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Instead of my usual debauchery for my birthday, this year I decided to mix things up and go on a hike. The way up was fabulous - great conversation, cohesive group, sunshine, goodness. We decided to take a different way down, coming back down the north facing side of the mountain. This meant there was snow. A lot of snow. In some cases, it was as deep as our knees or even our hips is some patches. It was a lot of work, slogging through it.
Our feet got wet, the snow burned my bare skin, I had giant blisters, and I was pissed off. Mad as hell at the snow.
There’s nothing like a birthday to stir up a bunch of trouble.
I was swearing, negotiating, hating, resenting, stomping and trudging my way through the snow; I was asking myself how the hell I got there. I was wanting OUT, wanting to stop right there in the middle of the bush. Wanting a helicopter to swoop in and rescue me. Feeling all Blair Witch. Wondering: is it better or worse to stay here or keep going? Is it too late to turn around? Where is that damn helicopter?
How is that a fucking metaphor for my life??? WAITING TO BE RESCUED.
I wanted to be rescued out of a situation that I totally created, that I chose. And as soon as something I couldn’t control happened, as soon as something I didn’t like or want happened, I bailed. I mean I bailed on myself. And then I wanted someone else to fix it.
And so I’m hating this part of myself. I’m hating that I’m hating it. Hating that I’m ‘shoulding’ all over myself. I should be enjoying this.
And really, all I want to do is get through it. And others saying: what did you expect – we’re in the mountains in May.
And I'm wanting to punch them in the teeth. And I'm wanting permission to just be. Be present, be angry, be pissed off, and get through it on my own. I don’t need placating, I don’t need rescuing, I don’t need cheering up, I don’t need a pat on the shoulder, I don’t need a pep talk, I don’t need condescension or to be patronized. I don’t need a silver lining. I don’t need to BE TOLD HOW TO FEEL.
I need to be left the fuck alone to trudge through this god-damned snow.
And yet is that really how I want to live my life?
Well of course not. I don’t want to be left alone! I want friends there encouraging me, and helping me and supporting me and loving me.
And so the question remains to be seen – why do I turn it away when it is freely given?
Why do I do this to myself?
What is that about?
And what lessons are there for me, in the snow? In the now?
What’s the most beautiful part about that hike? Was it the summit? Was the most difficult the way up? No it wasn’t. The most difficult was the way down. Unexpectedly. It caught me off guard. I couldn’t control it.
So I've been carrying that day around me with, and trying to apply it to other areas of my life, trying to learn to love what I hate. To learn to love myself in those moments. To send myself and the snow and all those deep and nasty and ugly parts of me love, love , love when I need it most.
Surrender, surrender, surrender.
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Some candid pictures were put up after the hike. And they’re not pretty.
What I don’t like about them is how my body looks and how terrible my posture is. I’m slumped down. I’m trying to make myself smaller.
Every cell of my being is screaming, TAKE THOSE FUCKING PICTURES DOWN. HOW DARE YOU, but I know there is value in leaving them, and breathing through it. And accepting and sending love to that woman with the bad posture duking it out with her demons.
Surrender, surrender, surrender.
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