Forgive me father for I have sinned, it’s been three months since I last wrote on my blog. I know, a dumb analogy, and probably unwarranted at that. But it does feel like I have abandoned this outlet of my existence for the last quarter of 2019. To be honest, I am not exactly sure what has changed?
I dubbed this coming decade in April to be the decade of adventure. Perhaps this is in part what has happened to my writing, but I don’t actually think that I can blame it all on the mountains. It is true that I have spent a fair amount of time in Nordegg and Banff this summer, along with Vancouver Island and even Arizona. It is true that the Boy and I have earnestly embraced the whole mountain climbing thing, and have logged over thirty climbs in this summer, including three multi-pitch climbs. It is true that I actually bought a used tent trailer and have slept in it more than twice this past summer! It is true that my family have become very acquainted with the delightful Taylor family who have joyfully occupied many a weekend. But is all of this the reason why I have neglected this creative outlet for the past three months?
Pigeon Spire also in the Bugaboos
I have often struggled with a sense of inadequacy. I have, at times, overcompensated for this with bluster, brashness, sometimes rudeness, impertinence, bravado and false humility. I often try too hard. I run to fast. I jump too fast. I expose myself and those around me to unnecessary risk. Despite all of this, I very often find myself struggling with what to write. and I think writing for me is not just a creative outlet, but also a way of processing, of working through angst and disappointment.
I am speculating now, but I am wondering out-loud, or at least on the screen (I am a verbal processor and since you are not here you are left reading my thoughts) whether this newly acquired physical outlet is not just improving my fitness level, but also my mental state. I have been training now, for over eight weeks for a trip that is planned to climb in the Bugaboos next July. I have only skipped two days of training in over eight weeks; which is so not like me! Is my new found focus and goal of preparing for this endeavour providing me a mental outlet wherein I am subconsciously processing things that I previously felt a need to work through on this channel?
I told Tim (www.girthhitchguiding.ca shameless plug) recently that I find climbing much like riding a bike up a steep hill, with one big difference; it is a bike I can’t get off of. I have never been very mentally tough. I am easily dissuaded from doing things I don’t want to do. Guilt is very rarely a motivator for my actions. In the past, when I have been riding up a hill I don’t want to ride up, I typically quit, and turn the bike around and ride back down - there is always another way around. The difference with climbing, especially multi-pitch climbing is that you can’t actually quit 600 feet off the ground. So whether I want to continue the climb, whether or not I want to push myself beyond what I think I can accomplish on the rock, I find myself without much choice in the matter. Often on the rock, I find myself angry in the middle of a pitch. Angry at my inadequacy, angry at my fear, angry at my hesitancy. And yet, when the pitch is completed, I can look back with a sense of accomplishment for what I just finished, despite myself.
So perhaps rock climbing is my new therapy? I am not sure. I know that I am a healthier human being today, than I was three months ago. I know that I have done things in these past three months that I never thought I would do before. I know that I am dreaming about things today, that I wasn’t dreaming about three months ago. What started off as a project for me to stay connected to my kid has morphed into something more. Don’t get me wrong, I am still delighted to be hanging with my fifteen year-old son, and I am still happy to be his surrogate frontal lobe, at least in the short term. His physical prowess compared to mine pisses me off to no end. I resent like hell that I am fifty and my body is fifty and my body is the product of a decade or two of neglect. I wonder all the time whether my body will ever recover to the point where I can climb half of the things that he can climb right now? But with all of that said, I am doing something that appears to be better for me in ways beyond the merely the physical.
The photo attached to this post is of a massive piece of rock in the Bugaboos called the Bugaboo Spire. I am hopeful that in July of 2020 I will get a chance to ascend that thing. And yes, for the record, the mere thought of it scares the shit out of me. Every time I think about summiting that thing, I get the shakes. But honestly, the fact that I am even committed to going up there, committed to three nights in a hut on a mountain is shocking to everybody, and most of all to me. My friend Tim talks a lot about transformational adventure. I actually wrote a blog post on his new website about the topic. All that I know, I am still trying to get my head wrapped around it all, is that something is changing in me. Something is changing in my body, my mind, my spirit, wherein I am beginning to associate these outings with more than just a climb. Before I turned fifty, I joked, “better at fifty than forty”. Now I believe that I will be better at sixty-five than fifty. Maybe because it no longer seems like a pipe dream, but a path laid out before me, where I know my feet will take me, regardless and despite my own misgivings.