Leading The Way By Staying Behind

It was disappointing not to make it to the top of that mountain.

After a year of planning, training, and imagining being on the top with everyone, it never occurred to me that I wouldn’t make it up there. I’m not big on mentally planning for every possible scenario in order to insulate myself from disappointment, so it was hard to let go of how I thought it would look. Some days it still is, but I wouldn’t trade being all in, even when it turned out that I couldn’t. This past year of training, loving, and supporting each other was worth every step I could and couldn’t take.

It was hard to be left behind.

Who wants to cry uncle? Not this aunt of the four who made it to the top. However, they might never have been inspired to do it, if we hadn’t done it first. Because we had stood on the summit before, they were determined to stand up there now. Because we knew what it took to get to the top, they were better equipped to get there too.

It was difficult to accept that my body wasn’t able to do what I thought I’d trained it to do.

Looking back on it now, I can see that by staying behind in basecamp we were actually leading the way. By modeling a mature response to loss and disappointment, maybe they will remember what that looks like when faced with their own inevitable losses and disappointments. Wisdom, it seems, is sometimes best gained through loss.

We are meant to pass the torch, and to find a new home for the truth that lives inside of us, so that it can live on without us.

Mt. Adams Summit: 2017

Mt. Adams Summit: 2022



Climbing A Mountain Part 6: Leave No Trace

Leave No Trace

A wilderness mantra, it means pack out what you pack in. Including your own waste.

Fun stuff.

The Forest Service provides human waste pack-out bags. One large ziplock bag contains a paper target (think X marks the spot), a brown paper lunch bag containing a small scoop of kitty litter, another brown paper bag, and two (seriously?) squares of toilet paper. The directions are pretty straight forward. Find as much privacy as you can, lay the target on the ground, take aim, and hope you are a good shot. Drop your business into kitty litter bag. Insert kitty litter bag into paper bag. Tuck everything inside the zip lock bag. Take it with you.

Like I said. Fun stuff.

Now multiply that by 8 people and 2 1/2 days.

Everyone’s used bags went into a kitchen size garbage bag. If we’d thought better of it, we would have stowed our own stash somewhere and schlepped it out ourselves. But we didn’t, and digging into that ripening garbage bag to separate out a few for everyone to carry seemed like a very, very, very bad idea. One of our gang offered to take one for the team and carry the bag out.

He deserves a special place in heaven.

We tied the very heavy garbage bag to the outside of his pack, and prayed to the mountain gods that the bag wouldn’t split. A few steps down the trail I remembered the cotton pillow case in my pack. We put the garbage bag inside the pillow case, increasing the chances of the contents staying put.

There was an additional bag of garbage containing the rest of the trash accumulated over the course of our time on the mountain to be dealt with. Someone else volunteered to carry that bag out.

He deserves an almost-as-special place in heaven too.

Heading down the hill, every step the two guys who deserve special places in heaven took was made harder because of the additional weight. Because they were carrying what was not really theirs to carry. It was a visual reminder of something I already think about a lot. We are responsible for dealing with our own shit. For taking care of our own garbage. When we don’t, other people have to deal with it, like it or not.

We are born into the families and circumstances we are, shaping us into the humans we become. No one is exempt from the impacts—good, bad, and sometimes ugly—of those who raise us. We may not be responsible for all that happened to us. However, as we grow up and mature, we are accountable for what we do with what we’ve experienced and who we have become as a result.

This work of becoming healthy, whole-hearted humans isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s hard work, but it’s also good work. Some of the most important we will ever do. I know that because I’m still at it, and hopefully will be until I take my leave. The more work I do, the less I leave behind for others to have to carry.

It wasn’t lost on me that the pillow case carrying that garbage bag wasn’t just any pillow case. It was a gift from my daughters when they were little, with pictures of them on both sides. Whatever we leave unaddressed has a lasting impact. It becomes a burden carried by those around us. Usually those we love the most.

Leave No Trace



Climbing A Mountain Part 4: Courage Under Fire

“I don’t think I can do this,” he said.

Back at the trailhead we had each shared our biggest fear about the climb. His was a fear of heights. Not an insignificant thing on or off a mountain. A few hours into it, he hadn’t had to stare that fear in the face. Now he did, as our next steps would include a short but steep climb, a traverse across a narrow trail with steep slopes on either side, and finally, another steep pitch bordered by a crevasse.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he said.

