This past week I visited my 19th National Park of the year, Rocky Mountain NP. And although I was there for a family reunion, I was lucky enough to be able to also squeeze in two 15+ mile, 2500+ vertical feet backcountry hikes as well.
These climbs turned out to be the two hardest of the trip so far. The difficulty was not only due to their length and elevation gains. The real challenge came from the fact the trails weren’t technically open yet, because snow and high water had washed away bridges and obscured large portions of both trails at the higher elevations. Thus, to get to my goals, I had to traverse barefoot through freezing streams, bushwhack through the forest, post-hole (which means wading through deep snow) for miles, and orienteer using downloaded maps on my phone (there was no cell service) and the compass on my watch. Compared to typical National Park trails which are well maintained and signed, this was quite a departure, and I’ve never had more fun.
Yet, even before I knew about the challenges I’d face at the upper elevations, I felt significant amounts of anxiety about both hikes. I knew these would be grueling days, compounded by the risk of summer storms and wild animals. So, in advance, both nights I had trouble sleeping. Both mornings I debated whether to go at all. And then, for the first hour of both hikes, I felt nauseous, breathed heavily, and felt my legs had turned leaden.
And yet, by the end of both days, more than 10 hours later in both cases, those physical symptoms and mental fears had entirely vanished. Though my feet and muscles ached, I felt more energized leaving the trail than I did when I started.
Why would expending so much energy give me more (not less) life?
One major reason is because a true adventure, with all of its associated uncertainty, challenge, and discovery forces me to step directly into my fears. And on this trip, again and again, I’ve been learning that stepping toward conflict (and my fears), is often source of power, not pain.
Why? Because, when I let fears sit in my mind (unchallenged) they take deep root, they bloom, and they spread. And as they spread, they suck up all of the available oxygen and space. It’s not only hard to move, I don’t want to move. This metaphor isn’t only mental, but physical as well. I find that when I am interacting in the world primarily through a fear-based lens I am physically tensed, highly performative, looking for signs of danger in every shadow, resistant to change, and ready to react at a moment’s notice. Moreover, my eyes can only see what I know might hurt me – there is no space to be surprised or changed in transformative ways.
In contrast, when I step into my fears (interpersonal and physical alike) – I typically realize both that I am more capable than I thought, and that what I feared was much less dangerous than I thought. I don’t say this to minimize the risk of lightning strikes, bear attacks, or dehydration. They are real risks and should be taken seriously. But in all cases, one can prepare for them simply, and still act. For instance, I can train, check the weather forecast, get out on the trail early, turn around at the first sign of thunder clouds, bring bear spray, bring extra water, take extra breaks, etc.
Both on the trail and in my interpersonal relationships, what I’m discovering is once I’m on the path, and I find that I was actually prepared all along – all the energy I’ve been holding in reserve to prepare for the worst gets released. And with that mental space, and with that physical energy, the world always seems to open up to me in new ways. I suddenly cannot help but see the hummingbird hovering over the stream, the color of the flowers under my feet, or the goodness in the heart of person I’ve long resented. Whereas before I could only put one foot in front of the other, suddenly the idea of creating my own trail to find that next alpine lake on the map fills me with me with exuberance.
To me, this is one of the greatest gifts of adventure, that when we give ourselves over to it fully, and when we get past our desires to turn around, we are given the opportunity clear away so much which isn’t serving us, and in its place create space for the wonder that was always around us to finally touch us and transform us in ways we can’t yet imagine when we are still locked in mortal combat with our fears.
