September 13, 2010
Many years ago, I started making a yearly trek to Mount Whitney around the time of my birthday for a day hike. The ideal hiking months at Whitney are August and September because the snow has melted, and the signs of the next winter have yet to make their song. Over the years the goal of the hike has chameleoned from one color to another. At first, it was social gathering with many friends, there were pre-hike pasta dinners, post-hike rounds of beer, and shared happiness from angry muscles and hearty laughter. During a crappy relationship, the hike became something I did alone. A way of telling a dork ex-boyfriend that I did not need him. A way of telling the world, I don't need anyone for that matter, that I was perfectly suited in a solitary state. While I danced in the throes of my anger that was disguised as fearlessness, a dear friend questioned my need to deliver this yearly "screw you" to the world. Was I doing this hike because I mad? And is anger nece