Feelings Propel Me to Run Great Distances

It is around 4:15 pm on Tuesday, too early to responsibly finish the work day, when the thick, visceral brain sludge that has been compounding by the hour becomes finally too heavy to wade through. I grow weary of trying to contain and combat the antagonistic self reflections of the day, the week, the season. Left and right I dodge sharp, menacing arrows that fly straight towards my heart, directed fervently and intently by she who is My Reflection. Arrows that are aflame with messages of, “You have no self control,” “You are worthless,” and “Your efforts are in vain and won’t change anything.” I have tried to negotiate with her - to make a deal even - explaining we are on the same side and there is no reason for battle. But she won’t listen. Her passion is strong, and her objective is destruction.  

In ruts like this I know only to move, to leave the house and put one foot in front of the other and see what happens. It is not before long that my short walk turns into a run when the body decides it wants only to thrust itself forward with vigor, down the long city hill with no destination, simply desperate to escape. The descent continues noticeably. I know I will have to ride those wild hills back home when it will be darker, colder, and more strenuous, and the longer it takes to turn around the worse it will get. But I care little because in the moment all I want is to enter a vacuum-like tunnel devoid of feeling and thought.

Forward, constant, steady, motion gets me there. The noise of the world and the brain sludge are eventually drowned out by the rhythmic beats of the music in my ears - not matching the pace of my feet but providing a smooth, safe, almost psychedelic river of sound to float in. Despite the continual motion and travel through space of the body, I have somehow stopped moving. I exist in a state of consciousness that knows no battle, no arrows, only forward. Forward down the hill, forward across the town and away from home, and then up.

Slowly, steadily up the body pushes once it is time to turn around and head back. This neighborhood is even quieter, and I find comfort in the work. The work of jogging uphill is achievable because of recent training that, at the time, acted as an offense against the arrows - “My legs are stronger and my lungs are mightier than your blows to my willpower and esteem. The active body will prevail.” Those battles were not clearly by won by one side or the other. Now, though, the running is not done in combat. It is simply a task that keeps the mind in the tunnel of narrow focus and escape. 

Strangely enough the body does not grow tired, though the distance is quite farther than our norm, and the elevation is a challenge. Strangely, too, the dark clouds that loomed overhead an hour ago with the threat of rain have already moved on. Bummer, I think, because part of me yearned to be forcefully cleansed by the elements, pure in nature and fierce with their lessons. 

Before dark I return home, and it feels like no time has passed at all. The archer of the arrows has retreated for now - maybe she needs to rest occasionally, too. She’ll be back tomorrow, I’m sure, and I still don’t know how best to defeat her. But walking up to my driveway I reflect gratefully that I at least had quiet in the mind - the objective was achieved. I had quiet in the mind, and now calm creativity stirring - and with a body presently free for its next task, I sit down, paper and pen in hand, and begin to write ...

(Some of) The Never-ending Questions

It is a Sunday afternoon in the midst of COVID19 social distancing (March 29, 2020 for record keeping purposes). Whether that matters or not, I don’t know - the circumstances might be the same, because this isn’t an unusual occurrence: I have hours upon hours of time on my hands and I don’t know how to spend it, and rather than a normal person being bored and simply finding something to occupy their mind, I, for some reason, have to take it seriously and let all existential thoughts seep in and take over.

Sometime in my youth I started asking the question, “Why?” and I think it’s the worst thing that could’ve happened to me. For some folks who are intellectually in the same boat, the question is spurred by mere curiosity - ‘Why do turkeys have that weird thing called a giblet? Why do certain people like the sound of some music and others don’t? Why do I dream about the things I dream about? Why do people dream at all?’ For me it is often this same initial curiosity that starts the questioning, but as I’ve grown older the questions have become more serious and have started demanding answers, no longer allowing themselves to be simple musings/ponderings about the way things work.

