About five years ago I hiked Mount Quandary for the first time. It was one of the worst hikes I’ve ever done. There was a lot going on in my life at the time, I really wasn’t prepared for the hike, and although I made it to the top with two friends, we were so late that everyone else was heading back down before we even made it up. And on the way down, I wasn’t able to keep up with anybody. With people fifteen minutes in front and fifteen minutes behind, I broke down in the middle of the rock field, somewhere between the summit and tree line.
The voices came out. I think most people know them in some form or another. “You suck. You shouldn’t have come, because you couldn’t handle this. Nobody wanted you here, anyway. You aren’t meant for this. You’re weak.”
Just the night before I had read about Moses meeting God on the mountain. It seemed pretty relevant. There was a lot of crying and a lot of prayer and a lot of something being restored, but also a lot of emotional puke and wonderfully, amazingly, simply nobody around. But I likely will always hate that mountain (disclaimer: I went back two years later because some friends from work wanted to go. I hated it then, too).
My relationship with the outdoors has been strained, at times. In many areas of life I’ve been the late bloomer. In college, the people with cars seemed to have this infinite and impressive knowledge of all the highways, and all the places, and all the things to do, while I didn’t have a car, and could hardly tell you how to drive to my parent’s house from school. So the thought of hiking some of these places had never crossed my mind. I always felt a little bit like an idiot in this regard, and that probably had something to do with why I was such an arrogant ass during those years (because compensation, or [insert psychology term here]).
It’s always taken considerable effort to push past the barriers in my mind and go do things. My first solo hike is a story I like to share with my friends but is deeply symbolic to me because it was the first time I pushed through all the barriers and made it happen. When I reached that lake, all I could do was laugh. I had finally conquered a piece of the restlessness that had been growing inside of me for years. That valley is still my favorite.
But hiking with people is still difficult. Some days I hate that I was born being more interested in things than inclined to act on things. I never was athletic, despite being slated as a football linesman from a young age due to my broad shoulders. Nor was I ever competitive. I simply never understood why it mattered so much to people. I often saw the cruel side of it, the desire to dominate another person, or the desire to benefit at the expense of another. Not that there isn’t a good side to competitiveness, I simply never understood it. “If I hadn’t been made this way, I’d be in better shape. I’d look better. I’d feel better.” But then you wouldn’t be you. Those things can still be changed. You don’t have to.
Last year, I hiked Mount Huron with a group. I was dead last on the way up, but our group leader told me I was only about 15 or 20 minutes behind everyone else. That was super exciting, and it told me that some of my trail jogging I had been doing was having a positive effect. But on the way down, as always, I really struggled. I just don’t understand how people can fly down mountains, and what’s the big hurry anyway, can’t you just take it slowly? I tried hard, really, really hard, to keep up, but I started slipping a lot, and it started to be painful. So as the distance between me and the others grew, yup, all those voices came back out. It was pretty horrible, even if illogical. I would later discover that in the effort to keep up, I seriously bruised my toenails. Almost a year later, those bruises under my nails are still a few clippings away from finally being gone. (although for the record, Huron is probably my favorite now, but I’m typically one-and-done on 14ers every season. They just don’t bring out the joy that lake hikes bring for me).
Sometimes I wonder if the Enemy doesn’t attack us at our calling or our heart. It’s simply incredible to me just how terrible I can feel about myself walking down a mountain when I’m falling behind. It’s deeply discouraging, but then I wonder what sort of lies are spoken into our lives, and how many wonderful things people choose not to do because of the lies of the Enemy.
It’s no surprise then that I sometimes feel an acute envy. A heart at rest gives life to the body, but envy rots the bones. Amen. Especially here in Colorado, there’s a tremendous amount of prestige associated with being an outdoors nut. It isn’t enough to enjoy the outdoors, or enjoy hiking. People only care when you’re extreme. The more extreme, the better. The more extreme, the more prestige. And this applies to pretty much everything else,e too. It’s exactly what I was chasing through all of my career options. Greatness. Extremeness. And one by one, God smashed all of them, leaving me with a career I’m not particularly attached to, an unapologetic sell-out, but also possibly because a day will come when I step away from it. Pretty strategic of him, really: I’m not going to let your identity be wrapped up in any of these things that the world values. I want you to see yourself from My values.
Of course, I have friends who really do care about all of those things. On the one hand, you want to support your friends, on the other hand, you don’t want to fuel the vast amount of ‘stupid’ that goes into so many people trying to prove just how much of “adventurers” they are. It’s a tricky thing, and I’ve generally opted to just avoid it entirely, for better or worse. See my Thoughts on Travel from last year if you’re bored and want to disagree with something.
Today I returned to Chasm Lake, hoping this time to reach my destination without razor sharp rain drops pouring into my face and blinding me (I was so pissed off last year). And I was even rained on again this year, but the forecast claimed it was supposed to clear up, and it did. It was a long drive, and I knew I could still get some hiking in with or without rain, but if the rain had not stopped, I would have turned around at tree line. I’m so thankful I got the full experience instead. But before it cleared, some jackass returning to the parking lot scoffed at me for starting so late, but I didn’t realize his angle until he passed. I suspect he was thinking my destination was Long’s peak, and I’m still puzzled and annoyed and pissed that everything you do in the back country is assumed to be related to the 14ers. Pea-brains. Shove your 14ers up your…okay, I shouldn’t say things like that. But then I also came across someone else who made the same assumption and wished me luck and safety, and I thanked them.
I had some talks with God in that time, and was probably more encouraged than I have been in a long while. Things on identity and place in the world. Also, Hey, watch me clear the sky on your trip back down!
Man. Figuring out your identity in Christ. That’s so hard sometimes, but it’s so important. I have many stories to share based on the themes in this post, but some will never be posted, and some may be posted soon enough.