Adventure | Bertram's Blog

The Truth About My Desert

January 14, 2018 — Pat Bertram

I always try to take the most dramatic photos when I am out hiking in “my” desert, which makes it seem as if the place is wonderfully remote and serene.

Despite what the above photo shows, the truth is that folks in the nearby neighborhoods use the place as a dump. There are piles of junk everywhere, but instead of railing against what I consider a desecration, they become part of the mythology of the place and help keep me on track. For example, I know that to return to the city, I need to turn right at the pile of trash spilled from a black trash bag. At the top of that hill, to show me I am on track, is an entire suite of broken-down living room furniture. And on a more distant pathway in a more distant time, is this television.

One of my favorites was this lovely bear I found during my early days of grief. He always made me smile, reminding me that even on my darkest days, the desert, at least, loved me. After weeks of seeing the little fellow, I decided I should rescue him, but he’d disappeared. I never knew if someone else had taken him or if the strong winds had blown him to another sad woman who needed his message.

Mostly, of course, I see such things as discarded condoms, empty beer bottles, and ragged clothing, but sometimes a bit of color catches my eye, such as this toy I saw today, which shows there is beauty in unlovely things:

Or this one yesterday that seemed to be urging me down a different path than I had planned:

All in a day’s walk. All part of the truth of my desert.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Unfinished, Madame ZeeZee’s Nightmare, Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

Posted in Adventure, life, photography. Tags: finding beauty in unlovely things, photographing the desert, the truth of the desert, trash, trash found in the desert, using the desert as a dump. 4 Comments »

A Lilt in My Heart

January 12, 2018 — Pat Bertram

Ever since I made the commitment to do a solo backpacking trip in May, I’ve had a strange feeling, one to which I am so unaccustomed that it’s taking a while for me to recognize the emotion. Maybe excitement. Perhaps anticipation. Or could it be . . . happiness?

It’s hard to tell. I haven’t felt lighthearted since Jeff fell ill decades ago. Watching him waste away destroyed my happiness, and the long years of grief after his death certainly didn’t do anything to remind me what happiness felt like. And even though dancing has been good for me, brought me back to life after Jeff died, it hasn’t been a consistently lighthearted endeavor. Sometimes it’s frustrating learning a new dance. Sometimes it’s hard making my body do what it’s supposed to do. (Yeah, point those toes!) And then there always seems to be one individual I have a hard time dealing with. (For me, dancing is about paying attention, everyone doing what they are supposed to, all moving as one — the zen of it. And some people insist on doing their own thing, no matter what the teacher says. I try not to let it bother me, but the truth is, their improvisations destroy the energy, pain amelioration, mental stimulation, and the joy that synchronized dancing brings.)

Still, it could be that this feeling has to do at least partly with dance classes. We are learning fabulous dances in both Hawaiian class and Belly dance, as well as reclaiming a great tap dance I sort of learned at the very beginning that got lost from disuse. And Hawaiian class was great this past week, going through all our old routines, which truly gave me the zen of dance feeling.

But that can’t be all of it, because there have been many such dances and days over the years. Mostly, I think, the lightheartedness has to have come from the idea of the backpacking trip.

A long time ago I read an article about dreams. If, for example, your dream is to visit Paris, and you are unable to go there for whatever reason, the suggestion was to figure out exactly what you want from the visit and what would give you the feeling you craved. Do you want the joy of sitting in an outdoor café eating brioche and sipping Café au Lait? Eating delicious French food in a fancy French restaurant? Visiting art galleries? Then try to find a substitute for whatever it is that you want. If you can’t go to a French café in France, find one near you. If you can’t afford an expensive French restaurant, save up your money and treat yourself — though it might be outside your budget, it would be a heck of a lot cheaper than airfare to France, and might give you a taste of the dream. And if art galleries are what you most desire, then visit those you can in this country. Or look for traveling exhibits from the Louvre.

What I’m getting at here is that whatever it is that I want from a remote backpacking trip, I am apparently getting at least a part of it now, though I have no idea what it might be. It’s possible that roaming the desert with a twenty-pound pack makes me feel as if I am already on that mythical trip. It could be the thought of walking around with my house (a tent, a sleeping system, and a camping stove qualifies as a house, right?) on my back like a turtle amuses me, even though at the moment, the turtle effect is only in my mind since the pack is filled with water bottles. (Each .5 ml bottle weighs approximately a pound, which makes it easy to add weight and calculate the total.) It could be that I like the challenge of training. It could be a lot of things, but I don’t suppose the reason matters.

