“Are the brothers out?”

Every morning, walking to the bus stop on my way to school, I’d squint, hoping to catch a glimpse of The Brothers peeking through the gap in the trees. Something about seeing the snow capped twin peaks standing tall made me stand a little taller too and gave me just enough extra motivation to go into the day with full force. And even on days I couldn’t see them, I knew the Olympics were always just an hour or so away, their reliability grounding me and providing a sense of comfort. I looked forward to the days I made it out there to explore, to wonder, to feel grateful to grow up so close to the water and the mountains.

Looking for The Brothers was soon replaced by looking out for “The Mountain” when I started at the University of Washington. My excitement to be living in a big city was simultaneously met with some nervousness on whether I’d get as much nature as I had in my childhood, but the continued daily search for surrounding peaks, now for our towering, majestic volcano Rainier, reminded me that I hadn’t moved far and taught me to look for beauty in everything around me, especially in the fleeting moments (The Mountain is rarely out in the winter months). It helped, too, that I could still sometimes see The Brothers on my walk west through campus heading back home to the dorms.

These daily searches for the mountains have given me so much over the past fifteen years. They’ve shown me how a shared appreciation of beauty brings strangers together, folks sharing smiles and chats about our beloved mountain while walking down Rainier Vista. They’ve brought me closer to friends, giving an excuse to take photos and text a quick “hey, want to study together outside? the mountain is out!”. They are a not-so-subtle reminder each summer of how cruel climate change is when I see how small the glaciers appear after a heatwave, hitting temperatures I never imagined this region reaching as a kid. And they are a small moment in my days to look away from my phone or any pressing thoughts, take in what’s around me, and reflect.

As I move out east for the first time in my memory, it’s unnerving to think I will no longer be tucked in near the Puget Sound, nestled between the Olympics and the Cascades. When I look out in the distance, I can’t expect to see The Brothers or Tahoma. But I know the mountains will be here, waiting for me each time I return to the Pacific Northwest, their teachings will stay with me, and I’m excited to find my new anchors.

Of course, actually spending time in the mountains has also had a tremendous impact. Someday I’ll put together a list of my favorite adventures and places I hope to visit.