The Check Engine Light
What I saw that morning when the mountains disappeared.
I recently heard someone say they walk uphill backwards because it works different muscles.
I’m here to tell you… it does.
Now don’t go trying this because I said so—
but I could feel it immediately.
Different parts of my legs, my inner thighs, my core…
all engaging in a way they don’t when I walk uphill the “normal” way.
There was also something else.
A different kind of awareness.
You can’t zone out when you’re walking uphill backwards.
You’re paying attention.
You’re feeling your body.
You’re noticing more.
And that fits so much of what I believe:
The smallest shift in perspective can change everything.
I was out walking with my German Shepherd leading the way,
Maggie somewhere between behind me and confused about what I was doing…
…and I realized something else.
The mountains were gone.
The usual focal points—
Mount Saint Helens
Mount Adams
Mount Hood
—all hidden behind low, heavy clouds.
And without them…
I noticed something I’ve overlooked a hundred times.
Layers.
Layers and layers of treetops stretching back farther than I’d ever really seen.
Softened by fog.
Defined by light.
Each layer distinct instead of blending into one.
It wasn’t new.
It was just… no longer competing for my attention.
And I couldn’t help but think:
How much of life do we miss because we stop at the obvious?
Lately, I’ve been thinking about how this shows up with drinking.
Alcohol gets all the attention.
It becomes the focal point.
“If I didn’t drink…
I wouldn’t feel so tired.
So unmotivated.
So foggy.
So disconnected.”
So the effort begins.
Trying to control it.
Cut back.
Stop.
Start again.
And the struggle that follows.
But what if…
drinking isn’t the problem to solve—
but the signal to understand?
I think of it more like a check engine light.
Not something to ignore.
Not something to panic over.
But something worth getting curious about.
- What is this here for?
- What is it doing for me?
- Is it giving me something I don’t know how to access another way?
- Is it helping me feel… or helping me not feel?
And maybe most importantly:
Is it still working?
Because here’s what I’ve seen—again and again.
When we lead with:
“This is the problem.”
We tighten.
We defend.
We agree or disagree.
We label.
And without realizing it…
we can miss ourselves all over again.
But when we start with curiosity?
Something opens.
There’s space to be honest.
Space to tell the truth.
Space to see what’s actually there.
I’ve worked with many women who were struggling with their drinking.
And what’s surprised even them…
is that when they stop trying to control it
and start understanding it,
something shifts.
Not forced.
Not managed.
But chosen.
From a place of clarity.
From a place of power.
This isn’t about dismissing drinking.
It’s about not stopping there.
Because just like the mountains…
it’s easy to believe what’s most visible
is the whole story.
But it rarely is.
There are layers most people don’t see:
Your kindness.
Your creativity.
Your humor.
Your thoughtfulness.
Your way of being with people.
Your attention to beauty.
Your willingness to grow.
A million small things that make you… you.
But when something becomes the focal point—
a habit, a struggle, a pattern—
everything else can fade into the background.
And sometimes, without even realizing it,
we start showing up from a version of ourselves that was built for protection.
I know I did.
I thought I was being bold.
Strong.
Fully myself.
But there was a layer underneath that I couldn’t see yet.
Softer.
More relaxed.
More me.
Walking uphill backwards didn’t change the landscape.
It just changed what I could see.
And maybe that’s all we need sometimes.
Not a complete overhaul.
Not a declaration of what’s wrong.
Just…
a different vantage point.
Sometimes curiosity begins with a conversation. Sometimes it begins with writing. Both have a way of showing us what has been there all along.
If something in this stirred something in you…
you don’t have to figure it out alone.
Come sit with me.
Let’s explore what’s there—
without rushing to fix it.