If I tried to start a list of these questions, I don’t think it would ever end, because one spurs thoughts about another. A lot of my questioning centers around dating and marriage, love, and what makes relationships work or not work. I psychoanalyze personalities on TV, in the media, in my own circle of influence, and especially my own personal experience to try to understand why people are drawn to each other and either stay together or leave. Everywhere I turn I see relationships struggling, crumbling, and ending, with broken pieces lying all about, and I think, “Did they just not pick the right person? What was off about their personality fit/cohesiveness as a couple? Did one of them have personal issues they can’t get over? Is there unconscious sabotaging? What kind of love did they have in the first place, and if it didn’t last should I not be looking for that?”

Because of all these questions, I think a lot about the nature of humans and where our desires and needs even come from in the first place. Science and evolution are some of the first avenues I can explore to explain why we are the way we are. For every human behavior, feeling, and thought process I try to understand from a survival standpoint what purpose it might’ve had for our ancestors. Not just in romance, but in things like day to day motivation, boredom, depression, anxiety, compassion, empathy, and what makes people feel fulfilled. I come across good theories sometimes, but on other occasions I am simply left in the dark. Often theories clash and I don’t think they can both be true, or they don’t explain everything comprehensively, so I’m not sure I can trust it. And even if a theory does provide a good explanation, it actually offers me little relief from the questioning, as if I need a more meaningful answer. 

The question of god comes up 100% of the time, basically in the form of, ‘Is this all bull shit? Or is there a reason for our suffering? And what do I make of the events in my life, and what do I think about this thing called sin that tells me some of my natural impulses, which might just be ingrained in my biology because of the way we have evolved, are evil and should be fought against and I should feel guilty over them?’ 

I have conversations in my mind and sometimes with real people about the idea of letting go and accepting that we will not have the answers - this seems to be the healthiest thing to do for skeptics. Obviously everyone should be able to agree that we DO NOT KNOW for sure if there is a God, and that we cannot know. I have tried to find this certainty in religion, myself, by seeking concrete signs or proof, and was not able to. Most people can’t, and that is one of the key aspects about religion - it requires faith. A hopeful trusting in one set of answers that someone or multiple someones came up with, despite the arguments that could be said against the ideas. 

I guess my significant flaw, then, is that I lack faith. If there are arguments to be said at all, I believe an idea is unreliable and cannot give it my trust. I need to have complete confidence, and I need to believe in ideas that can be universally true, otherwise I myself am just conceding to an illusion. If it doesn’t work for everybody, it’s just my own personal adaptation to help make sense of my own life, and my perspective can be just as valid or invalid as the next crazy person living on this planet whom I have nothing in common with. If there is no universal truth, then murderers, polygamists, animal abusers, and all realms of folks we’d consider in the wrong are not in the wrong at all, they are just living according to what they believe is true. I have not found anything I can call a universal truth, so I have no grounds for disagreeing with their way of living. 

This void of truth not only applies on a moral level but also on a level of examining what it looks like to live a satisfying life. Because, god or not, we are still here and still have the daily choice of giving up or trying to make our existence something we enjoy. And so, like many of us, a decent chunk of my questioning has to do with where I or anyone else derives meaning and satisfaction in life. I have come across numerous authors, young and old, who speak about varying ideas depending on what they have personally been through. It seems that maturity and life experience/age often bring about a common theme of realizing what’s ‘actually important’ in life, and discarding the worldly pleasures, or at least giving less importance to those that bring immediate satisfaction, like partying, drinking, sex, gambling, etc. 

So far, I think I agree with the thought leaders who believe the deeper satisfaction in life comes from working for something - putting in time, effort, sweat, and just pushing yourself to stick with a thing even when you don’t want to do it. I see this play out in what look to be successful marriages … and I cling to it for hope. Yet on the other hand, this perspective is still just some people’s opinions, and if not everyone is going to derive satisfaction from the same things in life, can we criticize those who are workaholics or who are relationship-dependent and have no personal hobbies or ambitions or are political internet trolls, antagonizing others online all day and contributing to the continual polarization of our society? If there is no universal truth for how to live, can we really blame anybody for doing what they do, if they are also just doing their best to cope with existing, and if what they spend their time on is the best method that works for them? Furthermore, if anything goes, should I even try to live my own life in any sort of way that’s determined by society to be normal, or do I let myself go off the deep end pursuing whatever it is that brings relief to my own chaotic experience? 

