Yesterday was my Dad’s 78th birthday. He’s had quite a life!
I’m hard at work writing my first book, which will be a memoir. The process has inspired me to reflect a lot on my life, and most importantly, on the people in my life, including the ones I love most, and who have helped to shape who I am. My Dad is among these people.
I wrote the following essay about my Dad so I could give it to him on his birthday. If you read it, I thank you.
Do you have a pebble in your shoe? Among other things, I’m a coach, leadership consultant, and adventure guide. For clients who are looking for something particularly epic and transformative, I offer an assortment of guided Epic Adventures in the wilderness.
When my clients and I are at the trailhead, with our backpacks on and ready to embark on our Epic Adventure, I’ll offer my first–and one of the most important–instructions. This instruction is a metaphor for one of the most important instructions we can apply to our our life, too.
This is one of the lessons I share in my keynote presentation, “Epic Lessons Learned in the Field,” and that I incorporate into my coaching, leadership development facilitation, and other programs. (To learn more about my presentation, coaching, and Epic programs, please email me at coach@yourepiclife.com. Thanks for watching!)
We had a scare last week that involved my mother, who was taken by ambulance to the hospital in Las Vegas, and where she remained until Saturday afternoon.
For more, here’s a link to a personal essay I wrote, in part to process all of the emotions I’ve been experiencing, but also as a tribute to my beautiful mother, and to provide an update for all who have been concerned.
Solitude is the medium for self-realization. Inside each of us, is a vast wilderness, an interior life, that is waiting to be discovered and explored. Most of us don’t spend enough time alone, with our thoughts, and to examine our life and imagine what’s possible. Spending time alone isn’t selfish, and in fact, according to Sherry Turkle, MIT sociologist and professor of Social Studies of Science & Technology, and author of the books, Alone Together, and Reclaiming Conversation, time spent in solitude helps us to be more empathetic of others. I invite and encourage you to spend time alone, reflecting on and exploring your life.
Thanks for listening.
“Survival starts before the accident.” –Laurence Gonzales, Deep Survival: Who Lives, Who Dies, and Why
It was 1 p.m. on a Thursday and I was driving to Denver, Colorado. I had decided only the afternoon before, to sign up for a retreat and was about two hours into my 6-hour drive.
Except for gale force wind gusts of up to 50 miles per hour, the sun was shining and it was a beautiful Spring day in Wyoming. We’ve had a long winter–six months worth–and this was the first time the roads were clear of snow and ice.
Because this plan had come together unexpectedly less than 24 hours earlier I had been feeling anxious when I hit the road. But there’s nothing like a road trip on Wyoming’s open roads to clear my headspace and I felt sure that the drive would help me relax into what I had signed up for and would be the perfect way to transition from what was a hectic few days into an inspiring and much-needed healing weekend of retreat.
As I drove, I was listening to an audiobook, Letting Go: The Pathway to Surrender, by Dr. David R. Hawkins, which was recommended to me as preparation for the retreat. I would only get to listen to half of it given my tight timeline, but I figured it would be better than nothing and a good start.
During his many decades of clinical psychiatric practice, Hawkins’ primary aim was to seek the most effective ways to help his clients relieve their suffering in all of its many forms. According to Hawkins, the inner mechanism of surrender was found to be of great practical benefit. Over the years, thousands of students asked Hawkins for a practical technique by which to remove the inner blocks to happiness, love, joy, success, health and, ultimately, Enlightenment. According to the description for Letting Go, the book would teach me how to let go of such blocks. Sign me up for that, I thought as I downloaded the audiobook last night.
Hawkins instructs readers: When letting go, ignore all thoughts. Focus on the feeling itself, not on the thoughts. To be surrendered means to have no strong emotion about a thing: “It’s okay if it happens, and it’s okay if it doesn’t.”
According to Hawkins, we have three ways of handling our feelings–suppression, expression, and repression. I’ve realized that for much of my life, I’ve suppressed and repressed certain emotions and feelings. This hardly makes me unique, and in fact, most of us have stuffed our difficult emotions and feelings down over the years. Doing so, which is done consciously but also unconsciously, serves as a coping mechanism and at least for the short term, keeps us from having to deal with and/or process the otherwise difficult emotions and feelings.
This isn’t recommended though. It turns out that suppressing and repressing our feelings can lead to anxiety and depression. In addition, keeping these feelings stuffed inside is not a healthy or sustainable strategy. Especially as we get older, these long-buried feelings and/or trauma can wreak havoc in our bodies. (See also The Body Keeps the Score, by Bessel van der Kolk, M. D.)
These repressed and suppressed feelings can present as physical ailments. Which is what I’ve been experiencing during the last 24 months. My body has been protesting in the form of back and neck pain, jaw pain, and increased anxiety.
We get to choose our mindset
Earlier in the morning I had led and facilitated a two-hour virtual class over Zoom called We Choose Our Mindset for a group of 18 leaders I’m working with.
There aren’t many things in life that we get to choose, but fortunately, mindset is one of them.
Every day, from the moment we wake up, the mindset we choose to have will affect every experience we have. By mindset, I mean our attitude, our set of beliefs, the way we choose to see the world. I think of mindset as a lens through which we view and experience our life, and the world. We have the opportunity to choose our lens.
Viktor Frankl was a Jewish-Austrian psychiatrist, neurologist, and philosopher who founded Logotherapy, a school of psychotherapy that describes a search for life’s meaning as the central human motivational force.
Frankl was a Holocaust survivor. In 1942, Frankl and his family were sent to the Theresienstadt concentration camp. His father died there of starvation and pneumonia. In 1944, Frankl and the surviving members of his family were transported to Auschwitz, where his mother and brother were murdered in the gas chambers. His wife was taken by the Nazis to the concentration camp and died of typhus in Bergen-Belsen.
Frankl survived three years of brutal concentration camps, about which he wrote in his bestselling book, Man’s Search for Meaning. This book has been one of the most influential books in my life, and I refer to it often in my work with leaders. The sobering and inspiring book shares the story of Frankl’s struggle to hold on to hope during the unspeakable horrors of his years as a prisoner in Nazi concentration camps.
Frankl wrote, “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms — to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”
One of the things that Frankl wrote that I think of often, is that between stimulus and response, we have within us, the power to choose how we will respond to our circumstances. No matter how bad or uncertain or dire the circumstances, we can choose our response to them.
This isn’t easy work. Especially when our circumstances are challenging, we may have to choose a particular mindset hundreds of times in a day, maybe in a single hour. But each of us has this ability, this opportunity to choose our mindset. And when we choose our mindset, we are choosing our existence.
I shared as much in my mindset class to the leaders this morning. We also discussed reframing, and how we can change our view of a situation or a relationship or a task. I encouraged the group to think of a situation in their life or their leadership that was challenging, that caused them great stress or dread. Everyone reflected on this question and some shared their examples and as a group, we considered different ways the leader could look at the situation.
When we are experiencing challenging circumstances, it’s easy to feel like a victim, like we’ve been dealt something undeservedly or unfairly. It’s easy to fall prey to asking the question, “Why is this happening to me?” But, as I shared with the group of leaders, we ought to change this to, “Why is this happening for me?” Because when we make this subtle change/reframe, we can view the situation as something that we can learn, and possibly even benefit from.
Asking Why is this happening for me? inspires a mindset of curiosity and hopefulness rather than a mindset of victim and hopelessness. It gives us agency over how we’ll respond to our circumstances.
