Sandia Serendipity: Finding Connection at 10,000 feet

There is a certain freedom in traveling solo—exploring entirely on my own terms. No restrictions on where to go, no itinerary dictating what to see. Just me and the spaces between small towns and cities, where life seems to pause. The only signs of human presence are winding roads and scattered signs guiding me toward my next adventure.

Yet, with that freedom, loneliness follows. Like watching a sunrise in the remote grasslands of New Mexico—a silhouette of mountains dusting the horizon, a flock of black birds soaring overhead. Their dark forms contrast sharply against the vibrant pink and orange sky, their wings slicing through the morning light. My eyes watered as I thought of my family. I could picture each of them standing in awe, snapping photos to capture every brushstroke of nature’s masterpiece.

That feeling tends to follow me wherever I go. During my last adventure in New Mexico, five hours before my flight home, I decided to take a tram ride to the top of the Sandia Mountains. The short drive to the loading dock had me reminiscing about the train ride to Pikes Peak with my sister. I wondered if this would feel the same.

I hadn’t expected so many others to join me, but soon, a dozen of us were packed into a steel box surrounded by windows. As the tram began to rise, I gripped a nearby pole, my balance shifting with each sway. At times, it felt as if we could plummet at any moment. Yet, the higher we climbed, the richer the colors of the mountains became—almost as if Picasso himself had painted deep reds, soft pinks, and bright yellows into the ridges. The view of the city nestled against the mountain’s edge made the stress of the ride worthwhile.

At the top, some visitors went to the restaurant while others set off on the hiking trails. Snow and ice coated the ground, and the mild 60-degree weather below had dropped to a biting 30 degrees. Winds whipped against my face, threatening to steal my beanie. On my first trail, I took a detour, walking a little ways along the mountain’s edge. I remembered reading that this trail led all the way down, but with my limited time, I turned back—though not before snapping a few photos to share with my family.

With time for one more trail, I set off again. Not far in, I heard a man shout from up the hill. In clear view of the trail, a massive white object stood beside him. His excitement was evident, even from a distance. Cautiously, I ensured that other hikers were nearby and made my way toward him.

Roughly twelve feet away, I saw two men laughing, music playing softly as they enthusiastically shared their discovery. Sitting at the very edge of a cliff, overlooking the breathtaking ridges and colors of the mountains, was a pristine white sofa.

I laughed as one of them grinned and said, “Thank goodness someone came to see this! Isn’t it crazy?”

For a few minutes, we sat talking, their energy infectious. One of them offered to take my photo. As I stood there, my heavy heart thought of my grandmother and mother—two women who have never met a stranger, something I’ve always struggled with. Before I left, they asked for a selfie and insisted I take a video to show my family.

As I said my goodbyes and thanked them for the unexpected moment, I made my way back down the trail. Passing two other hikers, I smiled and said, “Keep going just a little further. There’s a couch sitting at the top of a peak. When you get there, say hi to Jesse and Frank from Megan.” Their eyes lit up as they quickened their pace.

For the next thirty minutes, my energy soared. I found myself talking to nearly everyone I passed, sharing the story of the couch and my newfound comrades.

Back in my car, I pulled up the video, eager to listen to their kind words. But all I could hear were muffled voices beneath the howling wind. Still, I smiled. It was a moment I would cherish forever.

Before heading to the airport, I called my Grammy and my mom.

“You’ll never guess what happened to me today,” I said grinning wide.