One of the last ‘why’s’ I will mention that I have already asked myself in the form of a dialogue is, “Why does it all matter so much to you anyway? Would you be asking all these things so seriously if you were currently happy? If life made sense, if you had found your life partner by now and started a family and found joy in the things you expected you would?” Because it’s completely possible that deep down the questions are only coming from a place of hurt and unmet wants/desires - I can self-examine at least enough to see that. In which case, I guess it’s good I’m seeing a therapist so that maybe I can work through (or at least work on) some of those things. 

But even having pondered the answer to that, I am still left with the big one, a question I might forever ask, one which has seemed to trump all others again and again. Is satisfaction actually attainable? Or will nothing fill this void, and will I always struggle without success to understand the universe, myself, and my own experience? I truly don’t know how to live my life in peace, and I am truly afraid of the answer to that question being No. 

But, alas. I am here. I do exist and continue to wake up day after day. I have no concept of what occurs after I die, so the conclusions I can come to are: 1. It’s a stupid idea for anyone to even think about ending their life. This might be all we have. And 2. Since we are here we might as well do whatever we can to keep our brains happy, and sometimes that does require just letting go and giving up the fight, even for brief periods of time. It’s impossible to do all of the time, but I also cannot sustain the questioning everyday, either. Which is why I’m now going to go binge some trash TV on netflix and try to not think anymore.

Desperate Successes

First of all, when I opened up micrsoft word to start typing up this blog post, the program ask if I wanted to autorecover my last document I had been working on, which contained some poetic ramblings from June. I read the document, and Hoo boy were those some rough drafts, and hoo boy did I have some emotions I was processing at that time. Those stringings of words will 100% never be seen by anyone else’s eyes. Ha.

Now on to the real subject. Have you ever succeeded at something but felt completely defeated at the end? I’ve learned what that feels like from both hiking and climbing recently, but today’s specific instance really brought it home.

If you are friends with me or follow me on social media in any context you will know that I’m an avid hiker. This began years ago as a simple way to exercise, and it has blossomed into this thing I’m sometimes crazed about. I want to do harder and harder hikes, and I’m turning into an aspiring ‘peakbagger,’ one who is all about summiting mountains, not just wandering through the woods. Of course I still love a hike with a waterfall or good lookout point at the top, but there’s a different level of satisfaction and accomplishment achieved when you get to the top of a pointy mountain that not many people ever see, where YOU can see for miles and miles. They’re 10 times better if there is scrambling involved, in my opinion.

The satisfaction for me especially comes from knowing how hard it was to get there. I’ve never been an athletic person in the slightest, and growing up I didn’t feel capable of doing much with my body. I wasn’t sporty – forget it if a flying spherical object was involved, especially coming toward me. So the fact that I’ve built up my stamina and leg strength in order to GET to some of these 3,000 ft + destinations makes me feel like I have something to be proud of for once.

This summer, however, has been a wild one. In June I was probably at my own ‘peak’ of performance  (see what I did there?) for the year so far. I was hiking multiple times a week and doing hard stuff, including a weekend, marathon-long backpacking trip that included something like 5 passes summited, with about 16 miles just in one day. The very next weekend I solo hiked to Mt. Raymond on a Saturday, which was over 4,000 ft of elevation gain with a hefty scramble at the top, and nearly 10 miles round trip. I felt on top of the world. My lungs were pushed but not beat, and my legs didn’t scream at me until the actual summit part, for good reason.

