NOTE: This is the second blog post catalyzed by a weekend (March 18-20) at the Commonweal Retreat Center as part of a Bay Area Young Survivor retreat. There may be more.
Just over a week ago, I went indoor rock climbing with my husband, daughter and cousin. Earlier in the year I had articulated a 2016 goal of climbing a V1 - think REALLY easy but harder than a V0 - bouldering problem. My daughter took to rock climbing several years ago but turned competitive right around the time I was having surgeries to remove and rebuild my breasts. Her heart’s desire was to have the whole family share her enjoyment of climbing and, for the last couple of years, I have been physically unable to do so.
So I set a goal, as I am wont to do when I need a bit of motivation. The short version of the story (that I’ll maybe blog about one day) is that I not only successfully topped out on a V1, I managed to scare the heck out of myself on the wall a couple of times and really enjoy the process.
Anyway, I walked away from that day with my husband’s words in my head, “It was so fun to watch you scare the $hit out of yourself and then try it again.”
It was fun for me too and I made a quiet vow to remember that a certain type of fear is good. And acknowledging that fear and moving forward, is even more exciting.
So, back to the retreat.
On Friday morning, as we were introducing ourselves to each other, one of the staff members mentioned, “This weekend is the Equinox, a time where we move from darkness into light.” The statement became a theme for the weekend and when I awoke the next morning at 5am, I realized just how dark it could be at the edge of the Pacific Ocean.
I am typically up around 5am. I enjoy the quiet and I enjoy exercising in the dark. Since I was in new and unfamiliar surroundings, I assumed I would walk from Pacific House down the dirt road to the main road turn off. I knew it was scarcely a mile, if that but figured it would be more about getting out an exploring in the dark and less about actual exercise.
I awoke shortly after 5am, dressed in comfy clothes, topped with a warm jacket and a beanie. I quietly made my way down the creaky stairs, topped my travel mug with leftover, slightly warm coffee and headed out onto the front porch of Pacific House.
Then I promptly leaned back in the house and turned on the porch light.
The trumpet vines were in full smell bloom and the ocean waves were audible as I placed my journal on the edge of the stairs, I felt grateful to experience the sight, the scent and the sounds pre-dawn. I started down the driveway and stopped barely 50 feet from where I started.
“Damn. It’s DARK,” I thought as I walked back to the front porch. And then, as I considered sitting on the step, I remembered that I was here to stretch myself.
I set out again. On my second attempt, I distanced myself approximately 100 feet from the porch before I turned around again. I set my mug on the front steps and walked over to the shadow of a large tree where I began stretching in my wanna-be-a-yogi fashion. The ocean pounded the coast and I longed for the first indications of light so I could embark on my journey.
Whether impatience or bravery was the catalyst, I’ll likely never know but shortly before 6am, I picked up my coffee mug from the front porch and walked purposefully down the road. There was a bit of moonlight as I escaped the shadows of the enormous hedges and the dirt road appeared to glow a bit more than the poison oak infested greenery. But still it was dark. Very, very dark.
|The evening before, the moon was big. In the morning it was gone.|
I heard an owl and while the “Hoo, Hoo” startled me, I also found being alone and slightly on edge a bit invigorating in the context of my intentional adventure.
I pressed on and arrived at an open area with cars parked in neat rows. There was the sensation of openness which simultaneously felt less constricting and more exposed.
I continued on, feeling the ground beneath me, more attuned to the noises in the brush. A rustle and run. I imagined both bobcats and bunnies but pressed on. More aware and less afraid. And still walking blindly toward a destination I had seen only once the day before in the daylight. My challenge. The destination was not my goal, ultimately it was the journey.
I knew poison oak lurked on the sides of the road. I heard more rustles and convinced myself they were friendly animals, more frightened of me than I of them. I walked quickly but consciously.
And then I arrived at the gate.
|My destination - the flashless photo of the sign|
I took a flashless photo when I arrived at the Commonweal sign, as a reminder of the adventure I’d articulated, embarked upon and completed. And then I turned around and walked back. A morning marine layer prevented much of the morning light so the return walk remained nearly as dark as the cautious trek out. But I’d walked that path before, I was less afraid, more confident.
The entire escapade took fewer than 30 minutes. I arrived back at the porch with some semblance of light, owls had stopped calling and the chirpy birds were awake.
|And back again|
Although I selected a destination as a goal, the journey was the real goal. And I had moved not simply from darkness into light but actively moved myself THROUGH the darkness, beyond the fear and into the light.
And I could do it again.