All I know is that I woke this morning with a lilt in my heart that even the soreness of today’s saunter couldn’t dissipate.

***

Posted in Adventure, life. Tags: long years of grief, mimicking a backpacking trip, pretending to be in Paris, simulating a dream, the joy of synchronized dancing, the zen of dancing, training for a backpacking trip, walking around with a house on my back. 3 Comments »

Running Away

January 11, 2018 — Pat Bertram

I was talking to a couple of friends today about my upcoming trip to Seattle and my plans for a solo backpacking trip when I’m there. They asked me why I even wanted to go out into the wilderness by myself, and I had to admit I wasn’t sure. All I know is that after Jeff died, the idea took hold of me, and that every time I had an upsurge of grief, the idea came back even stronger, and now it just won’t let go. (The desire for such an adventure is a common reaction to grief.)

One woman said it sounded as if I were running away. Well, yes. Of course I am. But then, I am also running toward something I can’t yet imagine. When I explained that the trip is a spiritual journey, a vision quest, the other women said she hoped I would find what I was looking for.

Am I looking for something? I don’t know. Do I expect to find something? Not exactly.

“Aren’t you afraid to be out in the wilderness by yourself at night?” they asked. Well, sure. But I think that’s sort of the point. To feel the breadth and breath of the night. To be aware of danger but at the same time bask in the vastness. To be afraid and in awe of the very world we live in. We’re used to thinking of the wild world as our own backyard, and yet the world exists in and for itself, without a single thought for the oh, so arrogant humans who live on the surface. Perhaps a respectful fear is a good thing to cultivate — at least it’s a recognition that we are not the center of the universe or the galaxy or even the world. In many respects, we are superfluous. If we did not exist, the earth still would continue revolving around the sun. If the earth weren’t here, we’d be . . . nowhere.

I try not to have any expectations. I know it’s dangerous to be out there alone. I know even experienced wilderness hikers get lost, get hurt, meet up with dangers — not bears so much, but clouds of mosquitoes, lightning, corroded trails, raging streams, and unleashed dogs are all very real dangers. And yet, I can’t let my fears dictate my future — otherwise, I’d never leave the house. (Being a crazy cat lady sans cats is as realistic a fear as any of those I might encounter on the trail.)

So maybe what I am running away from is that untenable future? Maybe what I’m running toward is a way to change what seems fated?

The way I see it, only good can come from seeking the goal. (Not necessarily the trip itself, but the push toward the trip.) Using hiking poles is helping my miracle arm. (The one that was broken in twenty-five places but now acts mostly normal.) Carrying a backpack is strengthening my body. Projecting myself into possible unpleasant situations is strengthening my resolve. Research is stretching my mind. Eating a clean diet is making me healthier.

At least, that’s the theory.

I’m still a long way from actually doing the trip, but every time I go to ballet class or saunter with my pack or forgo a sugary snack, I am taking another step on the trail.

And that seems as good a reason for planning on going out into the wilderness by myself as any other.

***

Posted in Adventure, life. Tags: a healthy fear of the wilderness, a vision quest, alone at night in the wilderness, preparing for a backpacking trip, running away from grief, running toward something, spiritual journey. 1 Comment »

Mentors!

January 8, 2018 — Pat Bertram

It’s hard for me to escape the status quo of my life, to be spontaneous and just take off, so when I accepted an invitation from my sister in Seattle to visit her around mother’s day to make candy turtles in our mother’s honor, I immediately began making plans for what I will do once I have escaped my bonds. Camping. Sauntering. Visiting friends.

As if that weren’t enough to pile into one short month, I also thought it would be a good time to try my hand at dispersed camping or a short pack backing trip, something that would take me out of the relative comfort and safety of a national park campground and put me alone in the wilderness for a night or two. (Which is why I’ve been wandering around the neighborhood carrying fifteen pounds on my back — I need to get used to carrying a pack.)

I couldn’t even begin to guess where to start in my search for an appropriate beginners backpacking trip, but apparently, both my sister and her husband are experienced wilderness campers, so when I mentioned my problem to my sister, the two of them volunteered to help me plan a multi-day saunter during my stay. Not only that, they will know where I am, and if I don’t wander out of the wilderness in a reasonable length of time, they will be able to send rescuers or come look for me themselves.