Finding my roadtrip groove
I had just stopped to use the restroom at the Split Rock viewing area. Despite the wind’s best efforts to blow me over, I took a few extra minutes to walk around the parking lot and to stretch my legs and back before getting back in the car. I was filled with gratitude that I was able to say Yes to the retreat invitation and was starting to feel less anxious.
I feel like I’m finding my groove. The great expanses of frontier all around me are performing their magic. With every mile, my mind feels more free.
Living in Wyoming means living on the frontier. There are large stretches of roads throughout Wyoming where few people travel and a reliable cell signal is hard to come by.
But then, suddenly, my throat starts to feel dry and it hurts, so much so that it’s painful to swallow. My throat is parched and it feels like there’s a hard lump in my throat. What the hell? I feel my high spirits sink. I felt fine–great–just a moment ago.
The next couple of miles I took gulps of water and hoped and prayed I was experiencing just a sudden bout of allergies, and that my throat was just experiencing something that was in the air now that Winter was turning to Spring.
A few minutes later, all of the warning lights on my dashboard lit up. The red exclamation point, the service engine light, and several other lights. A row of 4–5 warning lights blinked at me. The car seemed to be driving fine, but these blinking signals across my dashboard were alarming.
I can feel myself starting to panic. Every warning light that exists is on. I wonder, Will the car just stop working? What if it blows up? I can feel my heart beating faster and I start to feel warm. My throat is throbbing. I’ve never had more than one alarm light display from the dashboard before. I suddenly feel warm and as if my heart is palpitating. I start to panic.
I remember a tool called the “physiological sigh” that I learned from the Andrew Huberman podcast. Huberman is a neuroscientist and professor in the department of neurobiology, psychiatry, and behavioral sciences at Stanford University. According to Huberman, practicing the physiological sigh can shift us from a fight-or-flight, anxious state, to a calm state.
To perform a physiological sigh, you take two inhales through your nose, followed by an extended exhale from your mouth. The first inhale is the main one but it’s important to follow it with another short inhale, before exhaling all the way. (The double inhale ensures that we can offload as much carbon dioxide as possible.) Huberman says doing 2–4 rounds of physiological sighs during times of high stress or panic, can calm us down.
It has helped me before stepping on stage to deliver my keynote presentation, and it has worked to calm me during a lightning storm, so I try it now, and after just a few rounds of physiological sighs, I feel some relief. I feel a little more calm, able to think.
Fortunately, I was just two miles from an intersection, and the only resemblance of civilization for miles, a place called 3 Forks-Muddy Gap Services.
I was raised in Wyoming and given the nature of my work during the last 30 years, I’ve personally traveled hundreds of thousands of miles on these roads. Muddy Gap is basically an old building in the middle of the frontier and people don’t tend to stop there unless they need to, for fuel or a restroom.
Right now, I’m grateful for its existence.
I pulled in, parked, and turned off the car. I had no cell signal, which wasn’t a surprise even if it was a major inconvenience. I was two hours from home and in the middle of Wyoming’s frontier, broken down. I took some deep breaths and located the car’s manual. I looked up each of the warning signs and the message was clear.
Stop the vehicle immediately.
Do not continue your travel.
See a Toyota dealership immediately.
Concerned about how I would get the necessary help, I went into the building, where I found a man sitting low behind the counter. I asked him if they were a service station, if they provided any services for vehicles because I was having car troubles. He said no so I left and went outside again.
Gale force winds blew and it was hard to think, let alone stand upright, so I got back into my car and tried to compose myself so I could figure out how to proceed.
I turned the car back on and still, all of the warning lights were on. I turned the car off and on again a few more times just to see if the alarms would cease but they wouldn’t. I moved the car to a different position to see if I could tell if the car was operating fine. It was. But after checking the manual again, it was clear it wouldn’t be wise to continue on the road even if it seemed like the car was operating fine. I worried about being broken down on the side of the highway, especially given the winds were so ferocious.
I then remembered my brilliant idea to pack my Garmin InReach Explorer. The device is a GPS satellite communicator that I use when hiking in the wilderness or leading Epic Adventures. I pay an annual subscription to a service that allows for 2-way texting, allows my family to track my whereabouts, and if necessary, allows me to trigger an SOS or search and rescue. I often throw my InReach in for road trips in case of emergency and since a reliable cell phone signal is hard to come by throughout much of Wyoming.
Relieved that I had a way to contact Jerry to tell him what was happening, I reached for my phone to connect it to the InReach. I have an app on my iphone, called Earthmate, that allows me to connect to my InReach but use my phone’s keyboard to send messages. It’s a game-changer because without the app, you have to form sentences by manually moving an arrow on the InReach device to locate and enter one single letter at a time, including to add any spaces or punctuation. Without the app, it is painfully time-consuming and laborious to type even just a few words.
But when I go to connect my InReach to the app, I see it’s in the Cloud, and without a cell signal, it will stay in the Cloud. This means I’ll have to type my message to Jerry (and AAA, etc.) one single letter at a time. Damn!
I can feel my frustration settling in, but I remind myself of my good fortune, that I had had the wherewithal to pack my InReach and that at least I have a way to communicate.
It took several minutes, but I composed the following message to Jerry. atmuddygap.cartroubles.everyalarmgaugeflashing.nocellsignal.no1here2helprn
A few minutes goes by and I hear a ding which means the message has been sent. A few minutes later, I get a message from Jerry saying “Oh no. I’m so sorry. Are you ok?” I take another several minutes to write back that my InReach phone app doesn’t work. This takes forever to form into a sentence but I felt it was important so Jerry would know my ability to respond in detail was limited and also in hopes he would be more specific and helpful in his messages back to me. I’m also hoping that given the limitations of my circumstances that Jerry might be able to take some matters into his own hands, such as call our local Toyota dealership to get some tips to share with me, to find out if it’s safe for me to continue driving, or to possibly call AAA and arrange for a tow for me.
It should be stated that Jerry was at work when all of this was happening. He’s an elementary Physical Education teacher so at work meant he was in charge of keeping about 20 energetic kids in line and from getting injured. In other words, it’s not exactly a job he can turn his back on, not even for a moment. So I appreciated, extra, how hard this was for my husband to try to help his wife, who was stranded in the middle of nowhere with no way of seeking assistance. I knew how helpless he must have felt, and yet he was my first line of help.
Jerry texts again, suggesting he called Toyota and they said I should try removing the gas cap and putting it back on.
I’m appreciative of my husband’s effort to help, but not feeling particularly encouraged by this request.
I think to myself, I have a 2005 Prius. The gas cap is not connected to the engine or tied to the electrical system of the car. But I did it anyway. I removed the cap and then put it back on. (I wondered if next they would suggest I stand on my head and rub my stomach.)
I get back in the car and take several deep breaths. I meditate and practice mindfulness daily, often several times a day, and I know that right now, I need to breathe, slowly and steadily, to stay calm.
My trip and my plans to attend the retreat are clearly canceled. Even if I were to get help, this was clearly a sign that the trip wasn’t meant to be. But as I notice my disappointment, I’m reminded of David Hawkins’ earlier instruction to have the mindset, “It’s okay if it happens, and it’s okay if it doesn’t.”
I was bummed that I was no longer going to be able to attend the retreat. I had been invited last minute and the retreat was just what I was needing. And yet, I was in a state of acceptance. (This was noteworthy since typically in a situation like this, there’d be some freaking out. I’d be upset, possibly to the point of tears.)
