CHECKING IN WITH REALITY

Six am wake up call. I’m off to the mountains today, been getting some climbing in, setting some goals.  I’m not ready though. Consciously or subconsciously.  I pull the covers over my head, roll over and demand a re-entry into dreamland. I wake a few hours later to the same day, my soul sighs and admits defeat.  Feeling and facing is the only way through.

Sometime last year I faced the sobering reality of my overweight physical state, my unhappy demeanor and the negative emotional pattern I accepted as truth. My mind, body and being were out of sync.  After a long few months of reality checking, self-acceptance and settling into nothing more than what my current state could offer, I went about getting to know this new version of myself and what she needed for change to take hold. It’s hard to be consistent, consistently good to oneself. To acknowledge what my needs are and going about meeting them is a careful balancing act. The ways I feel compelled to show up in the adult world has long plagued my honest-to-goodness nature and playful approach to responsibility.  There is no route-map, at times I desperately desire one. I’m bundu bashing (something I happened to be really good at).  I don’t know life to be any different.  It’s a bit like climbing. I’m half way up the rock face, leading the route, the next hold is out of reach, I compress, leap and risk leaving the safety of the clipped in bolt below with confidence and ease. Dyno, a dynamic movement that uses momentum to get to the next hold.  Two side notes I want to make. One, dynos come in handy when you’re a short climber.  Two, characteristics that seem like weaknesses are easily turned into strengths. I’ve never been confused about the direction of my dreams and when they seem out of reach, I compress, leap and risk.  I am without a doubt a passionate risk taker when it comes to love and life but it’s the first year that forging dreams solo has lead me down an alleyway of radical self-acceptance and some deep cross-questioning.  Could I be worn out doing life alone?

It’s ten to ten.  It’s time to climb some mountains, the only place where visceral reality checks are pure and tangible.  Checking out, to check in.  The slight heightened energy of the morning rush dissipates.  The open road brings a slower pace.  Breathing space.  Driving brings the dreamer out in me.  That space between the past and the future is so much more tangible on the open road.

Climbing has always been there, moving effortlessly in and out of my life as the seasons change.  Like a good friend you don’t often see but when you connect you pick up where you left off. Reminiscing about the collective of mountains climbed.  I note that it wasn’t so much the place that sparked an open heart and an imprint of memories, it was the people I was with. Letting the mind wander.  I know that most adventurous endeavors that became a priority in my life was due to the love and connection it came with. At times, I allow myself to visit those people and the dreams so briefly shared. Each and every one a space dedicated within.  I think about my current reality and the life I’m always chasing – a somewhat nomadic existence with the ability to create wherever the journey leads me.  The challenge of creating on the move, environments and creative matter ever changing, fires me up.

I pull off onto a dirt road.  The mountain vistas envelope me.  The vehicle windows, panoramic mountain movie reels.  A transubstantiation takes place.  I become the mountains.  My skin settles on my bones, takes the shape of my undulating soul, I don’t feel separate here. I am the river that flows. Familiar.  My being remembers what it always has been, what it was meant to be.  Content.  Present.  A confident rhythm.  An empowering ease.

I switch off the engine. Open up the back. Brew a cup of coffee and take stock of how far I have come.  Change seems a little harder every year.  The ever-present tug of war between comfort and exhilarating adventure brings up ever unanswered questions.  Can comfort be exhilarating?  Comfort makes me uncomfortable, haven’t quite mastered the art of trusting perhaps. But over the years I have learnt to create safe places, tap into outdoor spaces and connect in a way that at least creates the idea of safety beautifully. For the past seven years I pursued my every hearts whim in relation to my career, I’m not done yet.  I’ve strung together some epic outdoor adventures and noticed an unwavering commitment to work through past trauma. It didn’t come without a burdensome responsibility to show up fully whole and preposterously interesting, equating those characteristics to love and acceptance. Needless to say this took its toll.  After my third surfing injury in a single year, not being able to move freely and being forced to still, I slipped into a negative downward mental spiral, one I was struggling to surface from. I needed a serious tending to my mental wellbeing. I needed love, understanding and rest but those were tools I couldn’t find rummaging through life’s tool box.  I was fast running into a dangerous all time low without knowing how to ask for help in a way that I needed it. 

The walk with depression has never been accompanied with medication.  The walk with social anxiety has been accompanied with many years of observing the nervous system to see when to engage and when to retreat.  In simple terms, I’m committed to the long way around.  This time was no different.  I finally braved being good to myself and went to go see a nutrionist. Within the first two weeks my depression lifted, my mood changed and I wasn’t so angry anymore.  Fuck, was I just really hungry all this time?  I’m no stranger to walking the dark alone and I am proud to know how reliant I am when it comes to being there for myself emotionally.  But to sustain such rigorous emotional wellbeing schedule of survival, a holistic approach was needed. Exchanging the desire to be interesting, whole and loved with nourishing my body. Daring to show up for myself consistently.  Consistency meant support.  Support was what I needed.  In the weeks that followed I laughed more, I cried more, I opened my heart more, I connected more, I understood more, I was more understanding.  My emotions were within reach and I could visit them whenever I wanted which meant an all round healthier approach to navigating emotional challenges in life in general.  I could go through the day without desperately needing a nap at eleven in the morning.  I am cross training again.  Running, cycling, surfing and climbing and my body is stronger and happier than ever. My mental state too. I can actually stand in the mirror admitting that I am having a real good time with the person looking back. Changing my relationship to food, changed my relationship to self.  Profound or common knowledge.  Grateful is what I say.

