The only instruction was to meet at the lighthouse at 5:30 am, and then at first light, we’d all take our clothes off. As a group, we’d get naked.
It was the (optional) morning activity for The Nantucket Project on Sept.15, 2018. The purpose was to bare all for world-renowned photographer Spencer Tunick. Tunick is famous for organizing large-scale nude shoots. (Since 1994, he has photographed over 75 human installations around the world.)
I wanted to do it. Well to clarify, I didn’t want to get naked in front of a bunch of people. I wanted to have the courage to do it. The night before, I told myself, If I do this, I can do anything. And I meant it.
I make a living out of daring people to take chances and to spend time outside of their comfort zones. I work hard to practice what I preach and think I mostly do. If I could take my clothes off in front of 100 or so people, imagine what would be possible after that… So I set the alarm for 4:45 am and went to bed.
4:45 am came and the alarm went off. I didn’t hit the snooze button, but I also didn’t go to the lighthouse to take my clothes off. I couldn’t muster the courage. I chickened out.
I wish I would have participated. It would have been the ultimate courage test and I failed it.
I want to be brave, and I know that in order to be brave, I must be willing to do things that scare me.
By the way, this talk about bravery reminds me of the phenomenal and inspiring slam poet, Andrea Gibson, and a wonderful line in her poem, Elbows: “Brave is the hand-me-down suit of Terrified As Hell.”
I like to think I wear that hand-me-down suit often. Just not on Sept. 15, 2018, and just not the “birthday suit.”
I realize that for many people, being naked in front of others is not a big deal. I’m just not one of them.
The Nantucket Project is an inspiring and thought-provoking event. Co-founded in 2010 by Tom Scott and Kate Brosnan, TNP is an annual gathering that features marquee presenters, change-makers, artists and more. It’s an amazing event that I highly recommend if you can afford it. I was fortunate to attend The Nantucket Project in 2018 thanks to an opportunity provided by one of the event’s sponsors, and one of my long-time client organizations, Publicis.Sapient, who hired me to deliver my keynote presentation during lunch one day to a group of their leaders and top clients.
I have thought a lot about that nude photoshoot and have concluded that the main reason I couldn’t quite bring myself to bare all was that I knew some of the people who would be there. The thought of standing naked with people I work with made me too uncomfortable.
This should come as no surprise to me. I know from experience that I get more nervous when I deliver my keynote presentation to people I know than when I deliver it to strangers.
Why is that? Why do we get more nervous when presenting or revealing a personal part of ourselves to people we know than to people we don’t know?
Imagine the possibilities if during times that required great courage and vulnerability from us we could wear–hide behind–a mask or a costume. It would be helpful and even fun.
But what it would not be is courageous.
In closing, I’m pondering these questions. I invite you to do the same. It could be interesting and worthwhile, even:
1. Can you think of a similar experience where the courage required of you to do something felt similar to having to take your clothes off, to be completely exposed?
2. What is something you want to do that requires so much daring and discomfort that you would only do it if you could hide yourself and your identity in the process?
3. What, if anything, would help you muster the courage necessary to do it without hiding behind a mask or anonymity?
4. Is the excuse/reason for your unwillingness to do it, in fact, a legitimate excuse or are you just chickening out? 🙂
If you go with the flow, you let things happen or let other people tell you what to do, rather than trying to control what happens yourself.
I am not great at going with the flow. Wait, that’s not entirely true. When I’m in a group and I’m tasked with doing something I don’t know how to do, or when I’m not the group’s designated leader, then I’m pretty good at going with the flow.
But in just about all other circumstances, it’s difficult for me to just go with the flow.
I’m a planner and I value preparation. I practice and prepare pretty much everything. One of the reasons I value preparation so much is that if I do the work in advance, then when the time comes to deliver my keynote presentation, or lead clients on an Epic Adventure, or whatever I’m tasked with doing, then I have the luxury of choosing to be more flexible than I normally would be. I am more able to go with the flow because I’ve done all the advance planning and reviewed possible scenarios and outcomes.
I admire people who both prepare and who are good at going with the flow.
People who are good at going with the flow put others at ease. When we aren’t able to go with the flow, we can come across as uptight, and our nervous energy can make others nervous or anxious. I’d love to be able to not want to control so much and to instead care just a little less about the details.
My husband and I have three sons. Our sons have always teased me, and remarked–mostly lovingly–that I need to calm down and/or “Hakuna Matata” or “tranquila.” In fact, our youngest son, Fin, wrote and tucked this adorable note in my laptop on a trip I took to deliver my keynote presentation some years ago. The keynote opportunity represented a big break for me. Fin’s note made me smile while serving as a valuable reminder that I had done the work and now I just needed to relax…
Several years ago, in 1986, my mom was driving with me from Lander, Wyoming, to Missoula, Montana. I would be attending the University of Montana journalism school (on a basketball scholarship) that Fall, and we were taking a quick trip to Missoula prior to starting college.
About three hours into our 11-hour road trip, we were stuck in road construction. Our timing wasn’t great and we arrived at the construction zone right as a long group of cars was led in front of us through the temporary single lane of dirt road. There was only one car in front of us, and before long, several cars were parked and lined up behind us. The person holding the stop sign indicated we may have a delay of up to 30 minutes.
But (unexpectedly) soon, the only car in front of us–a pink Cadillac with a license plate that read FLO–started driving. Not really thinking about it, I followed suit. We drove slowly over the rough road, close behind the pink Cadillac.
But a minute or two later, there were lights filling my rearview mirror. That’s when I noticed that none of the other cars had followed us. There was only one car behind us and it was a highway patrolman with flashing lights on the top of his car and he was coming up fast behind us.
My mom and I wondered out loud if he was trying to pull us over or what the deal was. We weren’t speeding. The pink Cadillac in front of us continued, seemingly unconcerned. My mom and I, ever the rule followers, decided we better pull over. We greeted the highway patrolman cheerfully, but he appeared angry. He scolded us, “You are supposed to wait for a pilot car to lead you through the construction.”
My mom and I looked at each other, and then, my mom pointed at the pink Cadillac, which had by now left us in its dust, and offered, in her famously kind and gentle voice, “I’m sorry, but we were just going with the Flo.”
I know–Boom! Right? My mom is clever and funny.
Lucky for us, the officer was feeling generous that day. He explained that the woman driving the pink Cadillac was part of the construction crew arriving to work and that hers was not the pilot car. Still, he couldn’t help but smile at my mom’s wit, and he let us off the hook.
I’ve never forgotten that story, and any time I hear the expression, go with the flow, I recall that special memory with my mom when we were “just going with the flo.”
Are you good at going with the flow? Or a better question might be, Where in your life, or work, could you afford to go with the flow, and what might the benefits be for doing so? I’m pondering this question right now and getting some good insights in the process.
Thanks for stopping by to read my blog. I appreciate you and your time very much!
“I have lost myself, though I know where I am.” –Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost
“All of humanity’s problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone.” -Blaise Pascal
“I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude. ” -Henry David Thoreau
Hi!
I love the outdoors, and hiking is one of my biggest passions. I hike about 1,000 miles a year and at least half of those I hike alone. This is not because I can’t find people to hike with but rather because I often prefer it.
As I write this, I’m reminded of a poem by my favorite poet, the late Mary Oliver. It’s called How I Go Into the Woods, and it articulates perfectly why I often go into the woods alone.
How I go to the woods
Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone, with not a single friend, for they are all smilers and talkers, and therefore unsuitable.
I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds or hugging the old black oak tree.
I have my way of praying, as you no doubt have yours.
Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible.
I can sit on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds, until the foxes run by unconcerned.
I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing.
If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much.