Could it be that the two hours of teaching and talking about mindset with leaders at the start of the day and how we get to choose our mindset and how we’ll respond to our circumstances, and that when we choose our mindset we choose our existence, had prepared me for this moment? If that weren’t enough, I had spent the last two hours listening to an audiobook about how to surrender and let go of feelings. Had listening to Letting Go further “primed” me for this experience?
It seems indisputable and I find some humor in this realization.
I shift into problem solving mode. I texted Jerry back that I would wait a bit longer to see if someone would arrive who I could ask for help. If not, then I’d have him call AAA and arrange a tow truck to meet me and take me and my car back to Lander.
In the keynote presentation organizations hire me to deliver to their leaders, I share that I love that only half a million people live in Wyoming. I tell them I love the people who live in Wyoming, even though there aren’t many of them.
Right now I’d love to see any of them!
Some 30 minutes passed before a vehicle drove into Muddy Gap. A young man in a Subaru stopped at the pump and filled his tank. When he finished, and got back in his car, I walked over and he rolled down his window. I introduced myself. His name was Justin and he was about the age of my two oldest sons, in his early 20s. I told him I was having car troubles and I wondered if he might be willing to help me.
He said he was headed to Casper, which was not in the direction I was going, but I told him that 20 miles from here he’d pass the Independence Rock Rest Area and that I knew from experience that there’s a reliable cell signal at the rest area. I knew it was a lot to ask but I wondered if he’d be willing to call AAA, give them my account number and communicate about my car troubles at Muddy Gap and request a tow truck for me.
He was kind and mentioned that he had a cell signal and I could borrow his phone. Due to the high winds, I asked if I could borrow his phone while sitting inside my car and he said no problem. The young man remained at Muddy Gap for 60 minutes while I placed several calls to my husband, to Toyota, and to AAA. In the end, after much deliberation and many different conversations, I requested a tow back to Lander from AAA. I was informed it could be a 3-hour wait but that a tow truck would be on its way and would tow me back to Lander.
I wasn’t thrilled about waiting three hours for a tow truck, but felt grateful that help was on the way, and that I had a plan.
I returned the phone to Justin and offered him some cash to show my appreciation. He refused and said he was happy to help. I insisted though, telling him how much I appreciated his generosity and act of kindness. He accepted the gesture with appreciation and continued on his way.
A few minutes after hatching my plan and beginning to settle in for the duration, a truck pulls in and a man gets out to fill his truck. When he goes inside to get a snack, I follow him in and use the restroom that’s in the back of the building. Afterward, as I was going back outside, the man was behind me and he asked, “Is everything okay?”
I responded, with a short laugh, “Well, not really. I’m having car troubles and need to wait three hours for a tow truck to arrive, but other than that, things are great.”
He told me he’s an environmental scientist with the BLM (Bureau of Land Management) and that he is on his way to Lander. He offered to follow me to Lander and if my car acted up or if at any time I felt like it wasn’t safe to drive it, he’d use his dispatch radio to call for help for me. And not only that, he had a cell signal and I could borrow his phone to cancel the AAA and to update my husband about my new plan. Which I did.
I thanked him profusely, but he blew it off, saying “This is how we do it in Wyoming.” I agreed, but still, his remark and kindness moved me almost to tears.
I started my car back up and lo and behold, the warning lights and alarms were no longer displaying, and the car drove fine. During my return trip, I reflected on all of the blessings I’d just experienced, the two good samaritans and what a difference they made to my situation.
In my family we have a name for such helpful strangers. We call them “trail angels” and they are strangers who show up, as if magically, in a time of need, and are generous and helpful in critical ways. We’ve met and encountered so many of these trail angels in our travels, throughout Wyoming, the U. S., and particularly during our international travels.
As divided as our country seems to be these days, I really believe that people are mostly good.
My drive back to Lander is wonderful because it’s filled with thoughts of gratitude for how this all turned out. How such a bleak situation had turned positive.
Psychologists have a term, “bright spots” that describes the act of looking for the positive, the things that are going right, when everything seems to be going wrong. I had experienced some frustration and feelings of helplessness, but all told, I was out only about 90 minutes, and during that time, I met two different strangers who were wonderful, kind, generous, and helpful.
I think about the retreat I’m now going to miss and how right it had felt just hours earlier. Given the positive developments and the fact I’ll be home soon, much sooner than I would have been had I waited for the tow truck, I start to wonder about the possibility of booking a flight for the next day to Denver from nearby Riverton or Casper, and still making the retreat.
A few miles before arriving in Lander, I pulled the car over so I could personally thank the BLM environmental scientist for his kind and generous act. I didn’t want him to go on his way without properly thanking him.
He told me his name is Anthony, and he’s from Atlanta, GA, but that he’s been living in Wyoming for two years. “I’ve wanted to live out West all my life,” he said. “This is my dream job. I feel so fortunate to live the life I have.”
He told me he landed a job with the BLM in Rock Springs as a Natural Resource Specialist/Physical Scientist and he and his wife signed a lease on an apartment, sight unseen, from Atlanta. They now own a home.
“I love it here,” he said. “The sense of community is not something I’ve ever experienced before. People helped us unload our stuff and they helped us move when we bought a house. They have given me fresh fish, elk, pronghorn, and duck. In two years, I can count on one hand the number of sirens I’ve heard. No traffic. No crime. The people are great. I’ve spoken to many locals who can’t understand why I chose to live here over Atlanta. I tell them, Try living in a big city.”
Anthony said he and his wife love taking drives throughout Wyoming. They have discovered so many beautiful places that are unspoiled, and love that there is so much public land here, something that doesn’t exist back East.
“I try to live up to Wyoming. I stop when I see people on the side of the road and ask them if they are alright. I talk to my neighbors. I wave at people on the road (instead of honking like people do in the cities). And, I tell people back East how terrible it is here and not to come.”
I had met a kindred spirit.
Back in Lander, upon walking into my house, I received a text from the retreat’s organizer. (Jerry had informed him of my car troubles and that as a result of my situation I would regretfully not be able to attend the retreat.) He said he hoped I was okay and that he was sorry about my car troubles. He said some of the others who signed up for the retreat wouldn’t be arriving until the next day and that I wouldn’t miss anything significant if I’d still like to attend and arrive the next day.
There were no flights out of Riverton on such short notice, but I was able to book a morning flight out of Casper. Jerry was supportive, saying, “As long as you feel like you can get in the right headspace, after the frustrations and events of today, then I say go for it!”
I enjoyed a wonderful dinner with my husband and our 16-year-old son, enjoyed a good night’s rest, and the next morning, drove in our other vehicle to Casper to catch my mid-morning flight.
After the two-hour drive, as I was turning left off the highway onto the road to the Casper airport, a bald eagle swooped low and flew right in front of my windshield.
I have had many animal encounters in my lifetime and so often they occur at times of struggle or deep contemplation. After such an occasion, I’m always quick to research its possible meaning. What does it mean when you see a fox, when you find a feather, when an eagle flies in front of your path?
So moments after the eagle sighting, as I waited to board my flight, I researched what it means when a bald eagle flies in your path.
From the internet: “When Eagle appears to you, it means that you are being put on notice. Eagle totems appear to inspire (push) you to reach higher and become more than you think you are capable of. They tell you to be courageous and really stretch your limits and see what you can do.”
And from an article about bald eagles and their spiritual meaning, written by Kells McPhillips: In Native American cultures, Christianity, and Celtic lore, the eagle is considered a close link with god or gods. In some Native tribes, the eagle is considered to be a messenger between the heavens and the sky.