I sip the last of the coffee.  Take a deep breath. Pack up.  Head on. Montagu awaits. A twelve hour stint of laughs, braaiing and climbing.  It’s definitely been too long. Memories of old flames, romantic tent sharing antics and memorable climbs flood back as I cruise through the quaint streets of the town en route to De Bos campsite.  I climbed my first multi-pitch here. I remember the sensual triumphant kiss and the exhilarating high as we sat clipped in at the top, taking in the view over the valley, cliff face on either side and an on fire horizon.  Elated and in love.  What a way to remember a place!

I arrive. The crew looks like they’ve been ready for a while. Waiting.  I grab my gear. We head off on foot. Like ducks in a row.  Not sure any of us have our ducks in a row but the ducks we know of are pretty damn eccentric, passionate, stubborn and strong.  Rows are irrelevant right now.  We ease into mountain rhythm and river flows.  I hang back. For a moment of centering.  I walk slow.  Ask myself how I am.  It’s new. Checking in with myself.  It used to be weird, now I make time for it.  Weirdly talking to myself, mouthing words in the air.  The air, mountain air breathes differently, my lungs feel fuller, my being alert and lively.  Going climbing is empowering. It feels good to have the rope slumped across my shoulders, the texture of its fabric and folds soothing on my skin.  The clipped in shoes and harness, carabiners clinking and glistening as it catches the sun.  Faint voices ricocheting off into the valley and back.  Faceted echoes result. Vast blue skies open up above us. Rock face unfolds and spills over right beside us into big mountain ridgelines in the distance.  Montagu lies nestled in the bosom of mother nature. I feel held.  I feel safe.  I feel supported.  Not all climbing exploits feel this way.  The Crag towers with wet climbing shoes, Montagu Pass access and belaying area and the Tsistikamma abyss.  A shiver runs down my spine and I feel good about the firm and dependable ground start. We set up two ropes to share between six of us.  We take turns to belay.  We take turns to climb.  We take turns to shout encouragement and share in each victory, no matter how small. Not all of us climbers but the strength of community feels well engrained. I am pleased to be integrating so effortlessly with a bunch of people I don’t know well. And there it is, the knowing that shared life experiences feel rich, that silly thing called belonging takes hold.  We crack a beer. The sun dips.  Shadows fall.  We climb well after sunset.  We walk home guided by a starlit sky. Strong connections and grateful hearts share the fire that evening. 

I set up my tent by headlamp.  Without fail my favorite head resting space.  I go weak at the knees for a canvas dwelling. It could be the memories from adventures through our continent with my family growing up, we spent more time camping under the stars than in a house in the suburb. I’ve set up camp solo in some pretty rad and remote places.  I’ve shared my tent with some deeply loved climbing partners too. There’s that word again and the warm and fuzzy feels it brings. Sharing, a coming together. Together, a comforting closeness.  Shared experiences bring us together.  Together with ourselves, together with people, together with nature.  Simple togetherness.  I cherish that. Deeply.  Just a sheet of canvas between nature and I. I would go as far as saying being so close to the earth is necessary to be reminded of what really matters.  Connection.  To the earth, to people, to self. Deep rooted, meaningful, consistent connection somehow helps our nervous systems make sense of this thing called love and belonging. Uncontainable, tangible at times. 

I wake early. Brew some coffee out the back of the Jimny. I call to mind the day spent in the mountains. Content.  This trip felt like a twelve hour laugh fest with a side of climbing.  Under my breath I congratulate myself for allowing the feeling of belonging to take hold.  Standing still just long enough for resistance to get uncomfortable.  I don’t trust love or belonging.  Most of us chase it as if our lives depend on it, cultivate our lives on top of it. I’ve spent most of my life avoiding it.  I’ve worked so hard to be independent, physically, emotionally and mentally that love and belonging feels foreign.  I don’t resonate with the need for people in my life, but the desire to connect runs deep.  There’s a difference.

I’m in a much better place than a few months ago.  My chase for acceptance was cultivated on others measures, this year I’m doing things different and figuring out what it means to accept and belong to myself. I’m trusting that a deep understanding of unconditional love will meet me on the other side.  For now, I want to be healthy more than I want to be loved, a powerful lightbulb moment.  I’m sure when the time is right, health and love will be able to share a space.

“We can only ever be who we are – and at some point that has to be good enough” – Panache Desai

Thanks for reading, I’m off to be myself.

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