I love people, and I love hiking with my family and close friends. One of my favorite aspects of my work is guiding others on Epic Adventures. If you’ve ever hiked with me, I do indeed love you very much. 🙂
Hiking in solitude over the years is how I have discovered who I am. It’s how I discover who I am becoming. When I’m struggling or hurting or confused, my time spent hiking in solitude heals me and shows me the way. Time spent alone inspires me to imagine all that is possible. I’m inspired to dream. The clients I coach and take on epic adventures often comment about the value of the solitude they experience even during what are group adventures. Leaders today are in demand almost constantly thanks to technology and the challenges of an ever-changing and often uncertain future. One leader, who is 52 years old, told me that the solitude he experienced in the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming “showed me that the space for me to grow is so much bigger than I thought it was.” That’s what happens when we give ourselves some time alone. We see the possibility in ourselves and in our lives.
In addition, hiking alone has taught me how to pay attention, not only to my thoughts but to the wonders around me. My favorite poet, the late Mary Oliver, suggested that the “instructions for living a life” are: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it. My solo treks have provided ample practice in paying attention and I am constantly being astonished. (I sometimes think it was Mary Oliver, in her many poems reflecting on walks in the woods and as a witness to nature, who taught me how to pay attention.)
Last week, I went on a 25-mile training hike, the first of many such long solo hikes I’ll do this Summer. After I posted photos and videos from my long solo hike on Facebook, there were some comments made out of concern for my safety, given I hiked so far and that I did it alone. The comments were not criticisms as much as concerns from wonderful people, and they were heartfelt and well-meaning, which I appreciate.
I am aware of the risks and I mitigate them the best I can. I tell Jerry and the boys, and/or my parents, where I’ll be and my expected timeline. I am familiar with the trails and area I’ll be hiking in. I always have a map and a compass. Plus, I carry with me a Garmin InReach, which allows my husband and family to track me on a map so they always can know my whereabouts when I’m in the mountains, and I am able to send and receive texts. If I get injured I can notify them, and I can launch a search or S.O.S. with the push of a button. I don’t hike with headphones on. I carry bear spray and items that would help in case of an emergency or if I have to spend an unexpected night in the woods. While hiking, I am hypervigilant and pay careful attention to my surroundings, in addition to always being on the lookout for the ineffable. I love my life, and I want to be safe. I always want to return from my hike.
Rebecca Solnit writes in one of my favorite books of hers, A Field Guide to Getting Lost: “I have lost myself though I know where I am.” In fact, it is in losing myself in my thoughts and with nature all around me that I find myself over and over again.
One day in Alaska’s Brooks Range, on my NOLS course in 2011, we got turned around and we weren’t sure of our location. After some hours of backpacking, we were feeling a little demoralized and uncertain so we took off our heavy packs, and got our big topographical maps out before going about trying to figure out where we were.
The Brooks Range is a 700-mile-long mountain range that stretches from West to East in the far north of Alaska. The country is remote and vast and wild. There are no roads and no trails in the Brooks Range. So, in order to determine your location, you have to try to match the land formations around you with features on the map. It can be laborious. After a while of not figuring out where we were, a couple of us grew impatient, myself included. I just wanted to move, in any direction. I was tired of not going anywhere, and tired of not figuring out the answer to our question. One of my course-mates said to me, “With all due respect, I don’t think it’s a waste of time to figure out where we are, so we can figure out where we’re going.”
I’ve never forgotten those words. Such wisdom! First of all, if you’re in the wilderness and you think you may be lost, you don’t keep going. You S.T.O.P. Stop, Think, Observe and Plan. But even more importantly, we should live our lives with such wisdom. We cannot expect to realize our dreams or achieve our goals without first having a very good understanding of who we are, and where we are. Self-awareness is the necessary first step to not only living our best (epic) life but to being the best version of ourselves. Our vision of who we want to be serves as our True North.
In other words, our compass is more important than our map. Who we are is more valuable than what our goals are.
By design, I do a lot of things for work. Mostly, I’m a life and leadership coach, keynote presenter, leadership developer, and adventure guide. People hire me when they want to take stock of their life or leadership or both, and to help them make changes.
In order to be content and self-aware, we must have some regular intervals of time each week when we’re available only to ourselves in order to listen to our thoughts, including the good, the bad and the ugly. I’m not a coach for everyone. Anyone who works with me can expect to do a deep dive into Self. It’s that important to a fulfilled life, and it’s not easy work.
As someone who likes people, and who values relationships, I feel strongly that listening is the most important skill we ought to develop. (Unfortunately, we are not taught to listen, which in my humble opinion, is a tragedy.) Most of us are not very good listeners. Right now, take a second to think about all of the people you know and are in a relationship with. Can you think of one or two who are really good listeners? These are people who listen to you so closely that you feel as if you’re the only person in the world when you’re with them. It’s uncommon to find these great listeners, so when you do, it’s a gift. If you have any of them in your life, cherish and thank them. Seeing and hearing a person is one of the greatest gifts we can offer someone.
But we also need to be great listeners for ourselves.
Time alone, and solitude feels not empty, but “full.” Thanks to Joel Krieger for this photo of me in my backyard, near Temple Peak and Temple Lake, in the Wind River Range.
My love for solitude happened by accident. When I was 21 years old, I lost my Division I basketball scholarship. It was my most spectacular failure. I wasn’t a good enough player, and there was someone else who was better and more deserving of my scholarship, so my scholarship was given to another player.
I was devastated, and a long way from home. Most of my friends were still on the basketball team, so losing my scholarship meant also losing significant time with my friends. I started spending a lot of time alone, hiking Mount Sentinel on the edge of campus. Until then, I always thought people who went to the movies alone, or who hiked or did anything alone, were lonely people. Boy was I wrong about that. In fact, lonely and alone are not the same things. We can feel lonely in a crowded room or at a party a friend is throwing, yet not feel lonely when we’re alone. As writer May Sarton wrote: “Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is the richness of self.”
Before I continue singing the praises of time spent alone, I want to share something that should get all of our attention: We are in a loneliness epidemic. A Cigna study released in May of 2018 confirmed that 50% of Americans report feeling lonely. (In the 1980s, when we were far less “connected” via technology, just 20% of Americans reported feeling lonely.) One of the most concerning things about the loneliness epidemic is that many who are lonely today are our young people, particularly those who are age 18-22. The emotional suffering and despair caused by loneliness are difficult to live with and often lead to increased rates of depression, anxiety, and suicide. Experiencing loneliness also has serious physical health ramifications. According to the Cigna study, being lonely has the same effect on our health as smoking 15 cigarettes a day. If you feel like you are experiencing loneliness, then solitude might not be something to seek right now. In fact, the key to decreasing loneliness is having meaningful relationships, feeling engaged and accepted at work, taking care of our health, and feeling as if we belong. If you’re feeling lonely, more time in isolation is likely not what you’re needing.
I recommend reading Braving the Wilderness: The Quest for True Belonging and the Courage to Stand Alone, by Brené Brown. This is the book that raised my awareness about loneliness.) I’m saving the topic of loneliness for another blog post, and for the record, while I don’t consider myself lonely right now, I have experienced loneliness before, and will likely experience it again.
Also, introverts might have an easier and more enjoyable time in solitude than extroverts. I’m oversimplifying, but in short, introverts tend to get their energy internally, and extroverts tend to get energy from other people and from being in social situations. So it might be that solitude is easier and more desirable for introverts than it is for extroverts, yet there is value in solitude for both.
I am blessed that I was only 21 years old when I discovered the value of time spent alone, because now I am 51 years old, and the solitude I regularly enjoy has been a blessing over the years. It has been a difference-maker in my life.
We hear a lot about being our “Authentic Self,” and in leadership, we hear a lot about being an “Authentic Leader.” Both are hard, if not impossible, to be if we don’t even know who we are. Joseph Campbell said, “The privilege of a lifetime is being who you are.” Amen to that. If only people would dare to invest time alone so that they may discover who they are. By the way, I have learned that how we live is how we lead, so self-knowledge is the first step whether your motive is to live your best life or to have a positive and effective leadership impact on others.
