SUCH GREAT HEIGHTS
Going from the land of ragweed and 95% humidity to the mountains with none, a 30-degree temperature drop and a million foot increase in elevation is no joke. I'll give myself that. Not to mention, before heading off to California, I had developed aggressive allergies that fogged up, what felt like, my entire body. But, I was there and there were things to do.
Like hike. Up 600 granite "stairs." To the top of a mountain. An elevation increase of 2,000 feet in under 2 miles. (My anxiety made me do my homework). But, the reward was, as reported hundreds of times, worth the work. The views. THE. VIEWS. The waterfalls. All things Yosemite in one glance. All of it.
Listen, I tried. I over-packed a backpack with all the water Anxiety told me to bring. I wore the right shoes Anxiety told me to buy. I just accidentally let Anxiety come along. As the incline started Anxiety was screaming in my ear "GIRL. You aren't even to THE part yet," "I think your lungs aren't actually working and did you notice you can't breathe out of your nose?" "Lemme start to tunnel your vision for you real quick" and with that, all of my energy went into fighting a panic attack instead of pushing myself up a literal mountain. So, I stopped. I backed out. Anxiety high-fived herself and I turned around. Defeated.
Here you are somewhere you never thought you'd be, you survived your first night in a tent unscathed and now you're quitting? Cool cool cool. I eventually mustered the energy to give myself a little grace in a really graceless moment and made my way back to our campsite knowing that, for real, I couldn't breathe that well and maybe I just needed to give myself space and time to really get comfortable in this foreign land. So, I did just that. And, it was the right call. For me.
I had a talk with Anxiety that afternoon and was like, "Listen, sister, I know we've spent a lot of time together and I'm trying to see the value you add to my life to turn this relationship around, but you're holding me back, so I need you to go." She's SO clingy.
The second hike was a bit of a drive to the other side of the park and the further we went the more I knew there was really no backing out. You're just going to sit in the car and wait? Real glad you came. While I was warned there was a bit of a climb, I was assured it was short and, of course, promised it would be worth it. We set off and again the same feelings from the day before came back. My chest was tight, I was STRUGGLING. I didn't like it. But, this time I just said, out loud, "I'm gonna have to take this slow and it's OK if you leave me." Surely I could make it to the top before the sunset. They could meet me on their way back down. Cheryl Strayed did it on her own and it wasn't always cute. It's fine.
But, two things happened. My friend stopped and said "This IS hard, and we can go at whatever pace you need to. I'll stay with you." It was then that I realized that's what she's always done figuratively in my life and now it was happening literally. She's the one who has pushed me up and over many mountains in the last decade. She's challenged me and given me space and time to make my way there. She's allowed, embraced and encouraged me to evolve, change and grow. And, she's always been there and let me take as long as I needed to (which sometimes has to be painfully slow for her). It was all happening in the moment. We stopped when I needed to. She cheered me on from behind. And, eventually, we got there. And, we saw it. And, it WAS worth it. Not only the views but also feeling like something was conquered-- the elevation, the fear, the limitations and a different kind of vulnerability.
The other thing that played out IRL, was my fear of allowing people to see me struggle. That kind of vulnerability. It's something I've really had to work through in the last few months when stopping my life, trying to start over and finally seeing all of the broken pieces have not been easy. It's a gift that I've been able to do this, mostly alone (she's been there the whole time though) because no one gets to see the struggle if I don't let them. But, here's the thing I learned-- NO ONE CARES! Not in a negative way, in an "It's OK-- we're not judging you" way. Everyone has their own experiences, challenges and mountains to climb and we'd all appreciate it if you'd avert your attention elsewhere. Please. Thank you.
I've really had to negotiate with this. While I'd like everyone to believe I'm living my best life ever as my social media might portray, and maybe in some ways I am, it actually feels more often like I'm climbing a mountain and, holy shit, I can't breathe and I don't think I'm going to make it. Not every day is an Instagram post, many days I'd prefer if you'd all kindly look away. But, the other part is, I know this is temporary just like the hike to the top. This time I've spent with my head down really working on sealing all the cracks in my life is and will be a drop in the bucket in the long run--albeit a really big and important one. When you're working your way up, you can't see the top. You don't really know when you'll get there. When it will be over. When you'll be able to breathe again. What it will look like and even though it's "totally worth it" to someone else, you don't know if it will be to you.
What I realized as soon as I reached the top is, the struggle is temporary. Pushing through it is worth it. Allowing people to support you and see you is necessary and important. Relief will come. And, while you're up there reaping the rewards of all of your hard work, if you're really in it, you're already looking for what's next. You have to go back down at some point.
