My Transformative Moment Hiking the Scottish Highlands

That Time I Didn’t Climb the Mountain

It was my dream trip: hiking the Scottish Highlands. I’d been unknowingly prepping for the last ten years of my life, devouring all the historical Scottish fiction I could get my hands on—even sacrificing my dignity every time I opened my Kindle in public, forgetting how prominently the shirtless Scottish man in a kilt would be displayed.

When that email popped into my inbox, it truly was divine timing. I had just lost my soul pet—my baby, my Moe, the most beautiful gray cat with stunning green eyes. He had come to me when I was right in the middle of my hot mess stage, loving me no matter what terrible decisions I made, always being there for me, and teaching me the meaning of unconditional love. I had been lost without him and knew I needed some type of unprecedented action to shake up my routine of grief. “Hike the Scottish Highlands,” the email read. “Have your Outlander experience!” my soul screamed, so I signed up immediately.

For seven months, I saved and trained—well, as best as you can train in Detroit for hiking the Highlands. I walked up and down toboggan hills in Metroparks, loaded my backpack with weights to wreck myself on the Stairmaster, and even fought my way out of a wetland I accidentally got sucked into one day. When the day finally came, I was terrified but hopped on my flight to Scotland anyway, anxious energy coursing through my body.

The first few days were great. I met some amazing women, sampled a little bit of Scotch, coerced sheep into taking selfies with me, and enjoyed some of the most delicious meat pies on the planet. The hiking was divine—beautiful, rugged mountains everywhere, Highland cows around every corner, and the subtle purple heather blanketing the countryside and swaying in the wind. Everything was perfect until my foot slipped.

We had been trudging straight up a drainage path when my pack shifted to the right at the exact moment my boot slipped. I found myself peering over the side of the mountain, staring at the ground several hundred feet below. I managed to catch myself and was not actually in danger of falling, but my heart was in my chest, beating wildly. I could not catch my breath and was on the verge of a panic attack when I fell to my knees.

Our guide quickly came to my aid, talking me down and encouraging me to breathe deeply. I gradually settled down. She asked how I was feeling and if I wanted to continue climbing. I burst into tears. I couldn’t imagine going another step higher and was so upset with myself. I had come to Scotland to climb mountains, and here I was, blubbering like a baby on my knees, afraid to stand up. My guide was so kind. She soothingly told me this happens all the time and that I had nothing to be ashamed of. But it didn’t matter what she said, I was beating myself up. Half the group was almost at the top. I told her to go ahead; I would be fine until they came back down. I didn’t want the rest of the girls to miss their adventure. After making sure I was okay and digging an extra jacket out of her bag for me, she went off to join the others.

I sat cross-legged in the dirt still on the verge of breakdown and then caught sight of the masterpiece in front me. I was jolted out of my anxiety by my view. I was surrounded by mountains on three sides and the ocean on the fourth. As I slowly took in the absolute magnificence of Mother Nature, the breeze picked up, whipping the stray hairs of my ponytail. I lifted my head to feel the wind on my face, and suddenly, everything fell completely still. A profound sense of calm enveloped me, accompanied by a wave of love pulsating in my heart. In that moment, I had a fleeting image of Moe, and it felt as though he were right there with me.

The world came alive again as the sun peeked out from behind a cloud, warming my skin. In the distance, I heard the waves gently lapping at the shore, while birds called to each other across the vast blue sky. I had never felt more at peace in my life. Despite my earlier disappointment and sense of failure for not reaching the top, I knew I was exactly where I was meant to be. This wasn’t the first time I’d been reminded that I don’t always know the path I’ll take or that what I want may not be what’s best. But it was the most powerful lesson in acceptance and letting go of expectations that I had ever experienced.

I remained in that calm meditative state for the next 20 minutes until the women came back down the mountain. They were all worried about me, but there was no need.  I was the best I had ever been. I had just had one of the most divine experiences of my life. Once I released the expectation that I had to reach the top of that mountain, I discovered a deep sense of peace. I realized I was exactly where I needed to be. Five years later, I still cherish those 20 minutes of complete solitude, enveloped by the beauty and vastness of Mother Nature. It serves as a reminder that sometimes, not reaching the top of that mountain is the exact right path.