I want to paint a broader and more accurate picture of this experience than the images on social media allow. I want to show how I am failing. And learning to befriend failure. I do not mean it as too harsh a word, I just mean very simply the idea of not succeeding at an intended goal or accomplishment, struggling to keep up and then not keeping up. The daily practice of failing.

Here I am out West, land of the adventurous and rugged, trying to do some of the outdoor activities that I’ve not put too much effort into thus far, or have only started in the last couple of years. For example, I’ve technically been climbing for years, but a long way off from being a “climber”, have not prioritized the sport and, therefore, have not gained much skill over time. I’ve only begun to mountain bike more consistently in the past two and a half years or so, with the last 10 months being mostly focused on recovering from a significant injury. I feel as though the wet heat of the east has softened me a bit, although I was never worn and weathered to begin with.

One of my intentions for my time traveling is to pursue these adventures, to push my body to greater abilities and develop my skills as I go. I’ve said yes to opportunities to climb and mountain bike with people I don’t know, at skill levels sometimes far greater than mine… and I have fallen, gotten scraped up, I have walked parts of rides that seem easy for others, I have pawed at the base of climbs like a declawed cat trying to scale the curtains. My 24 year old self would be dying of embarrassment, in tears in my car after the outing, refusing to meet up again with the new friends who witnessed such foolishness. Thank goodness I am no longer 24. I have a long way to go before full self-acceptance, but my 36 year old self is now in tears of laughter as I observe the sometimes ridiculousness of the situation. And I gladly continue to dive into new friendships, as the truth of it is that people are just happy to make connections, and no one cares about my skill level (can I go back in time and deliver this message to that baby version of myself in Boulder Canyon, frustrated beyond belief with my first attempts at climbing?).

More importantly though, I am trying to feed the part of me that can just be glad I showed up, that can embrace the fun that comes with the bruises and scrapes, that can recognize that growth is happening. As a mentor told me yesterday regarding several aspects of what I am currently navigating, “your body has never done this before”. They weren’t focusing on the climbing or mountain biking, they were referencing this stage of life, this transition, this way of living (a mobile lifestyle away from the community I have known for the past 11 years, after 15 years of commitment to my partner, post my mother's life-threatening illness that awakened us to the truth of mortality). So of course it takes time to learn, and it is important to have those “rest days” … again, not just from the outdoor activity, but also from the new way of living. We spoke of the value of doing things where I don’t find myself so stretched or at the limit of my capacity…this is important for my nervous system, it allows for expansion over time, and it allows for all the newness to integrate.

So… failure… yeah.

It’s a way to stretch and grow. It’s a way to expand my capacity, and important to be followed by rest, healing, integration… a little licking of the wounds before returning to the pursuit.

Currently the scrapes are healing and the bruises are turning lovely colors…. And I will spend the afternoon floating a river of slow meandering currents, allowing the failures to metabolize into deeper strengths and unforeseen capacities.

Three bikes and a gal shoved in the back of a minivan. Smiles for miles.

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