It's rare.

My search for meaning in the outdoors, and some songs to accompany.

I had an interesting conversation with a friend and athlete I coach a while back who had been following some of the things I’d done outdoors in a local facebook group over the years, and had read some of the things I wrote about them. He had picked up on the general melancholia and romance I often lean into when reflecting on the hard days and emotional evenings. He recalled thinking at times that his question for me was, “Are you okay?” I laughed. I really don’t know if it’s at all unique to me or my personality type but I have spent so much time in my brain, rummaging and rearranging. If I had to describe my brain space, it would be so similar to a character described in the book “Infinite Home”: a young but maybe middle-aged woman, a recluse, who used to venture outside her penthouse apartment in an old building, but over the years went outside less and less and now barely makes it downstairs to collect her mail. Her apartment, where she lives alone, is a reflection of another era: she has collected antiques and beautiful, precious items over the years which she displays so that only she can see them, admire them. She appreciates beauty but is cautious, fearful, of change. She uses a typewriter, wears vintage hand-beaded dresses and cardigans. The relics in her home reflect a life that has happened in the past. It comforts her.

Part of why I write is because I don’t think my in-person existence represents the person who also lives up in that penthouse full of past relics and precious treasures. Maybe that’s true for all of us, you never really know someone’s full existence because there are so many thoughts and an internal voice that is generally not heard from. I think when I write, I’m able to illuminate that part of me that isn’t conveyed when I’m speaking out loud or otherwise interacting socially. It feels like there’s a big part of me that is only known to me, except when I write, and then it’s like a gateway to who I really am. So here we are, here I am writing to a future reader. Thank you.

I recently read a post by renowned mountain athlete Vitaliy Musiyenko (@mtngangsta) where he reflected on a challenging climb on Denali. He wrote that,

“walking close to the edge doesn’t feel like an adrenaline rush. It’s not exciting, it’s quiet and heavy. It’s more like stepping into a part of your mind you don’t normally have access to and realizing there’s no shortcuts if you want to return home. And still…those are the experiences that feel the most rewarding. Not because they’re fun, but because they’re rare.”

I am nowhere near the climber that he is, but we do have endurance pursuits at least in common, and a penchence for high risk activities- albeit mine at a much lower skill level. This deeply resonated with me though. I feel every word of it as if it’s part of my DNA. And also, it represents a discussion I’ve had ongoing with Dan: the idea of romanticizing pursuits, and how it does little to support one’s success, physically or mentally. The reason for taking on huge mental and physical challenges being worthless in the long run if it’s purely for adrenaline, or worse, for external validation. If the idea has been made so romantic that you do it for the photo, or for the ‘gram. For the attention, for the record, for the credit. These endeavors, they become truly meaningful and formative when it’s down to two players: the human, and the environment around them. The human is a physical body, and a deeply thinking and feeling mind. The interaction of those things is so pure, when you’ve whittled an effort down to represent who you are without outside influence. I believe there is no greater reflection of the self as when you are out there alone, and the dark sky you stare out into or the unforgiving wind or the vast forest reflects back to you all of your greatest strengths and weaknesses, your deepest fears and desires, your vulnerability, your mortality.

Slate Lake, near Mt. Jefferson

I’ve chased adrenaline, but I meditate, ruminate, perseverate sometimes on what it all means. My “why” is not going to be the same as someone else’s, theirs is as crucial to them as mine is to me. And after all, it means very little outside of myself. No one else will ever care as much about something deeply seeded within you, as you. That’s one of the things I struggle to hold- the idea that the most important things- emotions, thoughts- are within myself, but also the most important things lie within my interactions with others: love, respect, friendship, shared experiences. Both are true.

I thought last year I would have completed the greatest, most satisfying challenge for myself in the Oregon Volcanic Skyline Route. I put together a route that I felt represented a story of myself, one that I could act out with my body, a runner-climber moving across the state touching all of the highest points.

While it was extraordinary feeling to me, and formative, it was also instructional, and it raised more questions than answers. It was so supported, my struggles were mostly physical. The shared parts of that journey were delightful. I just didn’t come away feeling like the physical struggle fulfilled my curiosity. I fractured my femur 4 days (or so) out from finishing and still continued on. I already knew I was stubborn, I knew I could handle pain, that part never really scared or intimidated me. The climbs were filled with adrenaline, but for better and for worse, to be honest, I have gotten good at putting myself in a mindspace where I’m untouchable on a climb. I’m not careless- no, I’m incredibly deliberate and careful, but I don’t go in second guessing myself.

Completing that adventure left a lot of questions in my mind, and it wasn’t until Dan suggested something else that I started to realize what it actually was that I was meant to do. I didn’t seriously entertain his suggestion at first, but then I thought I’d let it simmer a while, and see what happened. For a few months last year, I did just that, and his suggestion grew wings deep within me. It absolutely grew, the more I kept it to myself and turned it over in my hands, treating it carefully and gently, until I knew I wanted it.