We discover our authentic self during time alone, taking stock, listening to our thoughts, feeling our emotions, asking ourselves important questions and then giving ourselves the time and space to answer them.
Solitude is a gift and an opportunity, yet most of us don’t get enough of it. As a coach who promotes time spent alone, there are three excuses I hear most often for not getting enough of, or any, solitude.
The first excuse is a common excuse for not doing a lot of things we want and need to do. It is the, “I don’t have time. I’m so busy, and I can’t find the time” excuse. I think it was writer Elizabeth Gilbert who said, “We don’t find the time; we make the time.” I couldn’t agree more. We all have 24 hours in a day. I often challenge people I work with and/or know to wake up 15 minutes earlier and to simply go to a dark room and sit alone with their thoughts for 15 minutes before officially starting their day. Using this time to start a mindfulness practice is also beneficial, and is another good way to introduce yourself to Solitude.
The second excuse–and one that I commonly hear from people who hire me as their coach–is, “It’s uncomfortable.” I agree. Being alone with our thoughts can be very uncomfortable. It can be difficult to listen to our thoughts because they’re not always positive. Time spent alone can facilitate a sort of reckoning. We are forced to confront the truths in our life. It is hard to run or hide from one’s self if left alone with our thoughts. This is one of the reasons I think Solitude is so valuable. How can we be a truth teller to our Self if we’re not aware of, or confronting, the hard truths in our life?
In 2008, after selling our first company, I suddenly found myself with time alone, something I hadn’t had the luxury of for years. What I learned was that things were not okay. I wasn’t healthy. I was in a downward spiral and once I had the opportunity to pause and take stock of my life I found that all kinds of alarms were going off. I was 30 pounds overweight, drinking wine on too many weeknights, sedentary, addicted to my iPhone–and depressed.
As Dov Siedman says, “When you press the pause button on a machine, it stops. But when you press the pause button on human beings they start up.” When I finally had time alone I was able to see and confront the hard truths that were hijacking my life.
Time spent alone helps to prevent me from running from or ignoring the areas that could use my attention. Tears frequently come for me during solitude. The quiet and lack of others around help me to feel and experience and process my emotions at a deeper level. I recently read the book, I Miss You When I Blink, by Mary Laura Philpott. In it, I highlighted the following: “When I look back now at this time when I craved solitude and escape, I see that I wanted to be unwitnessed for a while, that’s all. I didn’t want anyone to see how wrong I felt. I wanted a chance to feel messed up without also feeling self-conscious. It was like the feeling I used to get before I fainted–an inkling of a crash, a hunch that I should get close to the ground. I needed a place where I could hit the floor without the added anxiety of knowing someone was watching me fall.”
As someone who is an expert when it comes to self-criticism, solitude helps me to be more self-compassionate as a result of the greater understanding I have of myself, which has come through all the time I have spent alone.
I’ve coached 175 individual from across the U.S. during the last eight years, and I think every one of them struggles, at least at times, with self-criticism. We tend to be hard on ourselves.
The potential reward for spending time alone is to gain an understanding of self, which leads to more compassion for, and less judgment of, self, and others.
One of my favorite essays is Joan Didion’s On Self Respect, written in 1961. It so resonates for me because it articulates better than I can the importance of knowing oneself in the interest of respecting oneself. From her essay is this favorite passage of mine:
“To have that sense of one’s intrinsic worth which constitutes self-respect is potentially to have everything: the ability to discriminate, to love and to remain indifferent. To lack it is to be locked within oneself, paradoxically incapable of either love or indifference. If we do not respect ourselves, we are on the one hand forced to despise those who have so few resources as to consort with us, so little perception as to remain blind to our fatal weaknesses. On the other, we are peculiarly in thrall to everyone we see, curiously determined to live out–since our self-image is untenable–their false notion of us.”
Today, it uncommon for people to invest the time and effort it takes to really know oneself.
One question I challenge people I know and work with to ask themselves is, “What am I needing?” This is such an important question, and most of us do not give ourselves time and space to consider the question, let alone the possible answers to it. It is much easier to live in denial, and to not confront or address personal challenges, weaknesses or pains if we avoid making ourselves aware of them. But this lack of awareness also prevents us from making changes that could be significant to our life.
I’m a voracious reader and one book I love is Journal of a Solitude, by the late May Sarton. Sarton was an American novelist, poet, and memoirist who suffered from bouts of depression. (Sarton referred to solitude as “the richness of the self.”) Journal Of A Solitude is a book that is one year’s worth of Sarton’s journaling, which includes some pretty dark times. Here are just two of the many gems I have highlighted in my dog-eared copy of the book:
“I am here alone for the first time in weeks, to take up my ‘real’ life again at last,” begins Sarton, in Journal of a Solitude. “That is what is strange—that friends, even passionate love, are not my real life, unless there is time alone in which to explore what is happening or what has happened.”
And, another gem from the book: “There is no doubt that solitude is a challenge and to maintain balance within it a precarious business. But I must not forget that, for me, being with people or even with one beloved person for any length of time without solitude is even worse. I lose my center. I feel dispersed, scattered, in pieces. I must have time alone in which to mull over my encounter, and to extract its juice, its essence, to understand what has really happened to me as a consequence of it.”
Sarton’s book is inspiring to me, in ways I can’t quite articulate other than to say I have my own dark pools and depressive moments, and reading of Sarton’s own struggles helps me feel not as alone in my personal struggles. I highly recommend the book.
The third excuse I hear is “It’s boring.” As a society, we have come to view boredom as a problem to solve. Think about the last time you had to wait for anything–out front of the school waiting for a son or daughter, in the waiting room of a clinic, waiting in line at the post office or grocery store, stuck at a stop light or stop sign, or in TSA line at the airport–or well, just about in any situation. At the first glimpse of free time, most of us reach for our smartphone. (I read somewhere that the average U.S. American adult reaches for his/her phone 150 times a day. This is staggering, and I believe it.)
I work with many creative people, and in my presentations to leaders, and in my coaching work with them, I like to make a case for boredom. In order for us to brainstorm new ideas, to have Aha moments and new solutions to old problems, we must allow our mind to wander. Our mind wanders only if and when we allow ourselves to experience boredom.
Joseph Campbell, from his Power of Myth, writes about the important influence that solitude has on one’s creativity, whether toward self or a creative endeavor.
“You must have a room, or a certain hour or so a day, where you don’t know what was in the newspapers that morning, you don’t know who your friends are, you don’t know what you owe anybody, you don’t know what anybody owes to you. This is a place where you can simply experience and bring forth what you are and what you might be. This is the place of creative incubation. At first you may find that nothing happens there. But if you have a sacred place and use it, something eventually will happen.”
And another favorite, from Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s Gift From the Sea, a book I recommend (especially to women): “Certain springs are tapped only when we are alone.”
Try to resist the temptation to reach for your phone, or fill/use up the little bits of free time the next time you are required to wait or have a moment to not do anything. It’s hard work, AND it’s worth it. The podcast, Note to Self, did a series of challenges they called “Bored and Brilliant” that were designed to “guide you to less phone time and more creativity.” Thousands of people signed up for the challenges, which included things like not reaching for your phone during public transit, not using your phone as a camera to instead “see the world through your eyes not your screen,” delete apps, and other challenges.
As far as our rampant use of smartphones, let the record show that I’m guilty! Technology is a Godsend for me, and my work. It enabled our first company (Yellowstone Journal/YellowstonePark.com, NationalParkTrips) to do world-class work from the Frontier of Wyoming, and it enables me to reach and serve clients from around the country even as I work in an RV parked by the river in the foothills of Wyoming’s Wind River Range. I think I mostly use technology for good, but it’s also a fact that I’m too tethered to it. Facebook, in particular, has facilitated meaningful friendships I wouldn’t have otherwise, and has enriched so many of my connections with friends and family. It is also a marketing tool for me, as well as a place for me to share things that I find inspiring, and worth sharing with the world.
