This year we set out as a family — a group of a dozen or so — to climb Rysy, the highest peak in Poland, from the Slovak side. The weather was perfect: cloudless skies, crystal-clear views. For the middle of summer and the popularity of the place, there were surprisingly few tourists. We had timed it just right.
As we began our descent, spread across the width of a rocky slope, something happened that will stay with me for a long time.
On one side, a massive boulder split apart. The detached piece began to roll downhill, faster and faster, cutting across the path and sweeping away everything in its way.
Shouts. People scattering to the sides.
It lasted maybe ten — very long — seconds.
Finally, the block came to rest several dozen meters below.
And a miracle happened — no one was killed, no one was injured.
A few minutes earlier, or later, and there could have been more people on the path. Against such force, no one would have stood a chance.
As we continued down, I kept asking myself: what meaning does this experience hold for me?
Three thoughts came:
- To be grateful for every day and every moment of life. Because I never know when it will end. Any illusion that I have control over it is just that — an illusion.
- To be grateful for the companions of my life. To love and care for those closest to me, because I don’t know how long we will be together.
- To do more of what I truly enjoy. To take less seriously what is, in the end, relatively insignificant.
I come back to these thoughts often.
P.S. In the photo with my brother Łukasz, who is the spiritus movens of our annual family gatherings and hikes. I am grateful for the love, care, and joy he brings into our lives.