Today I attempted and succeeded at summiting Gobbler’s Knob, but felt completely ashamed about it. The first third of the trail was pretty difficult right off the bat, and I got the force-you-to-stop side cramps you get when your lungs are not keeping up. The middle section was perfect and easy (imagine my relief, since after an hour it was not just a problem of not being warmed up), but then the last, steep third of getting up to the peak … woah mama. I made it, but desperately. I would go up fifteen feet and take a break, repeatedly. I made it out of sheer stubbornness – I just had to finish - and this was how my last peak went, also, which was around two weeks ago. Gobbler’s Knob is actually right next to Mt. Raymond with less of a scramble (actually none at all), only 3,000 ft, and fewer miles since it started at a different trailhead. This peak handed me my ass and sent me home with my tail between my legs.

I didn't have to think very long about why I'm having such a hard time these days. I’m positive it boils down to two simple things, regularity of exercise and eating. Without going into detail, I’ll just say that I’ve been treating my body like absolute crap for at least a month. It has been SO hot and incredibly smoky in these mountains that I just didn’t even want to hike for the second half of the summer. So I didn’t, and I didn’t really do much of anything else either. I can count on one hand the times I hiked in August, and that's not enough to keep the pace I had and lost. I’ve also been feeding my body straight junk, and there is no way that’s not going to affect my physical performance. I now understand why not everyone is an athlete – it takes discipline, dedication, and hard work even when you don’t feel like it. I lack these things, but thought I was good enough to achieve the same goals without them.

I’ve refrained from posting any peak pictures because I am too embarrassed by my weak completion of this trail. I'm learning there is a difference between a challenging success and a desperate success, and the latter is one I don't think any athlete would be proud of. Today I was put in my place, as I learned I’m not as skilled at hiking as I think, and I should take a step back and work on moderate level trails again before jumping to the strenuous ones I’m not ready for.

Both hiking and climbing are a constant struggle, as you MUST keep at it to stay on top of your game, or else you’ll slip into what I call a ‘humble relapse’ yet again. I am familiar with this. Yet, it seems the farther you go, the more disappointing it is when you backslide.

So here I am defeated and ashamed, and who knows if I’ll be able to pull out of myself the discipline and determination it takes to stay good at something physical. On my way down I at least got some perspective while reflecting on my progress so far. I’ve come a long way since my first hiking experiences, one of them being the Catalina hike on one of Intervarsity’s spring break retreats back in college. I did so poorly the first year that I vowed to myself the next year would be a lot better, and that was one of the initial motivations that got me into the activity at all. This time last year when I felt defeated and out of shape, I was only on foothill trails in my former town of residence, of much less strenuousness. And what I used to consider a good day hike length was around 4 miles; now I’m doing 6 – 8 round trip and making a day out of it.

Looking back I am able to give myself a lot of grace. I’m sure most of you that know me are thinking these same things, but of course, everyone is their own worst critic. Today was rough, but after reflecting on my own history, I can feel accomplished at the strides I’ve made and motivated to continue trying, because something in my past self got me to where I am now, and I’m thinking that’s still there.

If you're feeling like you've recently achieved a similar desperate success, don't let it get you down for too long. Take some time to reflect on where you've been and how you got there, and give yourself a stern talking to about not eating banana pudding every night of the week (ok, maybe that's just me).

As a final thought, I’d like to thank the mountain itself. You challenge me, defeat me, but then soothe me on my way down with your enchanting beauty. I have gentle reminders that it’s not always about getting to the top, and there could be such a thing as – gasp – turning around when I’m struggling so that I still enjoy the hike and don’t leave feeling ashamed. I look forward to the many more lessons you have to teach me in my upcoming years of exploration. <3

You Are Safe Here

I wake up early on a Sunday after a restless night devoid of sleep and head to the mountains. My heart is heavy and I need caring for. My Mama Earth opens her door and greets me with the smile of new sun on young bright leaves. Up the hill, into the trees, and I am enveloped with a hug from the quiet canopy. Fresh flowers are in bloom with soft colors, and the stream is flowing with healthy, vibrant life. The jagged cliffs I miss so much stand tall and strong and look down on this child eager to be scooped up in her elder’s loving arms. I can take my time hiking. There is no rush, except for that of the steady water soothing, centering, and saying, “You are safe here.”