When I spent those months in northern California a couple of years ago, my friend would drop me off at a trailhead and pick me up at the other end. Although there was always a moment of trepidation before I took that first step onto the trail, the nervousness didn’t last long, partly because I knew she had my back.

I’m sure the same thing will hold true this May — that awful realization I was on my own, then the fullness of the experience and the comfort of knowing that someone was waiting to hear how things went.

I have so many questions that need answering before setting out, but I am thrilled to actually have someone (two someones!) who can help me figure out the right trail for me, places to camp, where to look for water and how to use my water purifier, what weather to expect, and oh, so many other things! (And help me adjust my backpacking straps. Every time I add more weight to the pack, the straps need adjusting, but I can’t adjust them because of all the weight.)

I could, of course, do what I have always done — research, make the most informed decisions possible, and then hope for the best, but it will be so much better to know, rather than guess. And this is such an important step for me. It might kill the whole idea of an epic hike or it might stoke the desire even more. Either way, it will be nice to know that with the help of my mentors, I will be giving the project my best shot.

***

Posted in Adventure, life. Tags: beginner backpacking trip, honoring mother on mother's day, multi-day hike, thru hike, trip to Seattle. 5 Comments »

Sauntering

January 7, 2018 — Pat Bertram

John Muir, an early advocate for the preservation of the wilderness, was involved in the creation of some of our national parks. Since so many hikers (those who have heard of him, that is) seem to revere him, I always assumed he was an avid hiker. Not so. He once said, “I don’t like either the word or the thing. People ought to saunter in the mountains — not hike!”

He continued, “Do you know the origin of that word ‘saunter?’ It’s a beautiful word. Away back in the Middle Ages people used to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land, and when people in the villages through which they passed asked where they were going, they would reply, “A la sainte terre,’ ‘To the Holy Land.’ And so they became known as sainte-terre-ers or saunterers. Now these mountains are our Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently, not ‘hike’ through them.”

This might be only Muir’s interpretation of the word saunter because most definitions say the origin of the word is unclear. And yet, there is this from another source: “Usually the pilgrims [to Saint Terre , the Holy Land] — traveled in caravans for safety. Many saints, and good priests and bishops, from the East and West, preached against what they often saw in such journeymen as a spirit of uncertain and sometimes even scandalous restlessness. The French coined the word saunter to describe such peripatetic meanderings of vagabond types on their way to Saint Terre.”

Sauntering, with its connotation of a spiritual ramble, is exactly what I do. Even though I use the term “hike,” the truth is, I don’t really hike. Or even walk. I saunter. I stop to look around. Breathe in the ambiance. Listen to the stillness. Smell the air. Feel the holiness of the land. Touch the spirit of the place. Sometimes even reverently touch a rock or a tree. (Or, not so reverently, the ground, if I trip.)

I used to go on group hikes, but even though there is supposed to be safety in numbers, I never felt safe. I always had to “hike.” To go at their speed. To hurry to catch up after stopping to savor a place. So not my idea of a proper wilderness experience!

Although my dream is of an epic hike, for me the challenge and the joy would be the time spent on the trail, not the distance traveled. Although thru-hikers deny that that hiking one of the major trails such as the Pacific Crest Trail or the Appalachian Trail is a competition, there’s really no other way to describe it. The competition might not be against each other, but there is definitely a race against time, the weather, even one’s own ability. There are only so many months to travel the trail before the winter snows make hiking impossible, and so sometimes grueling paces have to be set. And sometimes people try to break the record of how long it takes to hike the trail.

Not my idea of a spiritual journey or even just a good time.

Now a saunter — yep, that’s for me.

***

Posted in Adventure, culture, life. Tags: hiking as a competition, hiking as a race, John Muir, pilgrims to the Holy Land, reverence for the land, saunter meaning, spiritual journey. 4 Comments »

Epiphany

January 6, 2018 — Pat Bertram

The epiphany I mentioned in the title has nothing to do with the three kings, though, considering what day this is, I won’t rule out the possibility that this particular epiphany is a gift from the magi — the insight had to have come from somewhere.