So, yes, the views were worth it, but the real payoff was showing myself I could do something I've never done before and powering through the struggle. And, while I only showed everyone else what I looked like at the top, the real people are the ones in it with you pushing you through it.
Like hike. Up 600 granite "stairs." To the top of a mountain. An elevation increase of 2,000 feet in under 2 miles. (My anxiety made me do my homework). But, the reward was, as reported hundreds of times, worth the work. The views. THE. VIEWS. The waterfalls. All things Yosemite in one glance. All of it.
Listen, I tried. I over-packed a backpack with all the water Anxiety told me to bring. I wore the right shoes Anxiety told me to buy. I just accidentally let Anxiety come along. As the incline started Anxiety was screaming in my ear "GIRL. You aren't even to THE part yet," "I think your lungs aren't actually working and did you notice you can't breathe out of your nose?" "Lemme start to tunnel your vision for you real quick" and with that, all of my energy went into fighting a panic attack instead of pushing myself up a literal mountain. So, I stopped. I backed out. Anxiety high-fived herself and I turned around. Defeated.
Here you are somewhere you never thought you'd be, you survived your first night in a tent unscathed and now you're quitting? Cool cool cool. I eventually mustered the energy to give myself a little grace in a really graceless moment and made my way back to our campsite knowing that, for real, I couldn't breathe that well and maybe I just needed to give myself space and time to really get comfortable in this foreign land. So, I did just that. And, it was the right call. For me.
I had a talk with Anxiety that afternoon and was like, "Listen, sister, I know we've spent a lot of time together and I'm trying to see the value you add to my life to turn this relationship around, but you're holding me back, so I need you to go." She's SO clingy.
The second hike was a bit of a drive to the other side of the park and the further we went the more I knew there was really no backing out. You're just going to sit in the car and wait? Real glad you came. While I was warned there was a bit of a climb, I was assured it was short and, of course, promised it would be worth it. We set off and again the same feelings from the day before came back. My chest was tight, I was STRUGGLING. I didn't like it. But, this time I just said, out loud, "I'm gonna have to take this slow and it's OK if you leave me." Surely I could make it to the top before the sunset. They could meet me on their way back down. Cheryl Strayed did it on her own and it wasn't always cute. It's fine.
But, two things happened. My friend stopped and said "This IS hard, and we can go at whatever pace you need to. I'll stay with you." It was then that I realized that's what she's always done figuratively in my life and now it was happening literally. She's the one who has pushed me up and over many mountains in the last decade. She's challenged me and given me space and time to make my way there. She's allowed, embraced and encouraged me to evolve, change and grow. And, she's always been there and let me take as long as I needed to (which sometimes has to be painfully slow for her). It was all happening in the moment. We stopped when I needed to. She cheered me on from behind. And, eventually, we got there. And, we saw it. And, it WAS worth it. Not only the views but also feeling like something was conquered-- the elevation, the fear, the limitations and a different kind of vulnerability.
The other thing that played out IRL, was my fear of allowing people to see me struggle. That kind of vulnerability. It's something I've really had to work through in the last few months when stopping my life, trying to start over and finally seeing all of the broken pieces have not been easy. It's a gift that I've been able to do this, mostly alone (she's been there the whole time though) because no one gets to see the struggle if I don't let them. But, here's the thing I learned-- NO ONE CARES! Not in a negative way, in an "It's OK-- we're not judging you" way. Everyone has their own experiences, challenges and mountains to climb and we'd all appreciate it if you'd avert your attention elsewhere. Please. Thank you.
I've really had to negotiate with this. While I'd like everyone to believe I'm living my best life ever as my social media might portray, and maybe in some ways I am, it actually feels more often like I'm climbing a mountain and, holy shit, I can't breathe and I don't think I'm going to make it. Not every day is an Instagram post, many days I'd prefer if you'd all kindly look away. But, the other part is, I know this is temporary just like the hike to the top. This time I've spent with my head down really working on sealing all the cracks in my life is and will be a drop in the bucket in the long run--albeit a really big and important one. When you're working your way up, you can't see the top. You don't really know when you'll get there. When it will be over. When you'll be able to breathe again. What it will look like and even though it's "totally worth it" to someone else, you don't know if it will be to you.
What I realized as soon as I reached the top is, the struggle is temporary. Pushing through it is worth it. Allowing people to support you and see you is necessary and important. Relief will come. And, while you're up there reaping the rewards of all of your hard work, if you're really in it, you're already looking for what's next. You have to go back down at some point.
So, yes, the views were worth it, but the real payoff was showing myself I could do something I've never done before and powering through the struggle. And, while I only showed everyone else what I looked like at the top, the real people are the ones in it with you pushing you through it.
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