Good Riddance: One Foot in Front of the Other

Summiting mountaintops, surrendering to nature, and a special guest for this month’s The Short and Sweet.

Making the climb in the Dolomites, filled with so much joy.

Hi everyone! It’s good to be back with all of you once again.

For the past two weeks I’ve been on a life-changing and life-affirming journey hiking the Dolomites in the Italian Alps with my mom Bonnie, my sister China, and several friends. We started our trip in Venice, Italy, where my mother had never been before. I watched her face light up with delight as we took a water taxi to our hotel through the ancient canals and drank ice-cold-anything in the piazzas under the heat of the summer sun. From Venice, we traveled for six days across the Dolomites region, from Völs am Schlern to Cortina d'Ampezzo, hiking thousands of feet up and down peaks and valleys each day, sleeping in huts nestled in the mountains, and testing the limits of what our bodies and minds could do.

The first full day of hiking was up the Alpe di Tires, a steep, rocky mountain trail with a 2,400 foot gain into the sky and a 1,300 foot descent on the other side. (I speak fluent Professional Mountain Hiker now. You’re welcome.) The hike begins with a beautiful, long walk through wildflower fields and some of the most breathtaking panoramic views I have ever seen in my life. In the distance, I could see the mountain we would eventually summit with a steep zigzagging switchback trail leading up to the very top. I was ready for the challenge but concerned for my seventy-eight-year-old mother who, though in good shape, hadn’t attempted a hike like this in a long time.

No chill with some of my hiking crew. From left: Family friend Mary Katherine, me striking a sweaty pose, my sister China, and my mom Bonnie.

The valleys of greenery and rolling hills of the Dolomites sitting on the border of Italy and Austria are straight out of The Sound of Music, and while I stared out into all of it, I tried not to think about all the sadness and horror taking place in my home country. I had planned on a mental reset, an almost-total news and social media break while on this trip, but I still found myself reading about the many atrocities happening while I was away: more ICE raids and kidnappings all over the U.S.; the devastating story of Adriana Smith, a brain dead Black woman being used as an incubator; the “Big Beautiful Bill” that was poised to become law and wreak havoc on millions with deep cuts to Medicaid and SNAP, a backdoor abortion ban, and so much more. It was hard to reconcile the happiness and ease of life with which people were living and existing all around me in Europe with the cruelty and chaos taking place back home.

I carried many of these thoughts with me into the mountains as I hiked, and I tried to leave them there along the way, especially when on some of the more intense hiking trails. As we ascended Alpe di Tires on that first day, our group broke off into two smaller ones, and my mom, sister, and mom’s best fiend Katherine joined the group going at a slower pace (led by the most extraordinary guide, a young woman named Morgan McGlashon).

Another day, another gorgeous mountain with our outstanding tour guide and climbing expert, Morgan.

As I continued to ascend the steep switchback up the side of Alpe di Tires, my muscles already shaking and sweat dripping down my entire body, I thought to myself as I looked up—way, way up where all the other hikers from other groups were already far above me on the trail: How am I going to do this? How am I going to make it? How is Mom going to do this?

The answer was clear: One foot in front of the other. Slowly and assuredly, believing in myself and my capabilities. The answer also felt like a metaphor for my country: How are we going to do this? How are we going to make it, as a nation? With each switchback, each rock stumbled over, each lift of my tired legs, all the emotion of this question rose up to the surface and I could feel the pain of my country being torn apart back home—all the suffering, uncertainty, and the lead weight of the anxiety we’ve all been carrying around for years because of it.

The wind on the mountain rustled in my ears, telling me to let it go, for now. Telling me to keep going. And so I did. I looked down at my feet, noticing how small wildflowers grew seemingly from nowhere, emerging from hard, dry rocks—a reminder that almost anything surprising and beautiful in this world is still possible. I looked farther, into the valley below and all the distance hiked so far. I could no longer see my mom in the other group, just the shadows of clouds in the meadows and the sounds of bells clamoring around the necks of cattle grazing on hillsides.

I reached the very last switchback alongside my new friend Jill (Morgan’s mom) and very literally crawled my way to the summit. I was spent, completely out of breath, and feeling so raw from the experience and the success of making it. It is hard to describe the view from a literal mountaintop, let alone one your own body brought you to, but it is extraordinary and powerful. I was filled with elation, pride, and a kind of tenderness toward myself I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Beauty growing wild from the most unexpected places.

On the move.

After my summit, I made my way to the refugio (a hut located in the mountains) we would be staying in that night and got myself a beer and some food, keeping an eye on the nearby trail end. A few hours later I saw one of the members of my mom’s group emerge. I bolted in her direction and turned a corner around a huge rock to find my mom and my sister coming down the trail. They had made it. Mom had actually made it. As I walked toward her I started to cry, saying over and over again, “I’m so proud of you, Mommy. You did it. You climbed a mountain! I’m so proud of you!” We held each other there, at 8,000 feet above sea level, my sister close by, three women who had accomplished something remarkable that day.

The exact moment I saw my mom had conquered the ascent.

For our weekly series Good Riddance, I’m letting go of my limitations and the fear of doing really hard things. One foot in front of the other is how we will get through this, be it a mountain or the political climate and existential crisis in the U.S. One foot in front of the other, pushing through the pain, the exhaustion, the voice inside that tells us we can’t until we realize we can, and we have before.

What have you been letting go of or releasing from your life these last couple of weeks?

• DATE CHANGE: July’s The Short and Sweet is now Sunday, July 27 at 4pm ET: Due to a scheduling conflict I can’t change, The Short and Sweet, our monthly get together live over Zoom will now take place on Sunday, July 27 from 4-5pm ET. This is going to be an important one featuring a very special guest:

  Julian Zelizer
  , professor of history and public affairs at Princeton University, author of numerous bestselling books on U.S. politics, and the author of The Long View on Substack. I can’t wait to talk with Julian about the state of America and what history can teach us about making good trouble, as the late John Lewis liked to say about political uprisings. The Zoom link will be emailed to paid subscribers about thirty minutes before the start of the Zoom.

• A Dark Sparkler special: In May, I shared the very exciting news that my book, Dark Sparkler, was celebrating the tenth anniversary of its publication with a beautiful reprint, thanks to HarperCollins. With that news I also shared a sweat-inducing, very direct ask for people to buy the book. (It always feels weird as a writer to hustle your own work!) To sweeten the deal, I’m sending anyone who buys a paperback copy of the book a little limited edition something as a thank you. Just send the receipt of your purchase, along with your name and mailing address to LITDSubstack@gmail.com.