This morning, after I stretched, I put on my two-pound belly pack and shrugged into my fifteen-pound backpack, grabbed my trekking poles and went out for a trudge. Actually, I am getting used to the weight a bit, so it’s more of a slow walk now than simply a plod.

My normal three-mile route goes up the road to the desert about a mile away, a mile turnaround in the desert, and a return down a parallel street on one of the few sidewalks in the area. Today, I spent a few extra minutes in the desert, enjoying being out in the open, enjoying the very thought of being away from civilization if only for a few minutes.

On the walk back, I marveled that I seem to be in the perfect place to train for some sort of extended backpacking trip. Proximity to nature. Winter weather conducive to walking. The right gear and clothing.

And then the epiphany hit me — maybe I really am supposed to do this. “This” meaning my impossible dream of an epic backpacking trek

At lunch with friends a week or so ago, we talked about our lives and the future. They have houses, responsibilities, family. And me — all I have is this dream. They couldn’t understand why I would even want to go camping, let alone backpacking, and I couldn’t explain the pull of the quest. I’m not athletic at all — spent too many years lounging around reading to be really fit. I’m not an outdoorsy sort of person — except for walking, of course. I certainly have no lifelong love of camping — until recently, I’ve always been too much of a comfort seeker to easily embrace the discomforts inherent in a camping trip.

And yet . . . and yet . . .

The quest is not — obviously — a quest for discomfort, though in a way it is. It is in stretching our boundaries, in embracing discomfort, in reaching for the unreachable that we see the truth of ourselves, learn how we connect to the world around us, understand that we are nature, that nature is us. If we could see the world and us as energy or a quantum state, we would see that there is no real separation between us and our surroundings. I understand this, but I would like to feel it — to be alone, just me and the world, to go past what is comfortable or convenient to whatever is beyond the ordinary. A spiritual quest, in other words.

Yoda (what or whoever that might be) said, “Do or do not. There is no try.” I’m wondering if the opposite is true. “Try or not try. There is no do.” It could be that in my case, the trying is the doing. Or the doing is in the trying.

There is a good chance that this trying — this training — is the quest. (Wait! Is that another epiphany?)

After Jeff died, I thought my move away from our home of two decades would be the start of a life change — a real journey. But it turned out the drive to my father’s house was simply a trip — the journey had been in all the changes I’d undergone before taking the trip.

I wonder if this quest is the same sort of thing — that if I am ever able to do some sort of long backpacking trip, it might simply be another walk, that the quest is in all this preparation.

Should be interesting to find out.

***

Posted in Adventure, life. Tags: epiphany, gift of the magi, preparing for a backpacking trip, preparing for a quest, spiritual quest, there is no do only try, we are nature. 7 Comments »

Starting the Year With a Feeling of Dread

January 1, 2018 — Pat Bertram

In a post I wrote six years ago, I mentioned that I was starting the year with a feeling of dread. Back then, I didn’t know what brought on the feeling, but I have the same feeling this year, and I do know what is causing the dread.

I don’t like talking about my financial situation because it makes me look like a fool, but the truth is, I spent most of the last decades looking after sick and dying relatives. At the time, it seemed the right thing to do (and I still know it was), but it left me without any retirement. I’ve been living off savings and a small inheritance, and this year there will come a time when I have to make some hard decisions, such as where to live and where to get a job. (The only thing I am qualified for is taking caring of folks, and I simply cannot do that anymore.)

Knowing that this decision was coming was a big impetus to getting my works in progress finished, but I destroyed my arm before I could finish the third book, and I haven’t been able to get back to it. Maybe I will finish it this year before my life changes beyond recognition . . . again.

I’ve drifted this past year, and unless I make those hard decisions, I probably will continue to drift until the money for one more grand adventure is gone and the need to settle into a new and unwelcome life becomes dire. (Oddly, the decision to get up and go on that last big adventure is just as hard as the other decisions because once the adventure is done, then those other changes will have to be made.) Status quo will hold until May when I head up to Seattle. On that camping/hiking trip, I will face the reality of what I am capable of, and if it is possible to live a nomadic life for a while.

(I have two dreams — one, to hike one of the long trails, and the other to be nomadic for a year to see what if anything will happen. It’s entirely possible both dreams are leftovers from my grief days. It’s also possible they stem from the unwillingness to do what I must to take care of myself. Whatever the reason, I do yearn for a spiritual journey, a vision quest, something that catapults me into “more.”)