But I am finding that my almost-constant tethered-ness to my phone and social media is also not always serving me. It’s addictive, and distracting, and it probably limits me at least as much as it helps and enriches me. This is a real conundrum, and something I’ve been working on addressing for years now. (Cal Newport, author of Deep Work, and also the work of Derek Sivers and Josh Waitzkin continue to inspire me to take serious stock of my use of technology.)
University of Virginia psychologist Timothy Wilson and colleagues have studied people when in solitude. For one experiment, people were instructed to sit alone, with only their thoughts, in an empty lab room for 15 minutes. The only thing in the room was a button they could push, and if they pushed it, it would self-administer an electrical shock. The results were startling: Even though all participants had previously stated that they would pay money to avoid being shocked with electricity, half of all participants shocked themselves at least once, the team reported in Science. That’s newsworthy, so I’ll be redundant: Half of us would rather shock ourselves than sit alone with our thoughts for 15 minutes. I can’t help myself – this is shocking!
Sherry Turkle is Director of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) Initiative on Technology and Self. Turkle has been studying the psychology of online connectivity for more than 30 years, and she is the author of two books I recommend, Alone Together, and Reclaiming Conversation. The latter, which investigates how a flight from conversation undermines our relationships, creativity, and productivity, is a cautionary tale for us, especially for parents and teachers. (But for the record, I think everyone ought to read the book.)
According to Turkle, “Studies of conversation both in the laboratory and in natural settings show that when two people are talking, the mere presence of a phone on a table between them or in the periphery of their vision changes both what they talk about and the degree of connection they feel. People keep the conversation on topics where they won’t mind being interrupted. They don’t feel as invested in each other. Even a silent phone disconnects us.” So just the presence of a phone, which has become a way to “solve” boredom, prevents us from going deep with people.
One finding of Turkle’s that is a surprise, and warrants our attention, is that our capacity for Solitude actually helps us be more empathetic with others.
“In solitude we find ourselves; we prepare ourselves to come to a conversation with something to say that is authentic, ours. If we can’t gather ourselves, we can’t recognize other people for who they are. If we are not content to be alone, we turn others into the people we need them to be. If we don’t know how to be alone, we’ll only know how to be lonely.”
Hear hear. I cannot say it better.
Sometimes I like to ask people, If you had just one piece of advice for someone that would help them live their best life, what would it be? If I were asked the question, I would offer, Pay Attention.
One of the best ways I have found to practice paying attention is to spend time alone, listening to my thoughts, reflecting on my life, and noticing all that is around me.
I hope this blog post will inspire you to carve out more time for yourself, and that the solitude you experience will bless you and your life in new and unexpected ways.
Thanks for reading. I really appreciate it.
“A little while alone in your room will prove more valuable than anything else that could ever be given you.” (Rumi) Photo: Solitude in the Cirque of the Towers.
These were the words of a family friend, and former neighbor Bruce Thoren. He had said it years ago when our families were sharing a llama hiking adventure and there were one million mosquitoes (per hour) swarming around us.
I’ve never forgotten the wonderful adventure or the quote.
I’m a voracious reader and an avid quote collector. I never forget quotes that inspire and impact me. You’re going to read a few of them in this post.
For almost a decade now, I’ve reserved Fridays for long solo hikes or snowshoe or ski outings. Unless I’m traveling or injured or under the gun with work deadlines or call volume, I have honored this standing date. These solo treks are so valuable to me. They provide me with time for contemplation, brainstorming, and sorting out emotional or mental challenges I’m having. Of course, they also provide for improved fitness and endurance, which are important to me given my personal interests, and the fact I need to stay in top shape to lead clients on Epic Adventures.
The reason I’m writing about this today is that it’s Friday. I had plans to skate ski this morning. I had limited time compared to normal so I planned to ski in town at the golf course.
It was –5 degrees. Oh, how I did not want to ski! I didn’t want to even leave the house when I learned the temperature. (Sometimes, in this day and age, I think we can have too much information. This morning it may have been helpful for me not be able to know the actual temperature. But I digress… )
In addition to having to confront subzero temps, I was feeling stiff and sore from a workout I did on Wednesday. The thought of going out and doing one of the most physical activities there is to do, and to do it in subzero temperatures, with stiff and sore muscles, well, let’s just say I wasn’t exactly eager. But then, as if right on cue, I caught myself saying to myself, “You get what you get, and you don’t throw a fit.”
And with that, I was in the car headed to ski. (Thanks Bruce.)
By the way, one benefit of subzero temperatures is you will likely get to enjoy first tracks, and you’ll probably have the trails all to yourself. This morning I enjoyed both, thank you. 🙂
My skis barely glided on the squeaky corduroy. My face was frozen, and I couldn’t feel my fingers or toes or ears. The clouds were unusual and looked as if they had a blurry outline to them. I couldn’t discern if my vision was blurry due to the tears in my eyes from the frigid cold, or if the clouds actually looked like they had a blurry outline. (See photo.)
Cool cloud formation during subzero temperatures this morning.
Eventually, and thankfully, the sun came out. It wasn’t any warmer, but the bright sun’s presence lifted me psychologically. And I got a heck of a workout in.
By the way, no one ever regrets that they did what they said would do. And no one ever regrets working out. It’s good to remember these things when we are struggling to keep our personal health commitments.
I can’t tell you how many Fridays during the last 10 years that the weather and/or trail conditions were unfavorable, but the number is significant.
Of course, I prefer blue skies. Nothing says possibility like blue skies. As an adventurer and an adventure guide, I love a favorable forecast and blue skies, and thanks to living in Lander, Wyoming, I get those things often. But there are still plenty of times when I don’t.
It has been during the many Fridays of unfavorable, unpredictable and uncomfortable conditions when I have experienced some of the best training of my life. And I’m not talking about the physical training.
Due to so much training in unfavorable conditions, I have more experience with uncertainty and adversity. The emotions one experiences when in uncertainty or adversity, regardless of the context, are the same. So going out and having to weather the elements, make decisions, mitigate risk, and manage our morale in uncertain and/or adverse conditions, while somehow remaining optimistic, provides great practice and training for all aspects of one’s life.
A handful of years ago, I led a co-ed Mt. Whitney Epic Adventure. I never worked so hard, by myself or while leading a group, to climb a mountain while never actually climbing it.
The morning we embarked on our expedition, as we left for the trailhead, one of the guides I was partnering with to provide the Mt. Whitney Epic Adventure, told us: “Let us remember: The journey is for the soul. The summit is for the ego.”
I thought to myself, What a fantastic quote, and I’d still like to get us a summit…
The weather forecast warned us of an incoming storm, but it was hard to believe the forecast given the conditions on our first day. During our hike to the first camp, we enjoyed clear, blue skies and warm, bright sunshine. However, weather forecasters were correct. By Day 2, we experienced freezing temperatures, and a windchill of –13, and during the night, our tents were buried by snow. When we woke up the next morning, small icicles were hanging from our tent’s interior.
One of the members of the expedition, who is a dear friend, had a migraine due to the dramatic shift in weather from the sunny and blue sky one day to the aforementioned adverse conditions. And if that wasn’t enough, her contacts actually stuck to her eyeballs during the night of the storm. (Excuse my language but this dear friend is a total badass.)
A photo from my 2014 Epic Mt. Whitney expedition, the mountain climbing expedition where we didn’t climb a mountain.
We made the best of it, but in the end, we didn’t come close to climbing Mt. Whitney.
While I was–we all were–disappointed that we couldn’t stand on the top of Mt. Whitney, I developed my leadership more in that single experience than I did on any previous expedition. And there had been many previous expeditions.
By the way, success is a curious thing, isn’t it? It’s interesting that we consider an expedition where we stand on the summit a success, and one where we don’t as not a success. Of course, I know better, but you get the point. We attach success to our hopes and expectations, which if you think about it, is limiting because anything less than that is then automatically considered not a success (failure).
