The mountain is quiet today. Footsteps skim a gravel path. The wind sweeps gently. The call of a stag reverberates over Scot’s pine and heather to gently tap the ears.
Quiet. It’s a word that settled with me long before taking these strong, purposeful steps up Scotland’s towering hillside. Teachers proclaimed it. Colleagues suggested it. Friends were next to confirm it. You’re so quiet, they told me, as if each were the first to make this revelation about my existence.
With time, my presence in the world was defined further still. Quiet is holding back, they declared. Quiet is sitting back. Quiet is not what you should aspire to be. Each comment landed like a sting burning inwards. Here the hurt lingered, unseen by those who inflicted it. How dare they, I proclaimed in repetitive journal entries. How dare they criticise who I am when there’s one thing certain about my life: I cannot change who I am.
A cumbersome backpack hinders my step now as I progress further up the steep ascent. I surge upwards against its pulling weight, my boots hitting the earth in a repetitive motion. The grass flattens and stones scatter in the wake of these solid leather footprints. I barely notice, though, as I move onwards with determination and focus.
I revel in the simplicity of these movements. Thoughts quickly dampen and reality drifts. Quiet settles comfortably, with no scrutiny or complaint. Here, this is simply how it’s meant to be. Here, quiet is something beautiful. Peace lands when I eventually accept the same in myself.
Quiet means listening, I now answer to the voices from my past. Quiet means processing. Quiet means shaping words with care rather than letting them flow untamed into the world. Pushing away the negative narrative I had previously viewed as the truth, my summary is simple. Quiet is a positive part of me.
But it isn’t me entirely. Inside thoughts circle in a noisy clamour, eager to be released, whilst life itself is alive with interests, passions and connections that amass the power to push quiet to the side lines. In a multitude of small and larger moments, life buzzes rather than whispers. This is a fact that becomes apparent if you look close enough to see it.
At the heart of the mountain today, quiet slips and rises too. A lone crow is the only spectator to my hillside challenge but, as I wander by, it swoops from a neighbouring tree and lets out a disgruntled cry that pierces the calm mountain range. Its squawks of complaint ring in my ear long after it has danced into the sky.
Leaving this outburst behind, I meander on towards the mountain’s top. Swinging my arms and willing my legs, I work hard to get my body to the rocky peak. As I climb, my breath turns heavy and my clothes dampen with the persistent exertion. My heart rate climbs too but I push on with purpose.
After one last powerful surge, I eventually stand proudly upon the peak of Ben Vane. This impressive Munro neighbours Loch Lomond, an area that is both familiar and comforting. Here clear blue shores of water wink in the distance whilst the many mountainous peaks in the surrounding area close in like a hug. They seem to sit so near that they whisper in my ear. This is where you are meant to be, comes the timid call.
Despite my earlier solitude, I am not in fact alone on the hill today. A couple poses for a photograph at the summit, whilst the wind tries to hamper their efforts. A dog explores the area with pleasure, poking his golden nose into rocks and heather. A lone hiker, meanwhile, clasps a hot mug whilst drinking in the views in front. There is a sense of comfort in being here together but also an agreed quiet. It is as though each person is scared to disrupt the unique sense of peace that they have found in this space.
Several minutes pass in this contentment until one by one each individual gradually begins their steady descent. Waving a pleasant goodbye, I watch as they disappear down the same slope that I have just clambered up. It’s not long until I am alone again, staring out at the vast and mesmerising landscape.
Eventually, though, the ticking clock of reality pushes through and I too am forced to haul my backpack over my shoulders and make my way off of the hill. Back on the trail, my steps soon hit a steady rhythm once again. This time, however, I cover the distance with ease as gravity pushes my body quickly on. Leaping over grassy mounds and large rocks, a satisfied grin settles on my face. Now the comforting thud of my movements is the only noise to resonate through the quiet as this unassuming word follows me home.
Quiet. I will find it later in an array of different places. I will find it on the shores of coastal paths, the water reaching in and out by my side. I will find it in boggy winter trails as my feet sink into the mud. I will find it on familiar woodland walks where red squirrels scurry. I will find it in huge and challenging mountains. There will even be times when I find it in myself. Finally, I realise, that thought rises with contentment.