I climb up some rocks and grab a branch for support. It is smooth and worn down from the many passersby that frequent the trail. The instant my hand falls on the tree limb, I hear gently, “Lean on me. I am here for you.” Unexpectedly my heart is pierced with the words, and a coldness begins to thaw.

There is beauty all around as I journey up, then up some more upon reaching the end of the trail. I thank my dependable hands and feet for carrying me to new heights with a scramble high above the falls. I find my spot with views of grandeur and a sweet silence moved only by gentle wind. I pause, rest, breathe. Breathe some more. This time, the mountain’s whisper: “You belong. You can be yourself in this place.” I stay for a long time.

Sometimes you hike for the body, sometimes you hike for the soul. 

The Balancing Act

“Stay Inspired.” The motto of my life since I began exploring the outdoors and getting into things I shouldn’t, like travel books and Pinterest destination boards and climbing magazines and backpacking guides. I tell myself that I can do anything, I can get INTO anything if I have the desire and if I put in the effort. As a single, young adult with a dependable college degree and job stability, I remind myself that the potential for my life’s hobbies and interests is virtually unlimited. With nothing to hold me back I can try anything I’m curious about and devote time, money, and effort into it for as long as I’m interested. No sense in wasting away my free time watching show after show on Netflix when there are countless opportunities for adventure and growth in new pursuits that don’t have to do with a screen.

So I start to take interest in new things and ideas and I force myself to dream about what my life could be. Trouble is once I get a taste for something I just want to get into it more and more, get deeper involved in the learning, the skill, the experience. Longer vacations, more exotic places, more technical or strenuous climbs, and things that require actual gear, equipment, prep-work, and know-how. It’s at times exhilarating and other times overwhelming. Like getting into a body of water you might’ve thought was a pool with known bounds and an end that you could see, but finding out you actually just jumped into the ocean, which has no limits and in which you are likely to get lost or hurt.

On the exhilarating side, say you start taking short trips here and there with the small amount of PTO and funds you’ve saved up in the few years of working since college. A national park one weekend, a few months later the next one is easier, and maybe later that year your first excursion out of the country to dip your toes in the water of overseas travel… Initially your thirst gets quenched but it quickly grows stronger after your fun experience is over because you realize there is so much more that you didn’t get to see or do.

It’s addicting. It’s both healthy and unhealthy at the same time: what other piece of life advice could be so encouraging – “Stay Inspired” - yet instill so much dissatisfaction over what you’re currently lacking? The motto originally stuck for me because it kept me looking positively towards the future at something - anything - that tilted my head up instead of down when I was going through a rough time. But now I’m trying to balance a scale with one side holding ‘gratitude and contentedness’ and the other holding ‘dreams and aspirations.’ I can’t seem to find the middle ground where I have a healthy yearning for adventure and progression without becoming unhappy with my existing state. And on the other hand, the last thing I want to do is become complacent with where I am and let the thirst die out because I tell myself I have it good here and now.

As I cruise through my twenties faster than an easy route at the climbing gym at the beginning of a session, my concern over this struggle starts to develop some weight. Just like the ever-common young adult desire to figure out one’s career/life calling or to eventually settle down and build a life with ‘the one’ (if he or she can be found), this threat comes looming with the knowledge that time is not infinite despite being young. In what direction do I begin to point all my decisions now so that the trajectory I take does not leave me regretting missed opportunities in 5, 10, 15 years’ time? Because the fact is each decision does matter and have consequences. With every choice I make about how to spend my time and who to spend it with, I am either moving forward or staying in the same place.