We had stopped at an outcrop to put on our crampons. He turned his face away from the slope and gripped the sides of a boulder. We all silently went about gearing up, sensing that for the moment, all we could do was give him a safe space in which to be afraid. Not try to talk him out of it, or tell him what to do or how to do it. Fear doesn’t need fixing.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he said.

Looking up from my boots, he was sitting on a rock, his wife kneeling at his feet, carefully attaching his crampons to his boots. It was like watching Jesus washing the feet of his disciples, showing them what love does in the face of fear.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he said.

And then he did. He stepped out onto the slope and headed straight up. Like climbing a ladder that is leaning up against the side of a house, but with nothing to hold on to. One step ahead of him, his cousin told him to fix his focus on her feet rather than the steep slope on either side. Behind him another cousin told him to simply take five more steps. The one in front was terrified too, but by focusing on him she momentarily forgot that she was afraid too. The one behind him called upon her experience as a Cross-fit coach to help him simply take the next right step. Step-by-terrifying-step, he made his way to the other side of the thing he thought he couldn’t do. He did it himself, but he didn’t have to do it alone.

When did we decide that being vulnerable is an act of weakness? From what I saw up on that mountain, it is one of the most courageous things we can ever do.

Two days later, we passed that same steep stretch on our way back down.

“I can do that,” he said.



Climbing A Mountain Part 3: Asking For Help

Getting up off the ground isn’t as easy as it was 10 years ago. Add a heavy pack to my back and soft snow under my feet, and the only way I’m getting up is with some help. But it was so hard to ask for it. My pride wanted to get in the way. I never want our kids to think I’m getting older. Well, I am. Spoiler alert: We all are.

Asking for help suggested that I didn’t have what took to do what I had to do without help. Which I didn’t, as anyone watching me flail away on my own could see. But when I took the helping hands offered I was back on my feet and ready to keep going.

Self-reliance is a gift and a curse. It tells us to equip ourselves for what life will ask of us, which we should. And, it tricks us into believing that it is all up to us, which it isn’t.

Asking for help can feel like admitting defeat. Which is true if winning is our end game. But how often is winning really the thing? And if it is, maybe we should give that some thought. In the end, we are all here to help one another along the trail, each of us lending a hand and taking a hand.

I help you.

You help me.

And on we go.


Climbing A Mountain

Do you think you two have another climb up Mt. Adams in you?

Because if you do, we want to do it with you.

Translation: We want to get up there with you while you still can.

That conversation last year with our niece and her husband started it all. Tom and I had to think about it, given that we’re not spring chickens anymore. On our morning walk the next day we decided that while we might not have multiple more climbs in us, we probably had at least one. With that in mind we opened the idea up to the rest of the generation behind us, and in the end, three couples threw their hats and hiking boots into the Mt. Adams 2022 ring.

We’ve been training for it for a year, readying ourselves to be strong enough to make the 12.2 mile trek to the 12,281’ summit. Over the course of that climb we would gain 6600 ft of elevation.

However.

You can train all you want and still not make it to the top.

Different obstacles got in the way for different people. Some of the hardest work we did was internal. Can I do this? What if I can’t. How can it be this hard? What if I slow everyone else down? Will I be able to overcome my fear of heights? What if I get altitude sickness? What if my old injury flairs up? What if I’m the weakest link?

In the end we had to come up against those fears, which is what happens in life on and off the mountain. Eventually we have to face them in order to be free of them.

The first day we hiked for eight hours, most of it on soft snow, with 40+ pound packs on our backs. It was a harder, longer day than any of us had anticipated, and as the sun dropped lower in the sky we began to give out. The altitude was having its way with some of us, and it was clear we needed to make camp soon. Apparently my speech was getting very slow, nausea and serious dehydration arrived on our scene, and I knew we were in trouble when Tom couldn’t seem to figure out how to put up our tent.

We found ourselves on a rocky outcrop with just enough room for four tents. Except for the ground beneath our tents, we had to maneuver over uneven boulders and rocks that were just a sprained ankle, broken leg, or worse waiting to happen. The temperature dropped, the light grew dim, and the wind came up. I was reminded, in the way that only nature can illuminate, that we are always hovering between life and death. We are so much smaller than we like to think in the big scheme of things. It’s good to be reminded of that now and then, lest I take myself and my brief presence on the planet too seriously.

