{Swirly & the Garlands on the Great Wall of China, earlier this year.}

In 1984, Mary Lou Retton vaulted her way into Olympic history, becoming the first American woman to win the All Around gold medal in gymnastics. She and I were the same age when this happened – 16 years old – and as a gymnast myself, I was an avid follower of her stories and experiences. I devoured interviews and features with her in magazines like Seventeen, inspired by her toughness, tenacity, and strength. In one interview, she was asked if she ever felt like she was missing out on the experience of being a typical teenager – spending time with friends, cheerleading, football games, and prom. Her answer, even in the solid, static black and white of the printed article, felt immediate and unapologetic, and one of the experiences she shared to bring the point home was expressed something like this:  ”In high school, students study things like The Great Wall of China. Well I’ve walked on it.”

Those four words became a kind of mantra for me after I read them, a statement that gave me the spark of inspiration I needed whenever I pondered doing something that felt slightly outrageous or off the beaten path. When considering what I might miss out on or what could go wrong if I took a leap – whatever kind of leap it was – all it took was that phrase to focus my attention back on the possibility of whatever endeavor I was considering. Sacrifices and compromises might have to be made, but in the end, I would have my own version of “I’ve walked on it,” and perhaps that could ignite a spark in someone else the way Mary Lou Retton did for me mere months after I learned how to drive.

Being able to say “I’ve walked on it” in a discussion about The Great Wall of China was never an actual goal or dream for me the way seeing Petra was. Rather than a fixed point ahead of me that I strived to reach, the idea of walking on The Great Wall of China was more like an idea content to float freely in my consciousness – less a mountain and more a little fluffy cloud. But once the opportunity to walk along the only man-made structure that can be seen from space presented itself to me, I couldn’t help but think of Mary Lou Retton and the mantra she gave me years ago. And when I got my first glimpse of The Wall – a monument that twists and curves and winds up and around steep, rocky terrain – I realized this was a moment I couldn’t have avoided even if I’d tried. As soon as “I’ve walked on it” was burned into my brain, my fate was sealed. And now the words Mary Lou Retton imparted on me are words I, too, can say.

It isn’t so much the bragging rights that make these words meaningful, it isn’t even the feeling I had of walking on an extraordinary piece of world history, it is the idea of walking in the same footsteps as one of my teenage heroes, of carrying her words with me through the ups and downs of dreams fulfilled and longings that have crashed and burned – the details of which happened to lead me there with one of my best friends in the world. Sometimes I plant seeds with intention and purpose, and other times they take root in the most unlikely of places, such as a teen girl magazine. Regardless of when or where they begin their fermentation, there is no ambiguity about the moment of their bursting into existence. With each step I took along The Great Wall of China, this particular blossom revealed itself in perfect synchronicity – step by step, petal by petal, the strange and wondrous beauty of this world and my life was revealed, with faint traces of its perfume following me all the way back to California, where it still lingers in the quiet spaces of my memory.

Christine Mason Miller is a writer and artist who loves the idea of living in a houseboat in India. This spring she’s headed to Chicago, Detroit, and New York City.