Do I make the choices now to live my life full of pursuit of the exotic, striving forward with a gumption that causes me to put myself and my goals above everything else? The feared consequence of this path is unknowingly become a friendless, selfish, never-happy dream chaser, forgoing meaningful friendships and giving up decent work opportunities in search of the PERFECT job and the PERFECT people with which to fill my life, those I think will help me achieve my goals. Will I be sacrificing what could become deep, life-enhancing relationships with people I know now if I choose to move or change jobs or only hang out with those interested in my same hobbies?

Perhaps a dialogue with the potential future version of me who settled too young would offer some perspective. 30 year old me who never really tried anything hard or exciting or different could still be alone, living in the same small city and attending the same community events every year. She could be decently content because she stayed in her comfort zone, but she’d know what was she was missing out on because of the copy of Lonely Planet’s “Where To Go When” book on her shelf that she can always browse, landing on any page to learn about an enthralling new part of the world she didn’t know about or didn’t think would be all that exciting to see. She’d have the memories of early trips to Moab and Zion National Park and her following research into more geographically close parks to explore, along with the slew of adventurous things you can do in them. She’d likely have chosen to kill any interest she had in developing a thriving career full of learning, excelling, and development, in order to settle down with a job that fulfilled SOME of the requirements: paid the bills, offered a decent level of responsibility and ownership, and was close enough to home.

It seems, however, that on both sides of the argument each perspective can say, “If you choose my way you will be giving something up.” I am reminded – no, I may be learning for the first time – that there is no such thing as the right decision.

So I continue on with my days in a strange overlap of moods, trying to live in the moment with only my immediate needs and wants at hand (my exercise plans for the week, how to solve the issues I’m facing at my job, what to do on my next day off), while trying to look at my life from a bigger picture mindset, asking the questions …

At what point should one start taking risks and stepping outside of their comfort zone?

At what point should one give up luxuries they have now in pursuit of dreams of what could be?

At what point should one place people over self in order to foster a relationship, when it means setting aside your developing ambitions, potentially making you unhappy in the long run?

For how long do you stay in a current situation of any kind before deciding it’s time to move on to bigger and better things?

Or at what point should one reign in what might be unrealistic, lofty expectations of life and accept the fact that you can’t have everything, and what you do have you should be grateful for?

The tightrope is thin, and it is stretched tight. I know if I don’t take one step, there is no danger of falling. But life doesn’t happen until you start forcing yourself to ask the questions and come up with some answers, even if you’re not sure they are the right ones. 

With Cautious, Open Arms

2016 was not kind to me. A LOT of people felt screwed over, screwed up by 2016, myself included. Political reasons aside, did we all just have a hard time in our personal lives? I started my year out rough, I remember. By July I was seeing a therapist for sexual confusion, anxiety and depression, extreme cognitive dissonance over religion/spiritual beliefs, and general inner turmoil surrounding dating and my possibility to even be in a healthy relationship. In my mind I had gone crazy. I sought doctors and even psychiatrists, googling every mental disorder on the internet trying to figure out what was plaguing me.

In the worst of the year, I see now that I had been unnecessarily beating myself up for everything that wasn’t even my fault or in my control. The negative messages were so strong, the only way to explain it is that it felt like someone else was in my head telling me constant lies about my lack of self-worth. It got worse as the year progressed. On top of the back and forth with God, which messed me up beyond explanation, my heart took a beating when I tried to date someone from my past who I had no business dating, fooling myself and setting my fragile self up for failure. It ended with a series of emotional arguments that left both of us more hurt and confused about life and love and the possibility of anything working for two people at the same time at all.

It was hard to be kind. I grew numb to things and people, angry at everything. I went about my days in retreated silence, passing strangers who probably thought I was a very mean person due to the pained expression always on my face. I didn’t bother to try to change it. I was in pain. Living was painful; I was just trying to get through the days.

