Women in the Clouds: A Designer in the Mountains.

How many times have you felt like you were walking on air? What do you literally call being in the clouds?

In my case, as a dancer, once during a performance in Hawaii, I felt embraced by the sky itself. As a traveler, rediscovering my heart and falling in love with a man of great inspiration, I truly felt like I was walking with my feet off the ground; and as a designer, once seeing my creations finally presented in a fashion show, I felt my spirit and talent dance among cotton. On each occasion, there was a process of hard work, a search for achievement, persistence, and self-love behind it; but today I realize that it was also a way to release weight. Yes, sometimes we carry fears, the past, grudges, and insecurities; all those things are heavy, and you don't know how to remove the burden.

Last Wednesday, February 10, 2021, I decided to give myself a birthday gift: the opportunity to walk among clouds and climb Pico de Orizaba, the third-highest peak in North America, the seventh most prominent in the world, and the only volcano with frozen lava. What madness! What is a fashion designer doing doing these things?!

In 2020, like everyone else in this world, my personal and professional goals were swept into a whirlwind of changes. Many things I took for granted disappeared, I had to adapt my work to continue, understand the end of a relationship, and look at myself and only myself again. In that quest to recover, I found a group of people who practiced hiking in the mountains. Nature has always inspired me, and after months of lockdown, my soul yearned for sun, air, trees, and landscapes. So I started with different hikes that always helped me return to my work with energy, I met people eager to keep adding life to life in such a complicated year; I simply identified with them and let myself go.

The Pico de Orizaba adventure began with acclimatization, a short hike to adapt to the altitude. Ten meters into the ascent, I felt hot and out of breath, I thought: "I came all this way, leaving work, investing time and money, and I won't even be able to climb." Luckily, by taking off a few layers of clothing and controlling my breathing, I was able to recover and adapt. The night before, between anxiety and excitement, I had only slept four hours, and the night before the ascent, I was supposed to sleep between 8 p.m. and 1 a.m., but it was impossible. My habits and biological clock are used to starting rest after 12 p.m. On the other hand, I saw mice entering the refuge, I hallucinated that they were walking on my head, which kept thinking and questioning a thousand things: why I was there, what I had to learn, what I should take, and what to leave behind, of myself and of the people around me. We were just three women: Yaz, Renée, and I; accompanied by Eduardo, the organizer who put this challenge in our minds, and Vicente, a super experienced guide.

So, in my case, without sleep, we began the ascent at two in the morning. There I was, dressed zero chic, in borrowed clothes, a helmet, a harness, and rented boots. With a Buzz Lightyear-like silhouette and a pickaxe on my back, which reminded me of Wonder Woman's sword. From my first steps, I focused on my breathing and tried to direct my mind to all the positive thoughts that crossed my mind. I started with the four agreements: "don't make assumptions, don't take anything personally, always do your best, and be impeccable with your word." Then I repeated phrases from various meditations I've done like: "I deserve the best, I am love, I am strength." And suddenly, inevitably, the religious thoughts inculcated in me since childhood, but which I often touch upon trying to separate them from religion and unite them more with my perception of God and life: "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want," "my life is in your hands, Lord," "Lord, I will go as far as you allow me and learn what you want me to learn." And then phrases from Bali Hai, my dance sanctuary: "here I am, for the love of life and myself," "I advance with humility and respect."

The ascent lasted about ten hours. During the first hours, we walked in the dark with headlamps, aided by trekking poles among the rocks and the first signs of snow and ice. Always zig-zagging and looking for the best path, sometimes marked by previous footsteps. This way of advancing has always seemed curious to me; no matter how much you want to choose the correct direction, obstacles always incline you to go in circles, but perhaps to learn more. Walking with those boots was strange; they were heavy, and you practically couldn't feel the ground, yet the cold began to make itself felt in my feet. Things got more surreal when we added crampons to our steps to better grip and avoid slipping on the ice. Then, finally, I started to see how the rocks began to be painted with an orange light; the sunrise greeted us in a very special way. I have seen the sun rise many times, but this was definitely different. It seemed like I was watching a planet flying among the clouds, which became more present the higher we climbed, but we were also finally at an altitude where we could see the mountain peak covered by a beautiful glacier. To me, a beautiful woman in a perfectly draped and angled white dress, I couldn't help but think of my clients and their wedding designs. Divine women surrounded by dreams.

I started to feel the fatigue of sleeplessness. In the distance, on the glacier, I saw a group of Ukrainians who had set out before us, and for several hours they seemed not to move. I mentioned to Vicente, the guide, my perception that they weren't moving and my concern about how difficult it must be for them to walk so slowly. He just told me, "But it's worth it, the view is wonderful. From there, you can see Iztaccíhuatl and Popocatépetl."

The higher we climbed, the shorter my steps became, my breathing slowed, and each movement demanded more concentration. If I'm not mistaken, from that point on, we put away one pole and took the ice axe in the other hand. And what was the ice axe for? Oh yes, to dig into the ice in case of a fall. God! Why am I putting myself on a path where I need extra protective tools?! Why does curiosity, ambition, or life energy lead us to explore and take risks?! Anyway, before panicking with these questions, I preferred to remember: advance with respect and humility, silently follow wisdom. At that moment, I fixed my gaze on Vicente's steps, and just like when I danced, I began to imitate every movement. Yes, there was rhythm in his steps, and I could perceive that the melody was a slow breath. From then on, the silence grew, as Eduardo, the organizer, once said, we were in a moving meditation.