At times like these, the best of who we are shows up. Those of us who could, took over for those of us who couldn’t, because that is what love does. While we had worked to get our bodies strong, in the end it was our hearts and our love and commitment to one another that got us up there.

The summit awaited us in the morning.

For the last year we have imagined ourselves at the top, each of us believing that we could do this hard thing. Together, eight of us were going to summit Mt. Adams on Friday, July 15th, 2022.

In the end four did.

I wasn’t one of them.

Stay tuned.

I’m dedicating the next few posts to what I learned by not summiting a mountain.

Who Gets To Do This? And Why?

Fourteen years ago when we first set foot on the five acres we now call home, we were smitten. Mt. Adams, the 12,281’ high volcano sat directly in front of what was to become the site for the house. Pine woods on three sides gave the property a tucked in feel, and would provide protection from the winds that can frequent our valley. Sitting at just under 2000 feet, we were guaranteed all four seasons. Standing together and taking it all in, we began to envision building the home that we had first imagined over a bottle of wine, on the back of a cocktail napkin, the year our youngest daughters went off to college.

It was hard to fathom that we might actually be able to realize our long held dream of building a rustic home, east of the mountains, where we could live and that we could share with family and friends. I mean who gets to do that? And why?

Slowly the house took shape as we split our time between the city where our jobs were, and this piece of ground where our hearts were.

Sitting on the porch with my coffee 13 years ago, I continued to wonder, who gets to do this? And why?

2008

2008

Thirteen years later, sitting on the porch with my coffee, I continue to ponder, who gets to do this? And why?

2021

2021

Living here, having created the place that we hope to call home for years to come, is an unbelievable gift. I’ve never felt that we owned it. It is ours to steward, share, and make use of for the good of many. A safe haven and refuge for all who come here, and a place from which to imagine and work for a more just, loving, and inclusive world.

After this past year, I am starkly aware of the immeasurable, culturally inherent privilege granted to us that has made this dream of ours possible.

And to whom much is given, much is required.

Word Of The Day: RESILIENT 2.0

Over the next few weeks I will be focusing on a word of the day drawn from a list created at the beginning of January. Each word was chosen to serve as a guide to inspire and inform my steps through 2020. If you are just joining me now and want to look in on earlier posts on this topic, you will find links to each at the end.

Good writing, but a little too “self congratulatory” was my husband’s response after reading RESILIENT. In it I told the story of summiting and surviving an unexpected night on Mt. Adams. Tom is one of my most trusted feedback providers, and as such I work to listen with more curiosity than defensiveness. Always a growing edge for me.

This morning over coffee in the pre-dawn light, defensiveness won the first round. As a female, I was raised to keep my strengths, intelligence, and strong opinions under wraps. His comments about the tone of my post smacked of that early upbringing. He was told from his earliest years never to toot his own horn, and the tenor of my words sounded like boasting. Our morning heart-to-heart was a convergence of our early messaging. Curiosity eventually won the match, and our conversation evolved into all of the ways resilience can manifest in our lives, including the willingness to receive and reflect on feedback when it is of the more “constructive” nature.

Divorce, death of loved ones, financial hardship, broken trust, the loss of a job, unrealized dreams, failure in front of our peers, being passed over for a promotion, fighting injustice, crafting meaningful lives, taking on our own inner demons, fostering authentic relationships, strenuous exercise, living with debilitating health conditions, or the Seattle Seahawks losing a game they fought relentlessly to win. We are all daily surrounded with opportunities to practice being resilient. Some small, some large, and some that feel insurmountable. When we practice being resilient in the face of the small, the more equipped we are for the large, which is what readies us when faced with the seemingly insurmountable.

Onward.

(And for the recored, I am pretty damn proud of summiting and surviving an unexpected night on a mountain. Just sayin’)

Photo by Suliman Sallehi on Pexels.com

Photo by Suliman Sallehi on Pexels.com

Word Of The Day: RESILIENT

Over the next few weeks I will be focusing on a word of the day drawn from a list created at the beginning of January. Each word was chosen to serve as a guide to inspire and inform my steps through 2020. If you are just joining me now and want to look in on earlier posts on this topic, you will find links to each at the end.

RESILIENT

Standing on the top of Mt. Adams, the 12,283 ft. high volcano we see out our window every day, the sense of accomplishment of having made it to the top was diminished by the overwhelming sense of how small I am in the bigger scheme of things. I am a tiny blip on the radar screen of the very long arc of time. I do however like to think that I’m a resilient blip.