For the record, I would not wish to relive the snowy and cold and exceptionally challenging Mt. Whitney expedition. But I would not trade the experience for anything. The hard experience developed me further as a leader. I still reflect on things I learned, and things I’d do differently as a leader, thanks to that challenging experience when the conditions were so unfavorable. I learned a lot from the guides, and their leadership styles amidst adverse conditions. I learned a lot about managing the risks, and morale, of a challenging expedition.
My previous Mt. Whitney expedition had gone exactly as planned. We had perfect weather every day and enjoyed a long celebration on the mountain’s summit. It was an incredible experience, but did it develop me as a person or a leader? Probably not very much.
The journey is for the soul. The summit is for the ego.
I know it’s cliche, but life is a journey. If we are too focused on our dreams and the end goals–”the summit”–we risk missing out on the experiences of life, the numerous small things that add up to make a good and unforgettable life.
Another favorite quote is from Josh Waitzkin. Waitzkin is an American chess player, martial arts competitor, and author. As a child, he was recognized as a prodigy and won the U.S. Junior Chess championship in 1993 and 1994. The film, Searching for Bobby Fischer, is based on Waitzkin’s early life. (If you haven’t read his book, The Art of Learning, I highly recommend it.)
Waitzkin said something in a conversation with Tim Ferriss over a year ago that I recall often. Waitzkin was explaining about the earliest years of his son Jack’s life, and how “bad” weather could have so easily negatively impacted them if they had let it.
“One of the biggest mistakes that I observed in the first year or two of Jack’s life that I observed with parents is that they have this language around weather; weather being good or bad. Whenever it was raining, they’d be like, It’s bad weather. You’d hear moms, babysitters, dads talk about if it’s bad weather, we can’t go out or if it’s good weather, we can go out. So that means that somehow we’re externally reliant on conditions being perfect in order to be able to go out and have a good time… I don’t think we’ve missed one storm… Rain or snow, going outside and romping in it. We developed this language around how beautiful it was. So now whenever there’s a rainy day, Jack says, ‘Look, Da-Da. It’s such a beautiful rainy day.’ And we go out and we play in it.”
I love that story and the important lesson it captures. It does a beautiful job of making the point I’m trying to make with this blog post, which is, the weather is only bad if we decide it is. Or, our life sucks only if we say it does. (Or, suck it up, buttercup. Or, any day outside beats doing laundry. Or, life isn’t perfect. Etc. :))
I’m almost done here, but I have one more thing I just can’t resist sharing.
I once interviewed my friend, and one of Lander’s beloved human beings, Debra East. I was interviewing Debra about her fitness goals and training program. I captured the interview at the swimming pool, right after Debra’s morning swim workout. During the interview, Debra remarked, “I’m not training for any event other than my life.”
Those words of Debra’s are among my favorites of all time.
Hopefully, we are all “training” for our life. Life is, after all, our most important event. And because life is uncertain and full of good times and bad, hardships and celebrations, we ought to look at the hardships, losses, and setbacks not as a bad thing, but as important training.
Why do we so often let ourselves off the hook? We decide we’re going to do something but then when the opportunity comes to do it if the conditions aren’t perfect, we let ourselves off the hook. Even worse, when we let ourselves off the hook, we probably tell ourselves, It’s not that I’m not going to do it. I’m just not going to do it today.
It can be dangerous to think that way because when we are quick to let ourselves off the hook from our commitments, days, or weeks, months, years–a life–can go by and we didn’t do the thing we wanted or needed to do and we can no longer do it.
We ought to wake up each day, and, regardless of what life delivers us, take what we get, learn from it, and not throw a fit.
Thank you so much for stopping by, and for giving of your time to read my thoughts. I appreciate it so much.
“It isn’t the mountains ahead to climb that wear you out; it’s the pebble in your shoe.”– Muhammad Ali
Hi there!
As an adventurer and guide, the first instruction I offer my Epic Adventure clients is delivered at the trailhead, before we take any steps down the trail. We have our backpacks on, and my Epic Adventurers are chomping at the bit to get the party started. Everyone has done so much to get to this point, and the anticipation is palpable.
But first thing’s first.
I tell them: “As we start up the trail, if you get a pebble in your shoe, or a piece of sand or a pine needle in your boot – or if something doesn’t feel right, please speak up. Speak up, and we’ll stop and make adjustments.”
This is such critical advice because most of us won’t speak up. If it’s a little pebble or piece of sand in our shoe, we tell ourselves it’s a tiny thing, and we can manage it. We tell ourselves it’s just an annoyance, and if we ignore it we’ll soon forget it’s even there. We keep it to ourselves. We don’t want to speak up because we don’t want to cause the whole group to stop or to interrupt our progress.
But it’s such a big mistake to not speak up. To ignore the issue.
I should state that I am personally guilty of all of the examples I’m going to share. On many occasions, I have been the one who ignored the issue.
Before long, the person who didn’t speak up about the pebble in his/her shoe has a full-blown blister from where the pebble was grinding into his/her foot. Every single step is torture. The journey is now one of suffering rather than an adventure. It’s devastating for the person with the blister, and it’s hard for others to witness such suffering. That blister affects not only that person’s performance and experience, but that of the entire group. Not only is our pace, and that person’s level of enjoyment, impacted, but now we have to be wary of infection and take measures to prevent that or he/she may need to be evacuated, which is costly, and not something to shoot for.
I’ve been on adventures, both as customer and as a guide, where it starts to rain and someone doesn’t want to take the time to get his/her raincoat on. It’s a hassle, and besides, they aren’t cold. In fact, the rain feels good. So they think no harm is being done by their not putting their rain gear on. The threat, however, is real. Stages of hypothermia can set in when a person gets wet, and then cold. A person who gets hypothermic is not going to have a great experience, and not only will it affect his/her experience, but it threatens the experience and success of the expedition and the group, as well.
I remember one of my first high altitude backpacking adventures that involved big mileage days, a too-heavy backpack and an ambitious mountain climb, all at higher altitudes than I was accustomed to. I didn’t feel hungry, so I ate very little. (Being at altitude can decrease one’s appetite.) Boy did I pay the price for that. I climbed the mountain, but it was hell, and upon descent, I suffered from major dehydration that had me feeling faint, dizzy, weak, and throwing up. The person I was with, thankfully, was kind and generous and understanding, but certainly my suffering did not have a positive impact on his experience. And my actions (inactions – not eating enough) affected us both.
The examples are endless.
I use these as metaphors for self care. So many of us at times do not prioritize self care. It’s not because we don’t know it’s valuable and that we need it and that it will improve our life and performance. We know these things. Rather, our lives are full or too busy, and we tell ourselves we don’t have time. We tell ourselves we’ll start tomorrow. Many of the wonderful humans I work with, coach and know, are generous and compassionate and tend to put others, and others’ needs before theirs. Being generous is a wonderful attribute, but unfortunately it often comes at a personal cost. Self care can feel selfish for such selfless, giving people.
But self care is not selfish.
When we take care of ourselves, it not only positively impacts our own health and experience – and how we show up in our relationships, experiences, work, family and life – it also impacts those around us, and those who depend on us, and love us.
When we sold our first company in 2008, I suddenly had time on my hands. It was a real reckoning because I realized I wasn’t well. Despite all of the blessings I had in my life, I was overweight, sedentary and depressed. With the right people in my life, and a lot of effort, I spent over a year reinventing my health and my life. Once I was healthy, everything was better.
When we take care of ourselves, everything is better.
Throughout our life, we all will have a pebble in our shoe. It could be an illness, a resentment or grudge we carry with us, a heartbreak, a health concern, a conversation we’re needing to have that we’re not having, something we’re needing to do that we’re putting off. Fill in the blank. This pebble is making our journey – our life – more difficult. Imagine what it would be like without it…
Do you have a pebble in your shoe right now? What is it?
