trying – Page 2 – Surprised By Joy

“When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world.” – John Muir

Sometimes I think I can more easily name mountain climbing trips where I didn’t summit than the ones I did. Like that time on Mt. Elbrus in Russia where I was throwing up at our camp at 13,500 ft and stayed in the hut with the really funny, nice guy from California who had a headache. Or the time on Mt. Orizaba in Mexico when we couldn’t cross that exposed couloir because the ice was too fractious to get a screw in. In both cases I was a long way from home not to succeed and maybe that’s why they stand out — though I can name the ones closer to home as well.

Looking back at those climbs now, I see they were a way for me to practice two elements of life “in play” before having to live them. I started climbing mountains in my late 20’s before I had racked up any big life losses. So the first thing I was practicing is trying, that decision to tackle something that is really gutsy for me, not knowing whether or not I would succeed. And the second I was developing was being able to fail without seeing myself as a failure.

There’s a critical element of letting go for me when I don’t succeed. It is humility, recognizing limits. It’s all about accepting that I don’t have to be finished in order to be loved, even by or especially by myself. That self-acceptance has come with practicing failing. A choice between leaning in towards the love that has always held me or branding myself unworthy.

Here’s what climbing has taught me. Standing on top is great, especially if I’m mindful of the sacredness of what I see up there. It is a moment to take in all the commitment and teamwork it took to get there. But failing to get to the top just means I get to spend more time in the mountains and I practice that key part of life – trying. Lucky me!

I’ve also learned a secret — no one else in my life really cares whether I summit or not. As long as I walk back into the parking lot upright and smiling, it’s good enough for the people who know and love me. Of course they care if it’s important to me but often it’s what I try that sticks in their minds, not what I succeed at. No one else is tallying a score card of my life.

None of these things are only about climbing because now that I’ve failed plenty in my “real” life, I know they are just as true about life in general. It’s not easy to keep trying big things and its hard to fail – but practicing it makes it easier.

Years ago I had a friend who said to me in a moment of vulnerability when his dad died suddenly, “I just wish he’d been able to see me back on top.” He’d gone through some really hard life losses right before his dad passed and the pain of wanting to be successful in his dad’s eyes was palpable.

I can’t speak authoritatively for my friend’s father but I knew him as a gentle and wise man. I believe he already saw his son back on top. Because my friend was still trying and still smiling.

“Success is going from failure to failure without losing your enthusiasm.” – Winston Churchill

After five years of trying to get something published in a traditional magazine or newspaper and sending out 99 query letters, I finally received a “yes” yesterday. You know what I find harder than writing? Believing in myself. Believing that I have something worth saying. Because sending out 99 query letters has very little to do with writing and everything to do with believing in myself or at the very least believing that it is something I am called to do. If you do the math of 99 letters over five years, it becomes clear it is something that I do periodically. I have a full-time job and I also have 2 young children, one of whom was born in the middle of those five years. My attention has wandered, my internal urgency to get this done has flickered, my discipline to research editors and publications has waxed and waned. In the course of those five years, I’ve gotten a couple of maybes and other nibbles and surviving those when they didn’t work out might have been the most difficult of all.

Writing started for me about 8 years ago when I had the inspiration to record my dad’s story. My wonderful father was so good at supporting other people that it was hard to get him to talk about himself. He was 78 years old at the time and in great health so there was no urgency but I got him to sit down with me most Saturdays so that I could ask questions and record his stories. It was so fun and it brought a new intimacy to our relationship. Then about a year into my project, he went out for a neighborhood bike ride one day, hit a car and died. It felt as if the grief for this amazing man was taking up so much room in my heart that there wasn’t enough space for my lungs to breathe. So I started writing out his story as a way to process how much I loved him. I listened to those recordings and was so comforted by his voice and so grateful that I had them. I got a writing coach and the first thing I said to her was, “Listen, I am not a writer but…” She still teases me about that.

In the last few months when I have been blogging regularly, I realize it has given me the opportunity to practice believing that my stories are worthwhile. The regular act of clicking “publish” is building a muscle of submission, both to the faith that it’s safe to put my words out into the world and to the acceptance that I am called to keep writing.

That is what has ultimately led me to be able to submit 99 query letters — knowing that I am compelled to do this by something bigger than myself. Understanding that to be true means it isn’t just belief in myself but belief that the Universe can speak through my words when I bow to that ultimate power. Even saying that sounds far too grandiose for my sense of what I write and have to say. I don’t believe that me, as a person, has anything to unique to add to all the words in the world. However, I have come to see that it is all a work in progress by a force bigger than myself and what I have to do is listen and believe.

Tag: trying

Back on Top

Believing In Myself