Where I Germinated: Hiking Hole in the Rock, Phoenix, AZ

The beginning of my journey starts in Phoenix.

I wasn’t raised here. I don’t carry childhood memories of these streets or long family histories rooted in this soil. But Phoenix is where I germinated, where I first began to stretch, question, and grow before being repotted elsewhere. Coming back to this land feels less like returning home and more like visiting the place where the seed cracked open.

Hiking Hole in the Rock is deceptively simple. The trail is short, the elevation manageable, and yet the experience feels anything but small. The desert doesn’t rush you. It asks you to slow down, to pay attention, to listen. With every step up the sandstone, I felt the quiet invitation to be present, not to perform, not to push, but to be.

The desert has a way of stripping things down to their essentials. No towering trees to hide behind. No lush distractions. Just sun, stone, sky, and breath. As I climbed, I practiced mindfulness in its simplest form: noticing my footing, feeling the warmth of the rock beneath my hands, syncing my breath with my movement. In that stillness, reflection came naturally.

At the top, standing inside the opening carved naturally into the rock, the city spread out below me. Phoenix looked different from up there, less overwhelming, more expansive. It reminded me how perspective changes everything. When you pause long enough to look back at where you started, you realize how far you’ve come, even if the journey feels unfinished.

Nature has always been a mirror for me. In the desert, I saw my own cycles reflected back: periods of dormancy, sudden blooms, and seasons of rest. Practicingmindfulness on that hike wasn’t about clearing my mind, it was about allowing my thoughts to exist without judgment, acknowledging where I’ve been and honoring where I’m going.

Hole in the Rock didn’t offer answers. It offered space. Space to breathe, to reflect, to reconnect with myself outside of noise and expectation. And sometimes, that’s exactly what we need, not a destination, but a moment of grounding.

Phoenix will always hold a quiet significance for me. Not because it raised me, but because it shaped me in unseen ways. It’s the soil where I germinated before being repotted, stronger, more aware, and ready for the next season of growth.

And this hike? It was a gentle reminder that beginnings don’t disappear just because we move on, they live within us, waiting to be acknowledged.