I urge you: Don’t ignore the pebble in your shoe. In my experience, it never resolves itself. More times than not, it is something that starts out seemingly small but then, over time, leads to suffering. We must tend to it.
I hope you’ll read this blog post. The sharing I do in it took some daring. You’ll have to read past the next few paragraphs to see what I mean by that. (I still can’t believe I’ve written a blog post that includes head banging and Elvis!)
For a few years now, I’ve been selecting three words to guide me during each new year. These are words I think a lot about, and carefully select because I mean for them to act as reminders for me to be certain ways during the year.
The three words idea is not my idea. My friend, Chris Brogan gets the credit. Every year I would read about his three words, and I was inspired, so I started doing it for myself a few years ago.
I chose ONE because I want to get better at single-tasking. I have a very active mind, and it’s difficult for me to focus on one thing at a time. I know how important deep focus is for doing meaningful work. The year’s not over, but I must report that out of all three of my words, there is one that I’m not doing so well at. Can you guess which one?
I chose PRACTICE because I believe that to get good at anything, or to create a new habit or to learn a new skill, practice is required. And I like rituals. I was already good at practicing when I chose this word, but I chose it because there are more things I want to practice. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m doing pretty well with Practice.
The last word, HELL YEAH, is – I know – two words, but hey, these are my words and my rules. I chose Hell Yeah because for some years now, I’ve been wanting to be more impulsive, spontaneous, daring, and fun. To be sure, I have a lot of fun in my life. I play at least as hard as I work, which is pretty hard. But I’m a planner, and so much of my fun is planned. I chose “Hell Yeah” as one of my words and intentions for this year because I wanted to “let loose” more. I wanted to find myself saying “Hell Yeah” when I would normally go into my head and overthink it before holding back and saying No, or Hell No. I want to have more Hell Yeah in me and my life.
I’m excited to report that I’ve said Hell Yeah a lot. And the result is I’ve had some exhilarating experiences that I wouldn’t have otherwise had. And while Hell Yeah has been a conscious effort mostly this year, my desire to let loose was inspired earlier.
In 2013, I read, and have since been influenced by a 2009 article, written by Derek Sivers, called No “Yes.” Either “HELL YEAH!” or “No.” I have become great at saying No, and better at not saying Yes. I like that Hell Yeah means a Yes better be something to be emphatic about.
I also was inspired to have more Hell Yeah in my life when I led my first Epic Women Wind River expedition in August of 2013. After we climbed a tall mountain on Day 2, the Epic Women, who had traveled from Rhode Island, Chicago, California, Alaska, New Jersey, Massachusetts, and Laramie, WY, for the adventure, took a plunge in the ice-cold alpine lake near our camp. I watched in awe, and thought the ladies were crazy. Then the ladies turned the tables and “coached” me into taking the plunge. It was freezing – and exhilarating.
After that icy plunge, I determined that I didn’t want to sit on the sidelines and be reasonable during such occasions. I decided then that I wanted to be a person who lives more, and who “goes for it” more often. I think it was in those moments after I had dared to take the icy plunge that the initial “I-want-to-say-hell-yeah-more-often” seed was planted. But it took time to grow, and to sprout.
In 2015, I slid down a waterfall with my three sons that I hadn’t slid down since I was 18 years old, some 30 years earlier. As I did it, I screamed and was scared, but also excited, and for a moment felt like a teenager again.
In early 2016, we decided to take a 30-day Europe trip in the summer that we weren’t sure we could afford, but realizing it won’t be long before our boys are off to college, we said, Hell Yeah.
I have been playing some great basketball games with Jerry and the boys in the hotel pools when we travel – something I never used to do. I’ve been going on scarier rides and bigger rollercoasters at amusement parks. And the list goes on…
All of these Hell Yeah experiences make me feel young, and more alive. Who doesn’t want that? And I believe these experiences, because of their novelty, and because they make you feel so alive, help to create unforgettable – truly lasting – memories. In the end of our life, we won’t remember everything. It’s not possible. Having more unforgettable experiences has been part of my personal mission for years now, and saying Hell Yeah helps to keep me on mission.
It wasn’t until this year, though, that I really cranked it up. I hesitated on sharing this because I was concerned that people might judge me, possibly unfairly, but after careful consideration, and some feedback from people I trust, I have decided to share. After all, I didn’t break any laws, and I had the time of my life!
So here it goes…I went to a Rave. I should say we, and I should say two. Jerry, my husband of 25 years, is a real trooper, and I am lucky. He’s adventurous, and he’s game for just about anything I suggest.
Jerry and I have three sons: Wolf, a junior in high school, Hayden, a sophomore in high school, and Fin, a fifth grader. Last April, for our spring break, we took a road trip that included camping and exploring a bunch of state and national parks, sledding down giant sand dunes, exploring the hoodoos of Goblin Valley, and – and the end, a fancy hotel, fancy dinner, and tickets to a Utah Jazz basketball game.
About halfway through the trip, in Colorado Springs, we spent the day hiking 14 miles worth of trails in the Garden of the Gods. By evening, the boys were tired, and we were all sweaty and stinky and covered in dirt, so we got a hotel for the night. As we were taking turns getting cleaned up, the boys hinted they felt like they had earned some “Privs.” (Privs means privileges, which, for our boys, mean video games/”screen time.”) We had had a very active spring break so far, so theirs was not an unreasonable request. Plus, Jerry and I saw the opportunity: We could have a date! (Can I get a Hell Yeah?!)
For the last several months, I had been listening to a lot of Electronic Dance Music on Spotify, and Jerry liked it, too. (Polish Ambassador, The Chainsmokers, DJ Snake, David Guetta, etc.) Jerry and I love to dance, but other than the occasional wedding we attend, or a Lander Live event, we don’t get many chances to dance. So while Jerry was in the shower, I quickly Google-searched EDM in Colorado Springs. To my delight, there was a well-known DJ performing at a club called Rawkus, which was described as a “sizable, rollicking nightspot with a bar & neon lighting, plus a lineup of DJs & live music.”
When Jerry got out of the shower, I proposed my idea – that we go to Rawkus, an EDM club. After looking at me long enough to confirm I was serious, he said, “Sure. That sounds like fun.”
Jerry put on a polo shirt, and I put on my only shirt that wasn’t a t-shirt – a blouse – and I used my Uber app to request a ride. We told the boys we were going to an EDM club, and the older sons – the ones who know what EDM is – laughed, rolled their eyes, but then offered, “That’s cool.” We told them, “We may be out super late, dancing” – to which they responded, “Awesome. Take your time!”
The adventure started when the Uber driver showed up. A kind and outgoing “soccer mom” showed up in a maroon mini van. She quickly moved the two baby car seats – and no kidding a soccer ball, out of the back seat to make room for us. On her dashboard was a bobblehead Jesus, and there were wallet-sized photos of two young, adorable children, a girl and a boy, clipped to the visor above the front passenger seat.
“Where would you like to go?” she asked. “The Rawkus,” I said. She responded with, “Ohhh, Rawkus, huh? Feeling raucous tonight, are we?!” Jerry and I laughed, and together exclaimed, “Yes!” And I think – I’m pretty sure – she added, “Wow, Rawkus, I didn’t see that coming…” as she smiled at us in the center rear view mirror.
As our driver pulled out of our hotel parking lot, she asked us what kind of music we’d like to listen to. I could tell Jerry was impressed. I travel a fair amount, and have used Uber a lot, but this was Jerry’s first Uber experience, and he was surprised by the customer service. I whispered to him that the Uber drivers are rated by their passengers so drivers aim to provide a great experience. Her asking us for our musical preference was part of that.
We told her any kind of music would be just fine. “You pick,” I offered.
Our driver said, “I love Hip Hop, so if it’s okay, I’ll play some of that?”