The blank moment arrived; tied by a harness, Vicente, Yaz, and I were between them. Renée and Eduardo were on another harness. We were on the glacier, with an incline of between 45 and 50 degrees, the impression was like climbing endless stairs. Hours and hours making the same movement reminded me of those dance sessions where you spend an indefinite amount of time with the same rhythm, repeating the same step, unable to stop or lower your arms, concentrating on your position, your breathing, and owning the step until it becomes perfectly natural to you. At the same time, I thought of those moments in my business when I feel like I'm doing and doing and have the impression of not advancing or achieving anything, but almost by inertia, you get up every day and do it again, and even though the tiredness is strong, the curiosity to see what perseverance brings is greater, the adventure of the project more unsettling.

The undulating ascent continued, changing the ice axe from hand to hand depending on the incline. A true team choreography. The higher we went, the colder the wind, seemingly around -15 degrees, plus the incline and the relentless pursuit of exhaustion. Despite feeling my legs and arms heavy, to my surprise, my heart was beating normally; I didn't have headaches or feel short of breath, but my pace began to slow. Vicente noticed and offered to carry my backpack, in addition to his own. My first response, similar to my life: "No, I can do it myself." But a guide knows what he's talking about: "It's not just about getting there; the important thing is that you get there safely. I can help you." I accepted, and this definitely erased some of my fatigue; taking a little weight off and having the strength of another person for support definitely motivated me, and I would dare say it made me more committed. A little further on, Renée felt unwell and had to go back with Eduardo. We were very close, about half an hour away. I thought, "It's my first time; maybe I should go back with them." I saw the summit on one side and the company on the other. But I was fine, so I decided to continue; I still had the company of a wise and experienced guide and Yaz, who I knew would make it because it was her third attempt.

Ten minutes later, I saw the summit in the same place; at that moment, my emotions began to act up. I felt like crying; a kind of impatience, mental fatigue, and insecurity began to invade me. I was climbing, but I was suffering. My face felt frozen, my legs and arms heavy, my ankles hurt from the boots. A sob emerged with each breath. My thoughts positively recalled the phrase: "the one who decides to take the next step arrives." However, I tried to remember when in my life I had felt this way. And yes, there was a time, when I held my first fashion show in Mexico at Palacio de Hierro Polanco; it was weeks without sleep, with stress at its peak and a very strong commitment. I remember perfectly that after that event, I promised not to do anything again that wouldn't allow me to enjoy what I was doing, that nothing was more worthwhile than my peace of mind. So I valued my peace. A few days before, I told Eduardo that this Pico project was the most beautiful thing in my life apart from work, but it was at that moment that I realized it wasn't. My life is beautiful in its everyday, without the need for great challenges; I am happy seeing my clients and creating, but my heart is also filled with simple things like reading, watering my plants, meditating, doing yoga, talking with my friends, seeing my family. I don't need to climb peaks or have great challenges to be happy and love myself. I admire the best landscapes with a full and calm soul.

At that moment, I got a little angry about being there. I saw the distant summit in the same place, and in desperation, I said, "When will this damn thing end?" But I had no choice, so I shut off all my thoughts and let myself feel, behind all the exhaustion, the inexplicable energy that keeps you climbing. I stopped looking up until, almost like an embrace, I heard Vicente's voice: "We've arrived." The sobs that had been stuck came out completely. Yes, I was crying, but I couldn't say it was tears of joy for having arrived; rather, they were the tears of my tired and abandoned inner child, wanting to be hugged. The child was telling me off: "Why did you bring me here? I'm cold, I'm hungry, I'm tired and fed up, why don't you see me?!"

I dropped my poles and backpack and sat down to comfort myself by eating something. Little by little, I calmed down and could admire the landscape, happy, but I would have liked not to feel so tired. The clouds caressed the mountain; we were above the clouds. Then, the woman encouraged the child a bit, even though we still had to descend. I would have given anything for a helicopter to pick me up, or for there to have been a hot spa where I could sleep for at least an hour before leaving. I remembered another of life's wonders, rest and sleep; I'm sure that if I had been able to sleep, the story would have been different. But discomfort, I suppose, is part of learning. Someday I will manage to direct my energy towards peace, and despite my sensitivity, I will let the surrounding noise remain external and not interrupt my sleep or my goals.

The descent, especially at the beginning, was faster; we did a very fun slide that saved us time and steps. At one point, we were able to stop, and I took a 10-minute nap that brought me back to life, even though my ankles were super swollen from the uncomfortable boots. The snow on the way down, with the sun, began to melt, and our feet sank, making it heavier. Further down, between the incline and the slipping stones, all I could do was concentrate and remember with each step the instructions to lean my body back during the descent and dig in my heels to avoid slipping, or if I fell, to fall backward and not roll and roll. I also tried to keep my stride open and fluid, as Eduardo pointed out with the phrase: "trust in life and you will be able to flow." Although when you're already so tired on the path, flowing is the least of your concerns; all you want is to finish descending and be calm and at peace. Finally, after about five hours of descending, it was all over, and that was a great relief.

At the time, I said, "What an adventure, what beautiful landscapes, but this is a one-and-done thing, too much discomfort." As soon as I got home, I lay down and swore the exhaustion would last for days. The next day, I did feel fatigued, a bit spaced out, but curiously, physically I was fine. I thought the weight would hit me later, but it didn't. Today, three days later, I actually feel lighter, as if I climbed that mountain to leave all my burdens behind and return to earth to continue walking among the clouds of my peace and my beautiful, tranquil life.

These are my new clouds; they are not on top of the mountain, they are on my everyday ground, they are in the serenity of my love for life and the lightness of the air that accompanies me.

Thanks Vicente for guiding us, Yaz and Renée for sharing, and Ed with his project "Beyond the Mountain"
for inspiring us.