I finally decided I would have to let go of God and religion. For a while I had been trying to hang on, even after the months of extreme roller coaster ups and downs. I needed to not FEEL anything about it for a while. I was sick of crying. I was sick of obsessing. For my own mental sake, I let God go completely and forced painful things into locked boxes in my mind, and I think I began to heal. I spent a lot of time outside, hiking everywhere I knew I could, whether or not I felt like it was doing good things for my soul. I distracted myself from the shattered mental state I was in by chasing experiences and fun things to do, because that was all I could look forward to. The distractions lasted a moment, at first. I learned to operate very selfishly, and I think I’m still doing that in a sense, and maybe that’s just what everyone else does and I’m just now catching on. Eventually I learned how to laugh again and that I could make other people laugh and that my presence is valuable to some.

It’s hard to look back on 2016 and even think about these painful memories. The lies. The utter self-hatred. The absolute hopelessness. Does it mean that I’m not healed if I am crying now because of it, still? I tried as hard as I could NOT to look back because it was the only way I could move forward, but I didn’t actually deal with any of it, unless burying an issue and moving on counts as ‘dealing’. With religion, anyway, there was nothing else I could do. I had to give up, and I present-tense, have to be an agnostic that says, “I don’t know,” or else I will get caught in the relentless hurricane of questions and attempts at reconciliations and trying to make everything cohesively make sense on one side or the other, which I’ve just decided is impossible.

I wish I could pray to someone and know that I am being heard and looked out for. It’s a comforting thing when I let myself believe that’s true, but it can only go that far. I can only use God for comfort and security, nothing else, otherwise that’s when the world falls apart and I can’t function without analyzing and destroying everything in my life.

A new year is upon us already, and I’ve been gearing up for some time now. Last year at this time I was caught off guard by the fact that I let a year go by without accomplishing much of anything. I started 2016 lonely, insecure, doubtful, and lost. It had only been the beginning. This new year though, I saw it coming months ahead of time and prepped myself so I wouldn’t be in the same dismal situation. Honestly I am just proud and glad to have made it through.

Reflections on the new year are good, I’ve decided, at least this time around. I can see where I came from, and I can rejoice in my improvements. However, I will not pretend that I’m invincible now just because I’m doing much better. I will not proclaim 2017 is about to be the greatest year, because what if it also sucks? It could potentially be worse; it will undoubtedly have its own trials, and I must be prepared for that. A much needed reminder at the start of this new calendar is that I am still a work in progress. I am still vulnerable, fragile, and not immune to relapses. I have had panic attacks and serious breakdowns in the last 6 months – something I shouldn’t try to forget. I humbly remember the hardships that have caused me to stumble, with honesty, but also with preparedness going forward.

I have a list in-the-making of vows to myself, rules of life, as you will. I’ve decided that my mental and emotional health is important, and I am happy to be doing what it takes to take care of ME. Most importantly, and the rule that every other motto stems from, is I promise to give myself grace, no matter what. I promise to never beat myself up because I think I’m falling short or have messed up. I promise to acknowledge that my life story is my own, and my journey looks different from everyone else’s. There is no ‘right way’ of doing things, and I have no obligation to measure my life’s accomplishments and movements to anything other than what works for me.

My life is also want I want to make of it. No matter what my relationship status is or how close a circle of friends I’m in, I have the freedom to partake in things that are new or interesting to me whenever I get bored. I have immense freedom to decide what to devote my time to, and thus, where my life will go. The possibilities are endless. Not only that, but I can also do hard things, and I can do them by myself. I am capable of overcoming fears by equipping myself with what I need to handle a situation. Nothing can hold me back if I put in the time to learn how to address the obstacles that might come up.

Lastly, I promise not to forget how big a support system I have in my family. They are not the people I want to spend every day with, and that’s OK, but I do not take them for granted. In all my life’s terrifying moments when I can only see the pathetic, thin, insecure shell of the self I usually am, my parents are there for me and ready to accept and embrace whoever it is I’m turning out to be. I can never forget the love my family has for me, or the progress I’ve made. To be emotionally and mentally healthy today is not something I have earned or deserved. Gratefulness has a place in my life, with or without a belief in god.