We had arrived at the summit late in the afternoon, several hours after we should have been making our decent to pack up our tent and gear before continuing on down to our car at the trailhead. It was quickly obvious that we wouldn’t make it, and would have to spend another night on the mountain. Not the worst thing in the world to spend another night in our tent that we had left at our basecamp the night before.

When climbing up a mountain, it’s hard to lose your way as all trails converge at the top It’s a little trickier on the way back down. It is easy to get on the wrong ridge and miss your intended trail down. We obviously hadn’t paid close enough attention to our route on the way up, and as night fell it was clear that we were lost. The only option was to find a wind break and hunker down for the night. Choosing a flat spot ringed with a low stone wall erected by former climbers, we put on every piece of clothing we had, rested our heads on our packs, and pulled the space blanket (think tin foil) over us. Imagine trying to sleep in your driveway on a cold night and you get a pretty good idea of our predicament.

It was a long night.

For 7 hours I turned from one side to the other, only able to last about 10 minutes on a side before the ache in that shoulder and hip needed a rest. As cold and miserable as it was on the one hand, it was breathtakingly wondrous on the other. A chance to watch the Milky Way rotate in the sky, the fireworks of the Perseid meteor shower, and eventually the miracle of the sun touching the top of the mountain.

At first light we were up and out to find our way down. (We didn’t find our tent and gear, but that’s a whole other miraculous story to be explored another day.) By 4pm we were back home. After 36 hours with no sleep, a shower and a strong cup of coffee to go we were on our way to my brother’s 70th birthday celebration.

It’s no small thing to summit and survive an unexpected night on a mountain, just like it is no small thing to reach seventy years of age, having survived all the unexpected things that have happened along the way. Both call upon us to be resilient. To recover from difficult conditions and challenges. To spring back into shape after being bent by life’s storms. It is those same challenges, difficulties, and storms that create resilient souls. A willingness to get up and go at it, whatever it is, again, and again, and again.

Yes, we’d summited a mountain.

No, we hadn’t gotten any sleep.

Yes, we were tired.

And no, we weren’t about to miss that party.

To be resilient is both a practice and a choice. We were able to make our way to the top of the mountain because of the endurance and strength we’d trained so hard to develop. We weathered a night of aches and shivers by focusing on the miracles unfolding in the night sky above. We made it to the party because after making it back home, the option to crash for the night couldn’t compare to the chance to celebrate the life of someone we loved.

To be resilient is to remember what has brought us thus far. It is to call upon the best in ourselves in the face of the unexpected challenges, losses, and heartaches that life can throw at us. Which it has, and does, and will.

Onward.

Photo by Suliman Sallehi on Pexels.com

Photo by Suliman Sallehi on Pexels.com

No Longer Yours

As we descended from High Camp, a beautiful alpine meadow on the NW flanks of Mt. Adams, we passed by a large cairn, built rock-by-rock by hikers on that trail. It isn’t unusual for us to find cairns along the trail, but it isn’t often that I stop to contribute a rock of my own.

Today, I did.

It just seemed like the right cairn, on the right trail, on the right day. Picking up a squarish black rock, about the size of a book, I held it for a moment, considering what it represented. Setting it softly down on top we moved on down our trail, knowing that we had just left behind what is no longer ours to do.

As you continue on the trail that is yours to travel, what might you leave behind that is no longer yours to do?

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Discouragement

One of my least favorite emotions, and yet like all of the ones we’d rather not experience, discouragement has something to say. It sets in when something rears its head again, or when we think we’ve gotten to the root of something and come to find out that we haven’t. At this point it feels like it would be easier to just throw in the towel, forget whatever the issue is, or give up rather than keep going. But this gray sense of disappointment, whether in ourselves, others, or both, is an invitation to look deeper.

Discouragement tells us that what’s been done isn’t what needs to be done. Our work is to figure out what that is.

Discouragement suggests that there are stones yet unturned, paths not yet taken, or viewpoints not yet seen. Our work is to turn over new rocks, embark on the new trail, or look through a different lens.

Left to its own devices, discouragement can lead to a loss of confidence and enthusiasm, leaving us downhearted and demoralized. So rather than leave it to its sorry little self, it is better to grab it by the hand and walk with it until a next right step appears, which if we stick with it, it almost always does. And that’s encouraging. 

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