I have not cried at all since March 26th, the day before my seven-year grief anniversary, the day before I got the external fixator off my destroyed arm, but in the middle of last night I woke with tears on my face, whispering, “I am so afraid, Jeff.”

I have been very good about living in the day and for the day, without too much thought for the future or too much looking to the past, but all this talk of a new year must have gotten beneath my defenses. (And then, there is this dang flu that came to visit me, which doesn’t help matters.) Admittedly, with the state of my arm this past year, there was really no other choice but to live in the day, to heal and exercise the poor limb, but it is slowly getting to the point that no further progress can be made, so I will have to live with the weakened arm.

There is nothing I can do about anything today — not the finances, not the fear, not the flu — so I’m going back to bed.

I hope all your decisions this year will be easy ones.

***

Posted in Adventure, life, writing. Tags: dreading the new year, dreams of a vision quest, facing fears, living as a nomad, living for today, making hard decisions, the need for a spiritual adventure. 13 Comments »

Have a Wonderful Penultimate Day!

December 30, 2017 — Pat Bertram

“Penultimate,” means the second to last in a series, and today is the second to last day of the year, which strikes me as something special to celebrate. We have all, even the most curmudgeonly among us, at one time or another celebrated New Years Eve or New Years Day, if only with the purchase of a new calendar or a perfunctory toast with a bit of bubbly, but it seems as if this day is just as worthy of a toast as those two more iconic days. I mean, how often does one get to use the word penultimate? For that alone, I will pop open a bottle of sparkling apple/pear juice and toast the day.

Being cognizant of the second to last day of the year also gives us a chance to ease gradually into the end of a year/beginning of a new year cycle. Too often it seems that one second it is the old year and the next second it is a new year (I’m being silly here because obviously, that is the way things work), and celebrating this day gives us more of a buffer, an extra day to reflect on what was and what we hope will be.

Besides being penultimate, today was worthy of celebration in itself. For me, anyway. It was a gorgeous day, a perfect day for a practice hike. So I shrugged on my trainer backpack (my real backpack but with minimal weight) and headed out. That I could even walk three miles with ten pounds on my back and two pounds on my front (a fanny pack flipped to the front to make the water bottles more accessible) is something to celebrate. Even more — for a few minutes during the trek, I stopped feeling all that weight, which makes me think I will eventually be able to add more without any trouble. (Well, a little trouble. I was trying to make sure I stood upright instead of leaning forward, and I must have forgotten to tilt my hips forward to lessen the hip arch, and I can it feel it in my lower back. Ouch.)

Still, a little pain never hurt anyone, and pain in itself is something to celebrate. It means we’re alive! And that, for sure, is something to celebrate.

So, have a wonderful penultimate day!

***

Posted in Adventure, culture, life. Tags: finding things to celebrate, penultimate, penultimate day of the year, practice hike, second to last day of the year, the day before New Year's Eve. 7 Comments »

Getting a Head Start on New Years Resolutions

December 28, 2017 — Pat Bertram

I don’t really make New Year’s resolutions. Except for the calendar change, there isn’t anything that makes one year different from another. Seasons are cyclical, orbits are cyclical, life is cyclical — and by their very natures, cycles have no beginning or end. Still, a new year is a useful convention in the same way that a new day is a useful convention, giving us the feel of a new start, and so I am getting a head start on my resolutions.

Often during the year, I resolve to go back to a healthy diet and be more conscientious when it comes to an exercise program, but however disciplined I am, there comes a day when I simply do not care, and there ends the discipline. (This is, I think, a lingering effect of my grief over Jeff’s death, and seems to be a cycle that many of us left behind succumb to. On the one hand, we want to do what’s right. On the other hand, it makes no difference what we do — healthy or not, we all end up in the grave or the crematorium.)

I am going through one of my disciplined stages (or rather, my wanting-to-be-disciplined stage since this is only day two of this new cycle) in an effort to “youth” instead of “age.” Impossible, probably, to ratchet back the toll of the years, but it would take such a miraculous feat to enable me even to attempt my impossible dream of an iconic hike.

