I believe that if I open my eyes wide enough, the world never fails to show me amazing things. Most people do not realize this; they live their lives in absolute routine, fail to experience new things, and ignore all opportunities to live all that the world has to offer. I had an opportunity to experience part of the world last summer when my aunt offered to take me on a group-hiking trip in Alaska. I immediately accepted, and before I knew it I was on a flight straight to Anchorage, Alaska. The entire trip was phenomenal, but one morning in particular left me in awe, with a vivid image that I will never forget.

I shivered as I picked up the cold pamphlet and scanned it for that day’s activity —a 10-mile hike that elevates 10,000 feet alongside an enormous glacier. As I stood staring at the schedule with my jaw dropped, I heard a voice.

“Everybody meet by the van in ten minutes! We are heading to the glacier early!”

I stuffed my mouth with breakfast and was soon waiting in the empty parking lot. Then, the van pulled up. I could feel jolts of adrenaline in my body, as if I was hooked up to a car battery. The van-ride there may have only been twenty minutes, but if no one had told me it may has well have been two hours—the entire time, thoughts of what to expect were rushing through my mind.


When we reached the trailhead, we split off into smaller groups. I was grouped with three adults whose hearts pumped as intensely as mine. One man in my hiking group stood tall with a thick Australian accent. He remarked,

“I hear this hike is a tough one!”

We had been waiting long enough, and were ready to experience it for ourselves. Then, we were off. For the beginning portion of the trail, we trekked up a forest-like mountainside, at what seemed like a ninety-degree angle. The ground was covered in pebbles, dirt, and wood chips that crackled under my feet with every step I took. The air pressure pressed down on my chest and I felt like I was being crushed by a ton, but I kept going nevertheless.

After conquering the jungle-like portion of the hike, the rest of the way was open-air. I now had a wide view of snow-capped mountains in the distance, but I could feel that there was something more at the top of the mountain. The angle of elevation continued at its extremely high level, and the air began to get colder. As my nose and ears became increasingly numb with each step I took, I took a glance ahead of myself. The ground was covered in white, but it took me a few seconds to process the fact that it was snow on the ground because it was summertime. The other members of my group had no trouble walking through the snow, but I did not bring hiking shoes on the hike, so I had to try hard not to slip.

Somehow, I managed to get through the next couple miles of white ground without falling off the side of the mountain. The end of the hike was near—I could feel it. We continued up the mountain, and the wind began blowing against me. Soon, I felt as if the
wind was pushing me back at a force stronger than myself. I kept on pushing. A shiver of what would become accomplishment was building up inside of my body. I kept on pushing. I could almost taste the adrenaline in my mouth. With one last push, I was on top of the mountain. I looked up to the glacier—to Alaska—to the world—and time stopped.

With a deep breath I tried to soak up as much of the view as I could. My view of the world at that moment was a masterpiece—the intricately detailed, jagged rocks on the towering mountains, hovering above the frost-blue glacier, cracked in a million different places; and the infinitely extending field of snow and snowy, misty, mountains in the distance, painted by a billion different brush strokes.

It was during that very breath that I decided that these are the moments that I live for. This sight, the most amazing sight that I have ever seen, is part of the world that I live in. It would be a waste and a shame not to live my life in search of these moments, and in search of a way to make this feeling a part of my everyday life. Perception is reality. I can make the entire world a glacier—it just depends on how wide I decide to open my eyes.