What I’m after in this year’s handful of races and adventures, including what Dan suggested, is to tap into the rare experiences- the emotions, and thoughts- that aren’t elusive necessarily, but that we don’t get to have unless we purposefully seek them out in situations that we often avoid- discomfort, loneliness, suffering, fatigue, and especially, questioning ourselves. It is within these rare experiences that we also unlock the opportunity to feel the other ends of the spectrum: freedom, community or company within oneself, peace, energy, and self-determination; self-efficacy. As humans, we have such a range of things we can feel, we have unlimited or nearly unlimited potential for thoughts and combinations of ideas in our minds. We just don’t intentionally try, spend hours digging through the recesses of our brains to sort this all out and make meaning of it. What I love and feel enormously excited about, in that untethered-childlike anticipatory way, is putting myself in a situation where I have no choice but to be confronted by all of this: all of the feelings, the places my thoughts will go automatically, the options to steer my thinking, the emotional highs and lows. Above all that I could feel physically, my curiosity drives me toward the mental: I want to feel all of it. Not only do I want to stand at the tops of all the mountains and see the world from above, I want to be at the edge of our mental experience and take in the view- get the perspective, keep climbing higher when it’s so difficult, keep moving forward, pushing onward when it’s massively, emotionally difficult. The feeling when you’ve reached the summit- it’s not about showing off that you got there. It’s everything you experienced on the way up, it’s the long approach, the funny jokes, the steepness, the cautious steps, the good snacks, the wind chill, the first light and alpenglow. I want that emotionally- not just the emotional highs that come with a completion or summit, but the process in its entirety. Start to finish, I want to know what it feels like to be challenged emotionally in every way, not by another person, but in the arena of the outdoors. While doing something physically challenging, but less intimidating (to me). That is what I’m after, what is rare.

As per this year’s resolution, I don’t share what is coming up on my race calendar, and that keep things so much more sacred and exciting at this point in time, which for me, is the right choice for now. I hope this makes some sense in the meantime, and if not, it will eventually.

being present, turning something over in your hands, giving consideration before committing. don’t pluck every apple just to throw it on the ground because you didn’t look carefully

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If you’re listening, sing it back.

String from your tether unwinds, up and outward to bind

Tell me what do I need?

When words lose their meaning

I was spinning free-

with a little sweet and simple numbing me.

Stumble ‘til you crawl

Sinking into sweet uncertainty. [Jimmy Eat World]

This song, when I hear it, sends me to a place of freedom. Being “untethered,” spinning in chaos, sometimes even catapaulting into the unknown, but blissfully so. I want the “listener” to be present with me, to understand that some things can’t be experienced via words, but rather by descending into the uncertainty- stumbling, crawling even when it gets difficult. Delighting in the sweetness that is unknown, rare experiences and emotions accessed by undoing the tether that keeps you attached to daily life (and sometimes, mental stability). It may not be graceful, it may be pandemonium, but it is bliss. It is sweetness. One of my favorite quotes from Mike Libecki- an athlete I happened upon in a ski film- “Death and/or old age is coming… we must live sweet. The time is now. Why ration passion? Dream big… and climb those dreams. After al, it is not only life, but the quality of this life.”

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I go home to the coast

It starts to rain I paddle out on the water alone

Taste the salt and taste the pain

I’m not thinking of you again

Summer dies and swells rise

The sun goes down in my eyes

See this rolling wave

Darkly coming to take me away

And I’ve never been so alone

And I’ve never been so alive.

Kristy and I used to listen to this Third Eye Blind album in her bedroom surrounded by posters of JTT and Mazda Miatas. So, it’s been one of my favorite songs since I was around 10 years old. It would be many years before I would catch onto all of the drug references, and I’ve assigned a much different meaning to this song than the lyrics imply, but that’s music- you interact with it.

This song, it’s my one of my lonely songs. Like Jimmy Eat World’s “555” or “23,” or Snow Patrol’s “Run,” or Mae’s “Awakening.” I listen to them to feel a certain way, to tap into an emotion. I have always been able to make myself feel emotional via music. I’m not someone who generally rage sings in the car- I make myself cry. Most recently to our lord and savior Taylor Swift’s “Tolerate It.” I don’t even do it for a certain current situation- it’s usually to tap into the past, to elicit a particular emotion for a reason, to process something. It’s a way for me to ascend to that penthouse apartment in my mind where I stand and the room spins slowly around me and I look at all of the antiques and folded afghans and dusty picture frames, almost as I I’m surveying my life through a kaleidoscope. All of the memories playing out on their own tiny screens, all put together telling a story that only I will ever fully understand and see.

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Light up, light up

As if you have a choice

Even if you cannot hear my voice

I’ll be right beside you dear

This one is more obvious. I’ve had plenty of relationships in my life, but never one so deep and real and supportive and loving- and mature- as my current one. This song is incredibly sad sounding, but the notion of being right beside you- comforting. Late at night, moving alone, sleeping alone, remembering those few lines.

My guys, my heart.