Spotting an eagle may be your sign to go for it. Because eagles spend so much time in the air, they are widely considered an invitation to go after your biggest dreams and to challenge yourself.
A few hours later I was at the retreat, which ended up being one of the most profound experiences of my life. (I’ll write separately about the retreat at a later time, but suffice it to say I was courageous and stretched my limits.)
Laurence Gonzales’ words, Survival starts before the accident, have taken on new meaning for me. Our ability to survive, or in my case, to keep my wits about me so I could overcome a difficult challenge, is greatly improved when we take steps in advance that serve to prepare us for when things don’t go as planned.
Packing my InReach device, teaching and discussing mindset with a group of leaders for two hours in the morning, and then listening to an audiobook about how to not get caught up in our negative emotions and feelings, enabled me to overcome my car troubles in remote Wyoming with remarkable ease and a wonderful outcome.
Had I not been primed by all the reflection and attention on choosing one’s mindset, and not being overwhelmed by our feelings, I likely would have been too upset to be effective. I may not have been open to noticing, let alone, asking Justin or Anthony for their help.
And finally, I was once again reminded of why I love Wyoming and its people so much.
(Note: Turned out, my Prius needed a new inverter cooling pump, and it has since been repaired.)
I learned something interesting and helpful from famous documentary filmmaker Ken Burns while listening to a SmartLess podcast episode some months back. I’m sharing it here, as a short video, or if you prefer, you can skip over it and read about it.
I listen to a lot of podcasts and subscribe to a wide range, given I’m interested in so many different things. One of the podcasts I often listen to with my husband and three sons whenever we’re on a roadtrip is SmartLess, with Jason Bateman, Sean Hayes, and Will Arnett.
In September of 2021, Burns explained to Bateman, Hayes, and Arnett, that while filmmaking is an architectural and additive process, producing the final version of the film, or any creative pursuit for that matter, it is more of a subtractive process. A critical part is knowing what to edit out, what to remove.
Burns lives in New Hampshire, and he likened the film editing process to making maple syrup. He said it takes 40 gallons of tree sap in order to make 1 gallon of maple syrup. I appreciated this perspective and and the reminder that to make something exceptional–to get the good stuff–requires a lot of effort, time, and raw material. For more inspiring messages like this, please check back here weekly, or subscribe to the blog (at right).
For coaching and leadership clients who are looking for something epic, and more unique than run-of-the-mill executive coaching, I offer guided Epic Adventures in the wilderness. In this video, I share about the first instruction I share with my Epic clients when our backpacks are on, we’re standing at the trailhead, about to embark on our expedition.
This message isn’t profound but its implementation can be. Do you have a pebble in your shoe? Is there an issue or harmful behavior that is making your life more difficult? Is there a secret you’re keeping? Is there a change you need to make that you’re not making? Is there a brutal truth about yourself that you’re not confronting? A difficult conversation you’re needing to have with someone you love or lead that you’re not having? An important change you’re not ready to make?
Whatever it is, I challenge you to tend to it. It is difficult work, but not nearly as difficult as the situation we may find ourselves in down the road, years later, perhaps even a lifetime later at which point it will be so much worse, and even hard. We will wished we would had taken the time and made the effort to tend to the pebble sooner, when we still had the chance. (By the way, I know–I shouldn’t be chewing gum while talking to a video camera. At least I won’t come across as more polished than I am. LOL.)
Thank you for watching. For more inspiring messages like this, please check back weekly.
Today, on Aug. 22, 2022, Jerry and I celebrate 30 years of marriage.
On top of Mitchell Peak.
The following is a story I’ve never shared before. It’s about an experience that took place in the wilderness of Montana, almost exactly 31 years ago.
Jerry and I have similar recollections of the experience and we agree that all of the “features” of our relationship and marriage were present in our first adventure.
And while A Hard-Earned Celebration is an accurate title for this 30-years-of-marriage story, an alternative title could be, I’m a Tall Order and Jerry’s a Trooper.
It was our first backpacking adventure together. It was my idea and I chose the destination. The route to Sapphire Lake, in the Bob Marshall Wilderness, was labeled “strenuous.” I had developed a penchant for doing hard things, and Jerry, a marathon runner at the time, also liked doing challenging things. With only one night to spend together in the wilderness, I wanted to make sure ours was a worthy destination, but also, I figured there would be fewer crowds on a strenuous hike.
At the time, Jerry was living in Dayton, Ohio, where he was a physical therapy tech in the Air Force, and I was living in Missoula, Montana, where I was finishing Journalism school at the University of Montana.
A year earlier, in August of 1990, we had met at a wedding in Omaha, Nebraska. (Thank you Jody and Kathy!) Jerry was a groomsman and I was a bridesmaid, and at the rehearsal, Jerry flirted with me. The flirting continued and it led to us dancing all night before ending up in his uncle Gene’s hot tub in the wee hours of the morning.
After our exhilarating night, we promised to keep in touch, and we did. It was a time before cell phones and email, so we wrote letters, put stamps on them, and mailed them to each other. We wrote hundreds of letters to each other and in the process, we fell in love. (We saved all the letters and they are among our most cherished possessions.)
In addition to our letter-writing, we had long-distance phone calls, and whenever we could afford it—and even when we couldn’t—we flew back and forth between Montana and Ohio to see each other. Neither of us had much time off so the trips were few and far between, and usually only lasted a weekend, sometimes less. It was never enough time so we were careful not to squander even a minute of it.
The night before, Jerry’s flight had been delayed and he didn’t get in until after midnight so when the alarm went off early in the morning, we hit the snooze button, opting for a little more sleep.
We were backpacking rookies and as such, we were properly penalized.
We were only going in for one night so in theory, it should have been easy to keep our loads light, but we were not only newbies, but broke newbies. The sleeping bags and tent we purchased for the adventure were cheap, which meant they were heavy and bulky. And because this was a special first-time voyage for us, we included some bottles of wine and other luxuries, which further added to the weight of our packs.
Our backpacks towered over us and were so heavy that when we stood still, our boots sunk into the ground. Our packs were so unwieldy we feared we might get injured when taking them off or putting them back on so we decided to not take our packs off until we reached our final destination.
We paid the price for the late start by having to share the first five miles of our route with dozens of other people who were hiking to the more popular Upper Holland Lake. It was hot, in the 90s, and the sun was blazing as we hiked steadily uphill, gaining 2,100 feet in elevation to reach this point. On the upside, the views were incredible.
Another rookie move was I wore hiking boots that were fresh-out-of-the-box brand new. Not only had I not broken the boots in, they didn’t fit properly. They were too small, something I was reminded of with every step, especially given my feet had swelled from the heat, effort and altitude. They were on fire, throbbing and pulsing, and I was sure I had blisters. I couldn’t wait to free my feet and soak them in Sapphire Lake. To numb them out of existence.
We were sweating profusely and feeling whipped so we took a brief rest at the end of the lake to drink some water and to eat some jerky and trail mix. We still had another mile to go that would include another thousand feet of elevation gain before we’d reach Sapphire Lake.
As we continued, the day grew hotter and the mosquito population exploded to new levels. We traveled at glacier speed up many steep switchbacks under the crushing weight of our backpacks, inching closer to our destination.
The “strenuous” rating for the route was accurate. We were living proof of it.
Fortunately, no one else was willing to suffer the same level of misery and by the time we reached Sapphire Lake, the crowds had thinned to just Jerry and me.
