’ve had a change in our household that probably means postponing our pilgrimage. The change proves to be both a challenge and an obstacle. We have a choice in this place. We can face it with a sweet attitude or we can grumble. I choose keeping my attitude positive.
The future is a funny thing. We look ahead to it with vague certainty, yet everything can change in a moment and send us on an unexpected path.
What closed gate has presented itself recently? How do you process that? And on the route that you choose, if you come across your own nomadic tree, take a moment to appreciate the significance of the moment before you clamber around it. Perhaps there is a learning there that you can share with others.