The only item on my disciplined to do list that I did not follow yesterday was perhaps the least important — the no eating after 6 o’clock rule. The others I did — stretched, lifted weights (very light weights considering my weak hand, wrist, and elbow), ate plenty of vegetables, and skipped the sugar, wheat, and milk products. Most importantly, I strapped on my backpack, added a bit of weight (the whole contraption weighed maybe eight pounds) and went for a two and a half mile trudge around the neighborhood.

Who would have thought so few pounds would make such a difference? I could walk but not with any bounce, speed, or glide to my step. And even though I used trekking poles and kept myself upright (too often you see people with backpacks bent over from the weight) my lower stomach muscles feel tight, and the inside of my thighs right above the knees are sore. (These must be muscles that my various dance classes don’t develop.) Those pains are in addition to an all-over body ache.

We’ll see what happens after a few days of this disciplined life. Before even the new year begins, I might have already broken my resolutions. But maybe not. There is that impossible dream — the unreachable star — to stretch toward.

Or trudge toward, as the case may be.

***

Posted in Adventure, life. Tags: disciplined life, dreaming of a long distance hike, impossible dreams, new years resolutions, no wheat milk or sugar, preparing for a hike, unreachable star. 8 Comments »

Measuring Success

December 19, 2017 — Pat Bertram

In her book Anatomy of Spirit, Caroline Myss writes: “While we measure our own success in terms of our personal comfort and security, the universe measures our success by how much we have learned. So long as we use comfort and security as our criteria of success, we will fear our own intuitive guidance because by its very nature it directs us into new cycles of learning that are sometimes uncomfortable.”

I’m not sure I’ve ever measured success by comfort, though it has long been a favorite pursuit of mine. Why try for big adventures when you can stay home in the comfortable chair and get almost the same benefits by reading about people on big adventures? (Apparently, there is a place in our brains that translates such vicarious pleasures into its own reality, though I doubt you get the same benefit you would get if you were actually out on the adventure, and I know you don’t get any physical benefits, but it is definitely more comfortable.)

I have never measured success by security, either, though I certainly wish I didn’t have to worry about money. (Whenever I think such a thought, a tiny reciprocal thought appears — “well, then, don’t worry about it.”)

As for what the universe wants and measures, I haven’t a clue. Does the universe have cognition? It’s hard to tell. The universe doesn’t talk to me, and it has not yet imparted what sort of lesson I have learned from nearly destroying my hand/wrist/arm/elbow. Shouldn’t I have learned something? You’d think such a traumatic experience would have led me somewhere meaningful, but I cannot think of a single lesson I have learned.

This is all just semantics because, with my continued talk of going on a grand adventure, I obviously believe the truth of Myss’s statement — I do feel some sort of intuitive guidance toward the very idea of doing an iconic hike. And she make sense of why I would dream of going on an epic backpacking trip that not only is seemingly impossible for me, but also terrifies me. Oddly, mental stagnation scares me even more — while comfort is . . . well, comfortable . . . it certainly is not something to get the senses heightened, brain synapses firing, and the body challenged.

The more I think about the impossibility of an epic backpacking trip, the more I find myself guided by the thought, “but what if . . . ?” That “what if” keeps me focused on getting there (wherever “there” might be), and if an epic hike truly is as impossible as it seems, there will still be all the “practice” adventures, the smaller adventures that are supposed to prepare me for the big one, and each of those adventures will bring its own cycle of learning.

Learning has always been my main thing, even more than comfort or security. As frustrated as I get when trying to learn a new dance (sometimes my mind goes blank instead of processing the sequence of steps we’re given), it’s the learning that is as compelling to me as the dancing itself.

It’s the possibility of learning and the fear of how I might learn what I will need to learn that makes the idea of an adventure so frightening and compelling, not just the impossible dream adventure, but the possible ones. In the case of the possible dreams, the learning comes in two parts. The first part is the planning/researching, which is what fuels the fear for the second part — the doing. The more I learn about the vigors and rigors of various campsites or trails, the more I want to bury my head under the covers, but also the more I want to go.

(I just thought of something — it’s this comfort vs. learning thing that could be the block that keeps me from finishing my decade-old work in progress. Since I know what I want to write, there is neither the fun nor the excitement of learning something new to keep me going. Maybe I have to turn things upside down to see what happens.)

I will not consider myself a failure if I am never able to even attempt the impossible dream of an epic hike; I will, however, measure my success by the learning and adventures (no matter how uncomfortable) to which I am directed along the way.

***