“Sure” we said. Our boys listen to a fair amount of Hip Hop. We don’t dislike it.
Next thing we knew, a very explicit Hip Hop song came on. The title itself is explicit or I’d tell you what the song was. The music was so loud that we could feel the bass thumping underneath our seats and up against our backs and heads. I think the van’s windows were rattling. I was shouting as I tried talking to Jerry. We maneuvered through Friday night traffic as the Jesus on her dashboard bobbled, and Jerry and I looked at each other and grinned. By all indications, this was going to be a memorable date.
Our driver pulled up to the Rawkus building, and opened the van’s sliding door for us. With our ears ringing, we hopped out, and she yelled after to us, “Have fun – and dance like you don’t know anyone!” Excited, we yelled back, “Okay! Thanks!”
We found our way to the front entrance of Rawkus. The club wasn’t open yet, but the sign on the door indicated it would open in 15 minutes. So we started a line, and waited.
Soon, others started to show up. They didn’t get in line with us, but sat or stood near the entrance. I noticed none of them had polo shirts on, or blouses. They were many years younger than us. It’s not that we’re old, but Jerry’s 54 and I’m 49, and well, especially on a Friday night, it’s not hard to be younger.
At first I was feeling a little self conscious. It seemed like everyone who showed up looked at us. They seemed curious. Maybe it’s because we had on collared shirts. Or maybe it was because we were older.
As we were waiting, I spied a huge “Bingo” sign on a building in the same parking lot. I laughed, and whispered to Jerry that all of these other people were probably thinking we were at the wrong place; that we obviously meant to be in line at the Bingo Hall. It was funny. It is funny, even as I recall it now.
My self consciousness was short-lived because they were all so friendly. We all had in common our excitement for the night as we waited for the doors to open.
The doors did finally open, and we entered, paid the cover charge, and we were in the club.
We were the first to stand on the dance floor, and we snapped a photo.
Jerry and I at our first Rave. Collared shirts and all! (hahaha)
I was full of anticipation for what I hoped would be a night of energetic music and a lot of hard dancing. Jerry got a beer, and I had a glass of wine as we stood on the dance floor waiting for the first of many DJs to arrive and start the beats. There were people lining up at the front of the dance floor, near the DJ. The backs of their shirts said things like “Headbanger” and “Peace” and “Harmony” and a some words and phrases I won’t include here.
A man and a woman came over to us, and introduced themselves. Their gesture was kind, but also awkward. It felt sort of like when you’re at a banquet, and people come up to introduce themselves. After some polite small talk, the man asked, “Is this your first Rave?” [Gasp.] I felt a quick panic rush over me, as I thought to myself, A Rave? Are we at a Rave? I hadn’t considered that we were attending a Rave, and my mind flashed to what I thought of as a Rave –a big festival of people high on drugs, where there might be orgies. Like I said, [Gasp.]
But quickly I returned to the present, and this didn’t look anything like that. Thank God. What seemed like a little too much later, Jerry responded to the man, “No. We’ve never been to a Rave before.” The couple welcomed us, and told us to enjoy ourselves, and then they walked off to a different area of the dance floor.
Soon, the first DJ arrived, and it went dark, except for an amazing neon light show and some strobe lights. The music started.
Before we knew it, we were dancing our guts out—headbanging and all! The music was electrifying, and during a brief break during which we consumed large bottles of water, Jerry tried to explain to me how the bass was so strong and powerful that it made him feel more energized and alive. “I can feel it reverberating through my whole body. It’s awesome!” he exclaimed. I agreed. Even though we had hiked 14 miles just a few hours earlier, I suddenly had all kinds of energy, and for reasons I can’t explain, I felt youthful.
During the course of the night, people of various races, genders and ages, came up to Jerry and me, and high-fived us or offered hugs to us. A few of them remarked, “It’s so great to see you guys here.” Another person came up to me, hugged me, and remarked, “So you really like this music?” And I said “Yes, I love it!” All I can figure is we must have really stood out. We must have looked like we had gotten off at the wrong station. LOL. We were, comparatively speaking, old, and remember, we had on collared shirts. (We made a note to ourselves that we would need to get different attire for future Raves.)
We had an absolute blast! By the time we called it a night, my FitBit reported 64,000 steps – 30,000 of them (12 miles worth) from dancing, the others from the hiking we did earlier.
Jerry and I were dripping in sweat, and it was getting late, so I requested an Uber.
Our Uber driver was Elvis. Seriously. Our driver was the perfect impersonation of Elvis. He even (duh!) played Elvis’ music. When we got into the car, the volume was low, but we could hear Jailhouse Rock.
As soon as Jerry and I were buckled into the back seat, our driver asked us if we liked Elvis. “Of course,” we assured him. How could we respond differently? As if to make sure our driver had our respect, Jerry repeated how awesome Elvis’ music is, and in response, the driver changed songs to Love Me Tender, and starting singing loudly. Love me tender / Love me sweet / Never let me go / You have made my life complete / And I love you so…
That’s when I realized that there’s a difference between singing out loud to a song and performing. Our driver was performing. And his performance was stupendous! And, I don’t use that word lightly. In fact, that might be the first time I’ve ever used that word in my life. It was so stupendous that I seriously wondered if we were in a dream. Was Elvis Presley really our personal driver, and were we really being treated to a personal concert by The King? After Love Me Tender, came My Way, which I think is originally a Sinatra song, but one that Elvis sang and sang so well that it’s my favorite Elvis song.
As I listened, I thought immediately of my Aunt Carol, and her late husband, my Uncle Bob, whose favorite song was Elvis’ My Way. Then my mind wandered to the song, and our driver’s spectacular singing.
And now, the end is near; And so I face the final curtain. My friend, I’ll say it clear, I’ll state my case, of which I’m certain.
I’ve lived a life that’s full. I’ve traveled each and every highway; But more, much more than this, I did it my way.
Regrets, I’ve had a few; But then again, too few to mention. I did what I had to do. And saw it through without exemption.
I planned each charted course; Each careful step along the byway, But more, much more than this, I did it my way.
The driver approached our hotel, and I remarked, “Oh I love this song so much. And you’re a great singer.” To which he responded, “If you like, I can drive around a few extra blocks so you can hear it to the end.” I started to say, Yes, but then caught myself, and changed my response to, “Hell Yeah!”
Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew; When I bit off more than I could chew. But through it all, when there was doubt, I ate it up and spit it out. I faced it all and I stood tall; And did it my way…
The song ended, and so did our ride, and our unforgettable date. We gave our personal Elvis a very generous tip and made our way back to the hotel room and our sons. Jerry and I were still buzzing from the Epic night. What an exciting experience. We wondered to each other, out loud, if we’d ever go to another Rave. Um, Hell Yeah to that. (And, in fact, two months later, during a family trip to Las Vegas to attend a Bastille concert, Jerry and I read about a Bear Grillz performance scheduled at the Hard Rock Cafe. We love Bear Grylls, the British survivor who has a show about Epic adventure and survival, which I realize has absolutely nothing to do with going to a Rave with a DJ named Bear Grillz Oops. Another digression. 🙂
I dared to share this story and experience in hopes that it might inspire you to say Hell Yeah to things that could bring you more aliveness, and create more unforgettable moments.
So far, for me at least, saying Hell Yeah more often is proving to be a great strategy for living more.
I’m including 2 video clips below from the Raves to provide proof that we really did this, and also, to provide flavor, in case your curiosity has been piqued and you’re considering going to a Rave or EDM dance club. 🙂
This one is from our second rave, but shows – very early in the video clip and it’s fleeting so watch closely – Jerry, and I, dancing hard:
This second video is from our first Rave, at Rawkus, in Colorado Springs. The DJ, Martial Law, plays a remixed version of Paris, by The Chainsmokers:
Time. None of us knows how much of it we’ll have. I don’t know about you, but I’m working hard not to squander mine.