Jerry and I were still newly in love and we hadn’t seen each other in four months. As a result, upon arriving at Sapphire Lake in early afternoon, it was decided (not in words but in actions) that our sore feet could wait, but our desire for each other could not. After our romantic activity, we unintentionally fell asleep for two hours, and when we woke up, we had severe sunburns to show for it.
The journey to get here had seriously handicapped us. Any time either of us moved, we groaned in pain and whined about how sore every single muscle in our bodies were from the effortful journey. My feet were completely blister-damaged, making it difficult to stand or walk, and Jerry had a headache from the altitude. And now, due to our careless and unbridled romantic activity, we could add severe sunburn to the mix.
Because we had only one night here, and since it was late in the afternoon, we went to work quickly to get our camp set up. Or rather, not we, as much as Jerry.
My feet hurt so bad that I was more or less disabled, crawling around camp on all fours. I wasn’t completely useless, though. I did manage to start a big fire in the established campfire ring. We needed the fire to keep the mosquitos away and to dry out our hiking boots. The final stretch to get here was a marsh, and too exhausted to take our socks and boots off, we charged straight through it and the result was our boots had been soaked all the way through. After I was sure the fire would remain big and reliable, I arranged our boots on the rocks that formed the ring around it so they could start to dry.
I still couldn’t wait to soak my aching and damaged feet in the lake’s icy cold waters, but the lake was 15 yards from us and after all of the physical efforts of the day, we were in need of food. We were in need of serious replenishment.
Jerry got our tent pitched in short order and then, with me on all fours as his sous chef, cooked a delicious dinner of fettuccine alfredo, topped with pepperoni chunks, fresh black pepper and parmesan cheese. We ravenously snarfed our dinners. Jerry had seconds, making sure to finish all we had made. We were so hungry–and lazy–that we licked our plates completely clean with our tongues so we wouldn’t have to expend energy washing the dishes.
Exhausted, sore, sunburned, and stuffed full of fettuccine, we felt like we could become beached whales and never move again for the night if we lingered at camp, so we forced ourselves to get up. I added some logs to the fire and Jerry rummaged through our packs to locate the bottles of wine we packed, and finally, we headed to the lake.
As we approached the shore, we looked all around the lake for signs of other people, but saw no one. We had Sapphire Lake all to ourselves.
We spied a perfect granite slab that slanted gradually into the lake and we sat down on it. We extended our tired legs and dangled and soaked our sore feet in the lake’s icy cold waters and then Jerry opened a bottle of wine. We passed the bottle back and forth, taking big gulps from it.
The wine ran out quickly and we laid down on our backs with our aching feet still in the lake. The slab was cold and felt wonderful against our hot and sweaty backs. My feet were frozen and numb, which I welcomed. I was tired of their bitching, and of feeling their aches.
We laid like that for a long time, recalling some of the highlights and challenges we had experienced to get here. We were so happy to be here, thrilled to not be hiking anymore, and to have all of the work for the day done. (Except for poor Jerry. I had mentioned when I first made the fire that we would need to make regular jaunts back to camp to stoke the fire and add logs to it in order to make sure it would keep on burning through the night. We needed our soaked boots to be dry by morning, but because I had been reduced to crawling, Jerry was generous enough to take on the responsibility.)
The sun was starting to set when I finally sat up and pulled my pruned and non-feeling feet from the water. They had caused me so much pain during the hike that I was almost sorry to see I still had them.
We decided to share another bottle of wine because we deserved it but also because we needed to lighten our loads.
We took our time with this bottle and watched as the sun’s last remaining light painted the surface of the lake and everything around it a sherbert orange color. The scene was breathtakingly beautiful.
I felt tired and fulfilled but also a little loopy and wobbly. Higher altitudes, especially when you’re not accustomed to being at such elevations, can cause lightheadedness and headaches. If you’re not careful, the altitude can also turn you into a cheap drunk. Which I almost was.
Fortunately, I didn’t feel sick, just a little buzzed, but due to my damaged feet and overall deteriorated condition, I told Jerry he’d need to keep an eye on me, to keep me “on a short leash.” I didn’t trust myself or my footing, and was afraid I might fall down and add further injury to myself. I also didn’t want to pass out for the night and miss the sunset or the star-gazing we planned to do.
After finishing the wine, we returned to laying on our backs on the slab and watched the sky. The sun was almost completely down and everything was now a soft pastel pink. It was stunning and as we took it all in we could smell the scent of sweet pine from the forest surrounding the lake’s sapphire blue waters.
“Can it get any better than this?” I asked. Jerry and I agreed it could not.
The sun was down and we were looking forward to stargazing, but it was twilight and we estimated it would be an hour, possibly more, before we’d start seeing stars. We embraced before dozing off.
Fortunately, this unexpected nap was short. My need to go to the bathroom woke me up. By this point, we had consumed so much water and wine that we frequently needed to use the facilities. At least we’re hydrated, I would say every time one of us would get up, moaning in pain and exhaustion in the process, to relieve ourselves. I said it as if to congratulate us for something–one thing–we had done right.
It was almost dark now and as we sat on our slab, we heard blerp, blerp, blerp, over and over again. We looked across the lake’s glass-like surface and saw several little bumps with circular ripples around them. They were fish nipping at the lake’s surface, feeding on insects and every time one came up it would make a blerp sound.
The evening was completely quiet except for the sounds of the trout nipping at the lake’s surface, and the occasional popping and crackling from our nearby campfire. We watched the ripples until there was no longer enough light to see them.
The stars were starting to become visible and it felt magical. I remember thinking, this must be what it feels like to experience bliss. I had never had such a thought before.
Jerry got up and walked to our camp to stoke the fire and to check on our boots, which he reported were drying but would need the entire night to dry out completely. He brought back to our slab a sleeping bag and a blanket and some more clothing layers for us.
As night fell, the temperature dropped and soon we were cold. We laid on top of an unzipped sleeping bag on the slab, which kept us from getting cold, but we had clear skies overhead and it was a crisp evening so we’d need to keep adding layers to stay warm.
Laying next to each other on our backs, Jerry and I held hands. We didn’t say much as we looked up at the darkening sky. The stars were starting to become visible and we were excited. Before long, we identified and rattled off the names of the most obvious constellations. The Big Dipper, Little Dipper, Orion’s Belt, Cassiopeia.
Eventually our interest waned and we sat up. Some time passed with us sitting there, too tired to do anything significant, but also not in need or possession of words. We contemplated whether we should sleep here, under the stars, or return to the tent, when we looked up and noticed the sky was exploding in purple-pink and neon-lime green. The sky and the vivid colors that filled it were pulsating in waves, as if flickering in slow motion.
Aurora Borealis. The Northern Lights!
We could not believe our eyes or our good fortune. When I planned this adventure it never occurred to me that we might see the Northern Lights. I didn’t know it was even a possibility. We laid there, mesmerized, our minds blown by the awe-inspiring spectacle. It was exhilarating and enlivening. Wondrous and miraculous!
We watched the sky for a long time, until we could no longer keep our eyes From closing.
We decided to stay put and to sleep under the stars, under the exploding and colorful Aurora Borealis. Jerry got up one more time to add logs to the fire and soon after he returned to the slab, our bed for the night, we fell fast asleep.
We slept like babies, but it was short-lived. Morning came early. Jerry woke up first and kissed my forehead to wake me up. The air was fresh and crisp and the sun was rising. The scene before us was glorious.
