Lessons about following my heart.

There have been two incidents in which I have learned great lessons about following my heart.
The first is a success story, the second, a misadventure.

I discovered High Rock by following my heart. It was after my night spent at Fish Creek in the Clackamas River drainage outside of Portland. I had gone on that trip looking for the feeling of being in the mountains on top of a peak with majestic views and sun and all that. If you've been on a rocky exposed peak in the Pac West then you might know the feeling. I hadn't found that essence of exposed wilderness I was looking for near the creek. I left my cozy site near the creek and hopped on my bobber heading east; up into the mountains. I felt my heart pulling me towards something, I knew what it was; however, I doubted that I would actually find it. I was afraid I would ride for hours, run out of gas, and be stranded in some lame forest hours away from Portland. I almost turned around a few times, but persevered. My determination and blind faith paid off. Soon I came around a corner and found myself at High Rock; a modest peak with majestic views of Mt. Hood, Helen's, Adams, Rainier, and other peaks to the southeast. One could also make out the vast deserts of eastern Oregon burning on the horizon in the white-hot summer sun. A truly spectacular place, all the more exciting because it was exactly what I was looking for and I had found it by following that ticker in my chest. My heart was satisfied and so was I.

Fast forward to Indira Gandhi international airport in New Delhi, India. I had met three travelers on the flight from London who were also bound for India. All were from California and two had been on my previous flight from San Francisco to London. We met up at baggage claim and talked about where we were all going. The three of them, coincidentally, were headed to Vrindivan. They would split cab fare and have a jolly time bumping down the Indian highway. I was invited. My heart was beating in my ears. These were my first moments in India and my heart screaming at me to make a decision. Full on. I declined the offer to join my friends and opted instead to go to the hotel I had arranged over the internet back in Ashland. I'll tell you now I knew that was a mistake. I just knew it, my heart knew it. I knew instantly after I saw my friends get in their cab and drive away that I had made the wrong choice by staying. Hands shaking I looked for my arranged pick-up. No luck. I called the hotel, "Sorry Mr. Small," the heavily Indian accent laden voice on the other end informed me, "Your reservation was cancelled due to overbooking. You can't stay here tonight, but may I book you for tomorrow?"
With no place to stay for the night I went over to the tourism office and was booked a sketchy hotel in the Pahar Ganj district of New Delhi. It's the busiest, dirtiest district in New Delhi and my stay there prompted my swift departure from the Indian metropolis.