Uphill or Down

An essay by Stephen Geez
www.StephenGeez.com

Photo by Scott Watson

www.printroom.com/pro/swatsonphoto

 I have lived atop the hill.

And I have lived below.

Some think this only matters when hiking in warm breezes or sledding on icy cold snows, but I think it’s a difference that matters to everyone, a choice made by intent or default, whether or not one ever leaves the house.

I first noticed this distinction way (way way) back in college, my undergraduate years in Ann Arbor, living just steps from the entrance to Nichols Arboretum, the University of Michigan’s natural preserve for native flora.  “The Arb” sprawls across a stretch of the Huron Valley, encompassing the river and some bottomlands, a series of rolling hills ideal for peaceful strolls . . .

Or some raucous sledding when the world turns white.

I’ve sledded and tobogganed and skiied in more spectacular realms, hiked up and down mountains, and climbed cliffs until I found myself perched against the sky wondering whatever possessed me and Now how am I going to get down?, but there is something basic, something visceral about traditional sledding—no lines, no t-bars, no lifts, just you and the hill and a choice made after every run:

Shall I climb again for another?

It can be taxing, those long and wearisome treks up an ever-steepening incline, a ratio of effort at least ten times longer than every second spent zipping back down on one’s favorite form of butt-rocket.  Some won’t do it, no quick thrill worth the exertion, delayed gratification not worth delay.  Others will climb and keep climbing until they’re exhausted, somehow finding as much fun in the trip up as the rip down.

So when you live near The Arb, your residence sits above the valley.  Where most sledders must travel to a hill and start with that first climb, ending their day with a final ride down, Arborites start from the top and end the day with one last trek back up to go home.

I liked living at the top, and I’m always surprised by how many prefer to live every aspect of their lives at the bottom.

A man drives home after a long day, his gas tank nearly empty, motor running on fumes, and he passes the station, intending to fill up in the morning.  Another stops, preferring to climb that hill before resting, thus anticipating a new day that begins at the top.

I actually know a young lady who keeps her dirty dishes in the sink.  When she cooks, she washes what she needs, then leaves them dirty again, a clear example of bottom-of-the-hill thinking.

Many people live in debt, spending their way zip-bang down the slippery slopes knowing they’ll have to work hard later to climb that pile of bills, a summit often rising higher than the initial slide.  Others work hard to climb that hill first, then live at the top, allowing themselves occasional delights knowing they’ll need to climb some more before they can ride again.

I’ve heard of “saving for a rainy day,” but how about “working for a snowy day?”

Life sometimes presents opportunities, those rare confluences of circumstance and fate, friends and family coming together unexpectedly, and invitation out of the blue.  These are the mornings when a sparkling blanket of virgin snow presents itself, that instant when knowing you’ve already made the climb means now you can seize the day.

Most go through life worrying, preparing for the worst, buying insurance and developing all kinds of contingency plans, and this is smart planning, too, but what about preparing for the best?

What about working hard and finding joy in the very effort?  Remembering that every step up presents, not only a better view, but a possibility of the most unexpected chance to step off the edge and fly?

Every day we make these choices, by intent or default.

It’s all in how we live.

I like the view.

Do you live at the top?

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