Much of the lake was painted orange and its surface was dotted with circular ripples from the feeding fish. It felt so peaceful and we lingered for a time. As I took in the view, I inhaled, trying to absorb this magical moment and scenery in a way that would ensure I’d never forget it.
We limped back to camp to re-start the fire and get some water going so we could have coffee and oatmeal. We wanted to enjoy a couple more hours of bliss before we’d have to break camp and start our return hike, which we both predicted would be a sort of death march given our physical condition and my blister-damaged feet. Plus, Jerry had a late afternoon flight in Missoula to catch, so we were on a timeline.
Jerry went into the tent to change into a clean outfit and I looked for a pan to fill with water. As I looked for the coffee and oatmeal, I noticed our fire was smoldering but not quite out. That’s when I also noticed the boots. Specifically, the odd number of them. There were only three boots standing on the fire ring, both of Jerry’s boots and my left boot. Where was my right boot?
I looked, desperately, around the outside of the fire ring, in search of my other boot.
Oh my God! Where’s my fricking boot? I was on all fours, rooting around in the dirt like a maniac, frantically searching for my missing boot.
But then, I did the thing I was afraid to do. I looked into the fire again. And that’s when I saw it, the spare remains of my right boot’s once-rugged vibram sole were smoldering in a pile of ashes.
This couldn’t be happening. I hoped it was a bad dream, but knew it wasn’t.
I don’t use the f-bomb often, saving it only for very particular circumstances.
I let out a year’s worth, maybe two, of f-bombs.
Without any other shoes, I would have to hike the seven miles out in one boot. This was a crisis and Jerry and I both knew it. Still, we didn’t want to squander the morning. As I sat and worried and wondered how I was going to hike downhill for almost seven miles while descending 3,600 feet of elevation with a hiking boot on only one foot, Jerry took over my duties and made us extra-strong cowboy coffee, and oatmeal topped with honey, cashews, and dried apricots. Both were delicious and hit the spot and at least temporarily helped me to not think about my upcoming plight.
After breakfast, we knew we couldn’t delay the sufferfest any longer. Given my one-boot status, and our combined sore and aching muscles, we anticipated the return hike could take a long time and we had to account for that.
It would be awkward wearing only one boot and for a minute I thought about wearing no boots. But the terrain was too steep and treacherous to consider going with no boots at all. I told myself—and Jerry, probably in part to help persuade myself—that one boot would be better than none.
It was hard to get my left, swollen and damaged foot into the too-small boot. My bootless right foot had only a thick wool sock on it. Hiking was unimaginably difficult and the first couple of miles were particularly excruciating and slow because the terrain was so steep. I was constantly having to stop and pick out stickers and thorns from the sock and I couldn’t walk gingerly enough on my other blister-damaged foot. Every step, for both the protected foot and the one in the sock, felt like I was walking on broken glass.
I was in a personal hell, but Jerry made it a little less hellish with his constant and loving support. To lighten my load, he had taken much of the gear from my pack and put it in his, and he insisted we stop often so I could sit and get off my feet. The return hike remains one of the hardest challenges I’ve ever had to endure (and I’ve experienced a great many in the last several years).
By the time we were back at the car, Jerry and I were both physically and mentally exhausted. Every muscle of ours was sore, and our sunburns were even more severe because of course we had overlooked packing sunblock. The hike had taken longer than planned so we had to drive directly to Missoula with no stops.
Some 31 years later, I can still recall that 90-minute car ride. Despite our physical condition, Jerry and I were exhilarated as we took turns recalling all the hardships and highlights we had experienced during our adventure. It had been so physically challenging, and our packs had been so ridiculously unwieldy, but to have such a beautiful remote lake and wilderness spot all to ourselves felt miraculous.
We laughed about the adventurous love-making and the penalty we’d paid for it. The sunset, star-gazing and our shock and delight at seeing the Northern Lights! And then sleeping under all of it and waking to the glorious sunrise. We laughed about my having to crawl around camp on all fours and how useless I was. The burned boot and the return hike from hell, and the fact that all of it managed to happen in just a 24-hour period.
The experience, and our replaying of it, left us feeling elated. Despite all that went wrong, our adventure had been epic. We would continue to laugh for weeks about all the mistakes we had made and the mishaps, and promised we’d do better the next time.
As we made the drive back to Missoula, I remember thinking If these are the sorts of things that are possible when I’m with Jerry in the wilderness, then I want more.
Signing up for more
Fortunately, Jerry felt the same and four months later, he asked me to marry him. I said Yes and it has been one of the best decisions of my life.
We were married in Missoula on Aug. 22, 1992. Family and friends traveled from near and far to help us celebrate the occasion. Many arrived in advance of the wedding to enjoy the spectacular outdoors during what had been a typical summer week in western Montana, with temperatures in the 80s.
We were married on Aug. 22, 1992.
But then, on our wedding day, the weather changed dramatically. It was only 32 degrees and it was snowing! Missoula, and most of western Montana, experienced the coldest 22nd day of August since records had began being kept in the 1930s.
Following the wedding, Jerry and I stood outside of the church, covered in wet snow, and rice that our guests had tossed on us when we exited the church. Everyone was gone, en route to our reception, and we were waiting in the falling snow for the limousine driver who would be a no show.
As we stood there, getting more covered in wet snow, we chuckled about the way things had unfolded on our wedding day. Jerry pulled me in close with one of his bear hugs and we embraced and stood like that for some moments, in the falling snow.
The unpredictable weather and the chauffeur no-show were a reminder that things never go exactly as planned and that we can’t control everything. It was the perfect insight to gain as Jerry and I embarked on what would become our most meaningful adventures of all, marriage.
30 years later
The definition of adventure is an unusual and exciting, typically hazardous, experience or activity.
Our 30-year marriage has been nothing, if not a great adventure. It’s been unusual and exciting, and also, at times, hazardous.
Like most adventures, our marriage has been full of discovery, learning, inspiration, surprise, breathtaking sights, celebrations, awe, fulfillment, fun, emotional connection, peak experiences, and so many meaningful experiences. But we’ve also experienced uncertain terrain, hardship, mental and physical challenges, mountains that were impassable, detours, stumbles and injuries, poor communication, re-routes, and inclement weather. In between these highs and lows, there have been stretches of tedium, monotony, and drudgery.
Along the way, we’ve raised a family. We have three wonderful sons, Wolf, 22, Hayden, 20, and Finis (Fin), 15, and they are our greatest blessings. Perhaps it’s no wonder, all of them were conceived in the wilderness.
The outdoors as a staple
From the beginning of our relationship and marriage, and since we started our family 22 years ago, time spent outdoors has been a staple. After we were married, seven years would pass before we started our family, and when I was pregnant with our oldest son, Jerry and I resolved to have the outdoors be a central part of our family’s life. To do this is so much easier said than done, but we persisted and it’s one of the things Jerry and I are most proud of.
Johnson family early years.
Over the years, our family’s level of fitness and outdoor experience made it possible for us to embark on countless family epic hikes, and backpacking and llama packing trips in our beloved backyard, Wyoming’s Wind River Range. We also enjoyed about 20 year’s worth of spring breaks spent road tripping, adventuring, and camping throughout southern Utah, northern Arizona, and Colorado, and in various state and national parks of the West.
Jerry and boys on Clear Lake backpacking trip, Labor Day 2014.
