I have this very good friend named Walt.
I first met Walt years ago when I hired him to do some work for me when I was a technical writer. He’s a very talented videographer, and one heck of a great person as well. Walt is one of a handful of friends who have really known me when I was rich and fancy, and when I’ve been down and out. He lives in a suburb of Salt Lake City called Sandy, so a month or so after Lou and I arrived, I let him know that I was his new neighbor.
The day after Roy told me my pilot wasn’t any good, Walt and I went for a beautiful hike in Big Cottonwood Canyon. My favorite thing about living in Utah that summer was discovering all of the stunning hiking trails, and Walt took me on a hike that turned out to be my all time favorite.
It was breathtaking.
It was early fall by this time, and so all of the leaves were just starting to change, and the crisp morning air made all of the colors seem sharp and fragile to me. As we trekked up steep inclines and followed a twisty path that lifted us high above the canyon, I unloaded my sadness onto my dear friend.
I remember thinking that I sounded like a sad, old Pekingese on that hike. I still hadn’t fully acclimated to the altitude, and the night before, I had cried myself to sleep, so I was quite stuffy and snorty that day. But I needed to share my raw feelings with someone who would understand. Walt has so much experience behind the camera in the industry I was trying to make it into, and so his ability to hear my disappointment was unique.
Walt listened quietly, and he graciously suggested a few rest-stops along the way. (It was a wonder he could follow my thoughts through all of the wheezing!) But one of the things I’ve always liked about Walt is how steady he is. He has a specific kind of confidence about how he sees things — which is likely why he’s so good at framing the perfect scene through the lens of his camera.
I know I unloaded so much on Walt during that hike, but the one thing I remember the most is reaching the peak of the climb, and using that moment to tell Walt that I felt like maybe I needed to give up on myself…
On our way back down the mountain, it was Walt’s turn to talk. He caught me up on things with his personal life, and he shared some of his tricky experiences in television. As Walt talked, I suddenly understood his journey better as we both took carefully measured steps down the steep incline.
Each step we took felt like an actual choice.
Plus our momentum was working against us, so every footfall had to be quick and decisive. One sloppy or careless choice would set us up for a tumble. And, whether Walt realized it or not, everything he shared with me as we descended that mountain matched our reality in such a way that I started to understand something bigger than my own heartbreak.
The journey of life rises up, and slopes back down, and all anyone can do is take one careful step after another to keep trekking. The mountain top moment is the experience everyone seems to strive for, but it’s the decent that teaches you the real lessons and honest value of the climb. The decent shows you what you’re made of, and it keeps you grounded. And, a downward journey prepares you for the next uphill battle — because there will always be another mountain to face. Always.
When we reached the trailhead, Walt said, “I really don’t think you should give up, Sonja. You’re a great storyteller, and I know how much heart you’ve got. I think you just need some help to write a better script. You have the story, but you need the kind of script Hollywood understands how to sell.”
Then Walt started thinking out loud about a few television writers he knew of in the area — they wrote scripts for some reality TV shows that Walt shot in the past — and he said he’d put the word out to see if there was anyone else in the Salt Lake City area with the kind of writing experience I’d need to help me develop my pilot.
I remember thinking that was such a logical solution! And even though part of me was still very weary, the idea of getting some help from a professional writer caused my hopes to rally.
(I think I might be a true-blue glutton for punishment…)
When Walt and I parted ways, I looked back up at the beautiful tree-studded mountain we had just climbed. The yellow leaves of the Aspen trees were flickering in the breeze, and I could see the steam lifting off of the mountain as the heat of the day started to burn off the chill. I could see God in the view, and it humbled me a great deal. And, standing at the base of such a magnificent mountain gave me so much perspective.
I had just reached the top of an impossibly big mountain because I put my head down, and I started with one step…followed by another…and another. And, I had made it to the top, and back down to the bottom safely because I had a trusted friend who knew exactly how to show me the way.
