As the wind whipped my tent, I stepped out onto the edge of the world.
A speckled swatch of stars were painted in the darkness over my head. Wow, I thought, I’m sleeping under the ancient light of stars on the rim of a volcano crater in Indonesia.
Mount Rinjani was as impressive as Crater Lake in Oregon, especially when the sun rose and its light outlined the smoke rising from the active volcano in the middle of the bowl. Its elevation above sea level is much higher, making panoramic views from the top stunning.
Visitors aren’t allowed to summit Rinjani because the 2018 earthquake damaged hiking paths. But at about 12,200 feet it’s still the second-tallest mountain I’ve hiked part way up. (I reached the peak of Mount Whitney in California two years ago.)
When I was hiking up, I felt a surge of endorphins buoy my emotions. I thanked the plants and trees for giving me shade and for letting me walk through their living room. I was grateful for the privilege and good health to travel. I felt that everything was going to be all right with my life, every insecurity, regret and failure not wiped away, but their aching pain of disappointment, dulled. Those experiences were simply part of the journey, part of the path to a fuller understanding of my self-worth, part of the lifelong attainment of wisdom.
Our porters balanced a pole with baskets, food, water, tents and bags strapped to the two ends of the pole and climbed the mountain in flip flops, some even barefoot.
I sped ahead of the Germans in my tour group and jogged up the slope on a high. What was more beautiful was not my physical shape but the confidence I realized I possessed, all along.