In 2016, we took our family’s first European trip. We visited seven countries and really immersed ourselves in the experience. We went on two particularly epic hikes in Switzerland, and another one in Italy’s Cinque Terre region. To say it was an active vacation is an understatement. Thanks to Jerry’s excellent logistics and navigational leadership, we successfully made about 100 train connections in Europe. Every time we’d disembark the train in a new country, we’d put on our Patagonia Black Hole Duffel backpacks and walk one half to one-and-a-half miles to locate the apartment or flat we rented. We walked an average of 20,000 steps/day exploring the sights in London, Rome, Florence, Moneglia, Munich and the Bavarian Alps, Switzerland, and Portugal.
On an epic hike in Switzerland in 2016.
In Summer of 2017, we rented a van and started in Vancouver, British Columbia, and spent a month traveling south, hitting all the major cities, coastal sights, and national parks along the way before ending in Los Angeles. We enjoyed some particularly memorable hikes in Vancouver, Washington’s Hoh Forest and along the coast of Oregon.
Hoh Forest hike, Olympic National Park, 2017.
In the Summer of 2018, we spent some time in Madrid before traveling to Astorga to embark on our 160-mile backpacking pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago, in northern Spain, for several days before spending some time in Barcelona. Walking the Camino was a particularly meaningful experience for Jerry and I to share with our family.
Jerry and the boys on the Camino de Santiago, 2018.
In 2019, we went on an epic adventure in Iceland that was unlike any other. It was an otherworldly experience, complete with countless waterfalls, hikes over glaciers and to the tops of volcanoes, soaks in hot springs, and a 24-hour music festival to celebrate the Summer Solstice.
Iceland Glacier Hike, 2019.
For all of these extended epic trips, we kept a family journal that each of us contributed notes to at the end of each day. These journals, along with all the photos and videos captured along the way, are among Jerry’s and my most cherished “souvenirs” from the experiences.
Most recently, to celebrate our 30th anniversary, Jerry and I sprung for a family trip to Baja, Mexico at the start of the summer. The trip was mostly leisurely and we had a blast. But as part of our 30th anniversary celebrations, we informed the boys there would also be an “epic adventure”: We’d climb Mitchell Peak in a day sometime during the summer. We did that on July 24, and it was an unforgettable experience that had all of the elements that have been so prominently featured in our marriage and family.
Cabo June 2022 Family photo.
We left Lander at 3:15am so we could be at the trailhead starting right as the sun came up. We enjoyed the first six miles of level hiking with meaningful conversation and also stretches of quiet, before starting up Jackass Pass and making our way to the end of North Lake, from which we’d start our mountain climb.
Mitchell Peak is a mountain that is special to our family. Jerry and I had climbed it a few times over the years, and each of our sons had climbed the mountain alone on Day 2 of the mother-son rite of passage adventures I took each of them on the summer before they started high school. From Mitchell Peak’s summit, we can see all of the trails and peaks, and so much of the country that we have traveled during our 30 years, as a couple, and through all of the particular stages of raising our sons.
Mitchell Peak 30th Anniversary Family adventure-collage.
The mountain climb was hard work, but it was meaningful to share in the struggle, and we were blessed with clear and blue skies so we were able to linger on the summit for more than an hour. It was pure bliss for Jerry and I to share such an experience with our beloved sons and as a family. On the hike down the mountain, the conversation was light and celebratory. We were all pleased that the mountain climb had been successful and relieved that all the hard work was behind us. We stopped at Big Sandy Lake, where Jerry and the boys stripped down and took a polar plunge in the cold waters, even as it started to rain. Afterward we fetched and enjoyed the beverages we had stashed in the icy waters on the hike in, before hiking the remaining six miles back to the trailhead.
As has so often been the case after these family epic adventures, the boys all slept during the two-hour drive back to town. We were home before sunset and we ordered a feast of pizza and wings and breadsticks and then the boys retreated to their man cave and Jerry and I headed for the hammock in the backyard. Laying side-by-side in the hammock in our backyard, Jerry and I reflected on the experience and we both called it A Perfect Day. It was one of the best days of our life–a life that, fortunately, has been full of many such days.
Maybe we’ve lost it and/or fallen off our rockers, but as part of our 30th wedding anniversary celebration, Jerry and I offered to spring for tattoos for the family with Mitchell Peak’s GPS coordinates. We knew when we decided this that we may be criticized for the grandiose act, but we concluded, hell yeah and who cares. The boys were excited about it and we went through with it. So now we’re all ‘branded’ in a way that will permanently commemorate our 30th anniversary, our adventurous life as a family, and a mountain that will forever be special to us.
All of the travels and outdoor experiences we’ve shared as a family have strengthened our marriage, and made our journey more meaningful and memorable.
The other “secrets” to our happy marriage could be summed up as Hikes, Happy Hours, Hammocks, and Hot Tubs. When the boys were young, Jerry and I started blocking out time for just the two of us. Even when we didn’t feel we had the time or energy, or the need for it, we remained committed to taking time for our relationship. Often “date nights” mean getting dressed up and going to a restaurant for dinner, but even though we love and appreciate good food, we knew going out to dinner wouldn’t be enough of a motivator for us so we came up with alternatives that were more appealing to us.
For the last 20 years, we’ve gone on many sunrise hikes and also long distance day hikes. Or, we love heading up Sinks Canyon for a “happy (golden) hour”—right before sunset—with takeout dinner, the cribbage board, and a bottle of wine. Or, we love laying in the hammock in our backyard listening to our favorite music, or hanging a hammock between two trees on the banks of the Popo Agie River and spending a couple hours just lounging. We also love spending time in the hot tub.
It should be mentioned that we couldn’t have kept our commitment to these experiences for just the two of us if not for the generous and loving support of my parents, who would spend time with and watch the boys so Jerry and I could get away for an hour or three. My parents even traveled with us to Hawaii and Lake Tahoe to watch the boys and to “crew” for us when Jerry and I were participating in ultra trail running events. We also had two epic babysitters that we’ll always be grateful to–Korinne Thoren Ryan and Mary Mandel Herrmann.
When the boys were little and our work was most demanding, Jerry and I came up with a strategy for carving out time for intimacy. I won’t go into detail here, but our strategy for keeping the fire stoked worked brilliantly and it has been yet another difference-maker in our relationship and our marriage.
It also helps that Jerry and I share the same values and that we make a good team.
Foreshadowing
Little did we know the foreshadowing our first backpacking adventure 31 years ago would cast on our relationship and 30-year marriage.
I’m the one who usually has the ideas for our adventures and trips, and they’re usually audacious. From the beginning of our relationship Jerry has been a trooper and almost never says no to my ideas.
I’m thinking of a memory that illustrates this so perfectly. Ten years ago, I asked Jerry if, for my 44th birthday, he would climb Wind River Peak in a day with me. It was a tall order. We had climbed the mountain before but as part of a three-day backpacking trip. I was asking him to hike 34 miles that would include a mountain climb in the middle of it, in a day.
As if the adventure wasn’t already hard enough, we’d have to do it on a timeline. Our middle son had a championship baseball game in town that evening that we wanted to be back for. As a result, we woke up at 1:15am, so we could drive to the trailhead and start hiking with headlamps on at 3:15am. Somehow we pulled it off and along the way we experienced some incredible sights, including an encounter with a small herd of elk during a stunning sunrise. But it was unimaginably challenging. With 16 miles already on our legs, and about two-thirds of the way to the top of Wind River Peak, we found ourselves post-holing uphill in thigh-deep snow. Post-holing is always miserable, but particularly so when hiking uphill and at altitude. It was during this stretch that Jerry exclaimed, “Why couldn’t you just want expensive jewelry?!”