If 2016 was not your year, please follow my advice and reflect on the positives. Look at 2017 with optimistic but realistic eyes, and remember to love yourself with patience, be grateful for what you have, and just make sure you stick it out, because better times are ahead. I greet the new year with cautious, open arms. The trails I will hike, the sunsets I will see, the food I will make and eat. The story that is my own that I am writing all for myself. The grace I will have for myself, because I deserve not to loathe who I am and the mistakes I think I've made. The beauty I will see, the adventures I will have …

… to 2017.

The Outpouring

I stopped writing. Or, rather, years ago I gave in to the analytic part of my brain that liked numbers and problem solving, chased other things in life such as spirituality and school, and stopped trying to capture and recompose the things I found beautiful in the world with my own limited words. On one level, I think I realized nothing I can ever say will do justice to the experiences that awaken me deep down in my core, although I can’t help but still give feeble attempts to do so with the occasional extended post on social media. Lately, said posts have been accompanied by a picture of something in nature, or occasionally an inanimate object that symbolizes for me something profound that I’ve discovered in myself or through relationships. But could I ever convey to someone with language what is conveyed to me through actual magic? The magic in the air that literally stops me in my tracks on a snow-laden path in the beginning of winter, staring in awe at the fresh dusting on the pine trees, the vastness of the canyon walls, the sharp contrast of the dark greens against the royal, magnificent white, all the while enveloped by the thickest layer of silence that makes me want to stop breathing altogether in order not to disturb the captivating place I’m in?

I am small and I am an intruder in those moments, and it is a privilege that mine get to be the only footsteps on the path, and that I may share the same breath as the birds chirping sweetly above, who belong in this citadel of trees. I do not belong, for I dwell away from the mountain, in a funny human-made thing called a ‘city’ that is constructed with plastic. Cities offer occasional glimpses of beauty to be caught here and there, if you’re lucky, if you’re looking, but they are mostly hollow. If you’re not paying attention you won’t even notice you’re trapped in one, because the walls are made of mirrors that point inward and keep you from desiring the true source of life. So I am a city dweller, but proudly waking up to the reality of it; and that I am allowed to sometimes spend time outside of the hollow structure, in the natural world where the sun’s rays are an intimate friend with a personality instead of merely a source of light to be used for our own purposes, brings me to my knees in gratitude.

After all, who are we to claim this earth as our own, forging paths and processes with our evolutionary expertise, ‘perfecting’ the world as we like to think of it? We build machines to do everything for us and thus become bored by the lack of beauty, seeking entertainment everywhere within the mirrored, plastic structure in which we are stuck. We even grow accustomed to our own unhappiness, finding ourselves unsatiated by the small tastes we do get of the vision that is the natural earth. “It doesn’t do much for me,” some say after a brief walk on a dirt trail, and for those people I feel a sort of sadness. The forests, rivers, meadows, rocks, and canyons have much to teach us, but we must humble ourselves to be willing to learn from them. Only then will our capacity to experience the beauty grow.

I had stopped writing – or, rather, took a long pause - for a couple of reasons, some simplistic and straightforward, others much more complex. But I have seen too much wonder in the recent years of my life to let the appreciation continue to go unspoken for fear of an inability to reconstruct the magic. I’ve been utterly captivated by the raw world and the things I’m learning from it, resulting in this outpouring of feelings and thoughts that I can't control. For that reason, I look forward to every next encounter I get to have with the sun, moon, stars, earth, and ocean, and every meaningful moment inbetween. To all the upcoming evenings gazing up at the sky from whatever perch I am called to in the moment, be it the hilltop at my neighborhood park or a mountain peak that I labored up for hours just to say goodnight to the sun - I'm ready.