So the adventure is usually harder than we anticipated, but also, it almost always provides more surprises and awe-inspiring rewards than we expected. We have experienced some truly magical moments and breathtaking sights in our many years together, as a couple, and as a family.
Many of them fall in the category of “Type 2 fun.” Type 2 fun is defined as fun that may have aspects that are challenging—even miserable—but in retrospect has elements of fun. These types of experiences, such as climbing a mountain, or walking 20 miles day after day during our pilgrimage of the Camino de Santiago, or backpacking during an unexpected blizzard on Labor Day, or mistaking 1,300 vertical meters for feet on a 24-mile epic hike in Switzerland, during which it poured rain for the first several miles, came with a lot of struggle, but in the process we had grown closer for having shared in such a challenging experience. After every adventure, we returned as more than we were before, individually, and as a family. They were, and continue to be, hard-earned celebrations.
With 31 years of experience in the outdoors, we are better prepared for our adventures. Among other things, I wear boots that fit (that are usually 1-2 sizes too big), and we never forget to pack, and use, sunblock. We never get a late start. We always start early and are often on the trail when the sun comes up. In all of our family adventures and trips, we start early, and although the boys don’t love waking up so early on our vacations, the system we’ve come up with has worked well for us.
Recently, while everyone was home for the summer, our family had a conversation at dinner one night about this system we had established and kept over the years and everyone agreed it has been a good one. (Essentially, whether we’re traveling or on a local adventure, we start early, usually before or at sunrise and we are usually finished by 2-3pm. During our pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago in northern Spain, we’d start right before sunrise, when everyone else was still sleeping and we enjoyed miles of trail without seeing anyone else. After each day’s trek, the boys would get to enjoy their independence. The system is a win-win because we get to see exciting sights and experience unforgettable adventures as a family but then there’s still time for everyone to get to spend how they wish.
We still overpack but we have better gear now and our loads are much more manageable. It also doesn’t hurt that our three sons are now big, strong men who are generous enough to carry more of the load.
Sunrises and sunsets have been a big part of our life. Often Jerry and I will go on a hike at sunrise, or on a long epic hike that starts at sunrise and ends at sunset. As a family, we’ve “chased” many sunsets, and we’ve seen Perseid meteor showers, a total eclipse, lunar eclipses, comets, and other stellar experiences.
Not all sunrises and vacations
Our 30 years of marriage hasn’t been all sunrises and vacations, though. Along the way we’ve experienced hardship.
When we started our first company in 1994, we drove 60,000 miles on our high mileage beater Chevy Suburban to all the gateway towns around Yellowstone National Park trying to sell advertising in our new independent newspaper dedicated to Yellowstone. We worked extremely long hours only to generate $18,000 in revenue our first year.
In 1997, just five years into our marriage, we faced a personal financial crisis. Finally all the debt we had accumulated on our high interest personal credit cards from the long distance phone calls and plane tickets during our initial long-distance relationship caught up to us. Barely able to keep the wolf from the door, we finally had to confront it. We had to sell our first home, which we loved and were in for only 18 months, to downsize to a small fixer-upper. It felt humiliating but it also felt good because we were taking responsibility. We worked hard for two years, spending any free time we had renovating the house so we could increase its equity to pay off our debt. Which fortunately, we were able to do in two years’ time. And while I would never recommend spending money you don’t have by charging purchases to a high interest personal credit card, we wouldn’t trade the experience because we’re stronger as a result of it and we are quite pleased with how things turned out.
In 1998, when we were finally ready to start a family, I got pregnant. But 12 weeks later, I suffered a miscarriage. That was a heartbreaking loss. And due to the type of pregnancy and miscarriage, we had to wait a year before trying again.
Between 2002-2010, Jerry had four major spine operations, two lumbar fusions and two cervical spine fusions. The injuries were not from Jerry’s football injuries in high school and college or from our adventurous romantic activities on rocky outcroppings and mountaintops. Rather, we learned during the first spine doctor visit that Jerry has a degenerative spine condition. Those were some particularly challenging times because all four of the surgeries were major and were not things we took lightly. Not to mention they occurred when our boys were young and my business was at its most demanding. At the same time, I was happy to finally be the one to pick up the slack and to take care of and support Jerry.
Another hardship for Jerry related to his spine surgeries was the spine specialist strongly urged Jerry to give up three of the activities he loved–running, swimming and biking–including his dream of competing in a Hawaii Ironman. The doctor promised if Jerry would instead focus on hiking and other activities that were not high impact, he could expect to have a long and good quality of life. It wasn’t easy but Jerry was devoted to his recovery following each surgery, and he’s been able to have an extremely active life, free of back and neck pain, since.
In 2006, our cabin was burned down during a Forest Service prescribed burn. That was devastating and happened during a stressful time of our life.
In 2008, 15 years after starting it, we sold our first company to Active Interest Media, a company that at the time owned Backpacker and Yoga Journal and several other lifestyle publications. It was a great fit because I had been reading Backpacker for 25 years. As part of the sale, I stayed on board as a consultant for two years and I helped expand the model to Grand Canyon, Rocky Mountain, Zion, and Yosemite national parks.
What should have been a time of celebration—a windfall moment that brought ease and financial security to our life—turned out for me to be a mental and physical health rut. I was 35 pounds overweight, sedentary, drinking wine on too many weeknights, and I was depressed. I went to the doctor for my depression and spent the next several months dedicated to transforming my health. What followed for almost two years was similar to my crawling around on all fours at camp at Sapphire Lake 31 years ago. I was doing my best as a mother, but beyond that, I wasn’t of much use. Jerry really stepped up to lighten my load and support me and it made all the difference.
I was able to reinvent my health and by all indications, I burned the ships. While reflecting on our 30 years of marriage, Jerry and I agree that our sustained commitment to our health and fitness has been a difference-maker. Jerry and I are still able to enjoy 20- to 26-mile epic hikes, even if it takes a little longer for us to recover.
We’ve also experienced heartbreaking loss. In recent years, we lost Jerry’s father, and during the pandemic, we lost his mother, his uncle Gilbert, and my Grandma.
Given our ages–Jerry’s 59 and I’m 54–it’s a certainty that we’ll suffer more loss of people we love, and it’s likely we’ll have to contend with illness. I’m relieved and grateful to have Jerry by my side for whatever lies ahead for us.
There is research about geographical slant that suggests that when we look at a mountain, if we look at it with someone we love, or with people we love and/or respect, the mountain will look less steep. This is true also figuratively. Having Jerry by my side for the last 30 years, and as we look to the future, makes our challenges and obstacles seem less formidable.
Happy anniversary to the love of my life
Whenever I make a post on social media for Jerry’s birthday, or for our anniversary, I often refer to him as my “best half.” And I mean it, with all of my heart. But sometimes in response to my calling Jerry my best half, my closest girlfriends may give me a hard time. They adore Jerry and think he’s wonderful, but they don’t want me to sell myself short.
I appreciate their sentiment but I stand by my comment. Because the truth is, I’m a tall order and it takes someone very special to want to–and be able to–be married to me, let alone want to stay married to me.
Jerry, thank you for choosing me to be your wife and partner in life. Thank you for our amazing sons, and for being such a trooper. Thank you for your loving support and partnership and for our wonderful life. It’s been an unforgettable adventure and I’m so blessed and comforted to have you by my side. Happy anniversary to the love of my life! I love you more than ever, and more than words can say!