I don’t squander time mostly due to a mantra I started using several years ago. The mantra is: Nothing is a waste of time. I have used and lived by this mantra for the last several years, and it has made all the difference in my life. I wanted to share it, but I was too lazy to write a blog post about it, so I made a short video blog:
(I’m currently vetting for the 2021 Epic Women program. If you’re interested, please email me to schedule a call.)
I think one of the hardest, if not the hardest, thing for us to do is to dare to live the life we are yearning to live. I’m talking about your life, not the life that others expect you to live, which usually follows a safe path that prevents you from taking too many risks and keeps you from rocking the boat.
In fact, I think that many of us risk our life by not living it.
Howdy!
If you are a woman, and you want to make some changes in your life, consider the Epic Women program, which combines life/leadership coaching, wellness, and a guided 5-day Epic backpacking expedition in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.
The coaching helps a woman take stock of her life, while “priming” her for the July Epic adventure, which is, no doubt, the highlight of the Epic Women program. Being in the wild astonishes us. The wilderness experience wakes us up from a sort of hibernation.
So, would you like to feel more inspired? Would you like to “crank it up,” and do something unexpected? Would you like to discover more about yourself? Would you like to change the conversation in your life? Are you going through a change or transition? Would you like to gain more confidence, or improve your leadership? Would you like to get in the best shape and health of your life? Would you like to make some changes to your life?
I know I’m asking a lot of questions. But I think they are all important ones to consider, and if you answered Yes to any of them, then I’m looking for you.
By the way, if you’re reading this because you’re a leader in your work, and you’re more interested in leadership development, than life coaching, I would offer this: How we live is how we lead.
There is always more to discover about yourself, and what may be possible in your life, but it takes daring…
Mariah, Jenni, Jackie, Vicki, Diana, Wendy and Roxanne dared to find out more about themselves by signing up for Epic Life’s first-ever Epic Women Expedition. These epic women could have signed up for a retreat or a vacation. But they didn’t. They signed up for something that promised to push them.(If you are a woman, this post is an effort to dare you.)
Packs on.
The Epic Women program is a year-long program that combines life and leadership coaching with a 5-day backpacking expedition in my backyard, Wyoming’s Wind River Range. Mariah, Jenni, Jackie, Vicki, Diana, Wendy and Roxanne came from Colorado, Alaska, Massachusetts, New Jersey, Rhode Island, California and Wyoming to embark on the expedition.
Epic Life’s adventures provide an opportunity to embark on a “Hero’s Journey.” A Hero’s Journey is no vacation. Women who sign up for the Epic Women Expedition are answering a call to adventure. Joseph Campbell said nothing brings people together like terror and aspiration. In my final individual calls with each of the women the month before our expedition, most of the women remarked that they were “nervous but excited.” I had them right where I wanted them…
An important aspect of the EW expedition is a mountain climb. Climbing a mountain is a great metaphor for living our best/most epic life. To find our path, to become more, we must dare to go off-trail and uphill. Let’s face it, living our epic life is often hard work. At times it requires a heroic effort. During the EW expedition, we would practice climbing a mountain, and the mountain would be Mitchell Peak. Mitchell is a big and tall mountain, and climbing it would provide views of one of the most stunning sights in the world, the Cirque of the Towers.
Climbing Mitchell Peak is a grunt for most people. If you’re from sea level, it is even more so, and five of the seven women came from sea level. It would be even more difficult because I scheduled it for Day 2. I didn’t choose Day 2 to make it harder. I chose it to hedge against poor weather that might be a factor later in the expedition leaving us no time to accomplish a mountain climb. And, I wanted the group to achieve something great right out of the gates.
As we got settled into our first night’s camp, the sun set and provided glow all around us. We could all see the massive mountain we were going to climb the next day. It loomed.
Vicki, Jackie, Roxanne, me, Jenni, Mariah, Diana and Wendy, on our first night.
I asked the women to share with me how they viewed Mitchell Peak and what their feelings were as the mountain climb approached:
MARIAH: When Shelli told us that we’d be climbing a mountain on the second day of our trip, I was a little skeptical. I had just learned to tie my boots that day! We could see the peak from our campsite, so we knew exactly what we were getting into– and it looked pretty daunting…
ROXANNE: My thought was “OMG, no way.” It truly seemed impossible. And then as I considered that we were really going to do it, I thought, how are we all going to make it all the way up there??
VICKI: It’s funny, that first night the whole experience was still so surreal, that even when we looked at the mountain in the distance it didn’t seem real. I was thinking… “oh, we’re going to climb THAT?! My eyes must be deceiving me… there must be some secret way up there…”
DIANA: Mitchell Peak seemed like this beautiful yet formidable entity looming in the distance. The unknowns of what lay ahead on the route to Mitchell Peak created anticipation and excitement.
JACKIE: Gee, I guess that pile of rocks doesn’t look too high, heh, heh… What, you mean we’re going to climb that thing… How exactly will we do that??
WENDY: The night before, the mountain looked so big… I wondered how far it really was to the top.
JENNI: Looking at Mitchell Peak the day before the ascent allowed just enough time for the intimidation to set in!
—————
Day 2 came early. With headlamps on, we huddled to have coffee and tea and a quick breakfast in the “kitchen area” of our camp. I did a quick check-in with the women regarding how well they slept. No one slept well. In my experience, most people don’t sleep well before a mountain climb, let alone on the first night in the wilderness. I also didn’t get a wink of sleep.
Soon, we had our boots and daypacks on, and were ready to start the Mitchell Peak adventure. Right out of camp, the elevation gain starts. We did a lung-buster-“Buns of Steel” workout as we hiked up the south end of Jackass Pass. Occasionally we stopped to check the map to get our bearings. By the time we reached North Lake, we had gained 700′. North Lake was still and reflected an unnamed peak we all chose to call Epic Peak. Here, we treated some water, had a quick snack, and looked up at the beckoning Mitchell Peak, which stood 2,000 more vertical feet above us.
Taking a quick break at North Lake. That’s “Epic Peak” in the background.
After considering a couple of different route options, the women chose to take what we would call the “Mitchell Direct” route. The next couple of hours of hiking would be hard going. We’d hike up a steep slope that consisted of what the epic women came to refer to as “loose, but stable” terrain.
Climbing a mountain.
An important part of climbing a mountain is pausing to glimpse how far you’ve come. This provides inspiration for the rest of the climb.
After various women took turns route-finding, we could finally see our line to the summit. By this point, our hiking strategy was to move slow but steady. There was less oxygen available, legs were growing weary, and there was a fair amount of boulder scrambling, which was a new experience for many in the group.
Almost to the top.
I should mention that our instructors, Allison and Kat, were a significant part of our Epic Women adventure, and are themselves epic women. As we approached the summit, Kat had a wonderful idea for us to all hold hands upon summiting. It was a powerful and unforgettable experience.
Yeehaw! We made it to the top.
Nothing transforms a group into a team better than an epic undertaking. Using expedition behavior and learning the necessary physical and mental skills while ascending the mountain, we all became more, individually and as a team.
After experiencing the summit as a team, but also individually in our own ways — and after some celebratory “summit chocolate” — we reminded ourselves that the summit was only the halfway point. We still had to get ourselves down the mountain.
The descent.
What goes up must go down. Here we navigate down Mitchell’s slopes.
After 11 hours of hard hiking uphill, and downhill, we returned to camp. What a day! Yet, these women aren’t just any women. They’re epic women. Somehow they still had energy left in the tank to carry through on an earlier commitment to take a swim in Big Sandy Lake. I was totally sold on the idea, mostly because it was so unreasonable, but I lacked the courage. It would be a polar plunge, and I didn’t have the guts! But with the women coaching me, and Kat’s hand to hold, I submerged. It. was. epic. We had come full circle in a day’s time. We had looked at the lake from the summit, and now we looked at the summit from (in) the lake. What a beautiful and perfect ending to a truly epic day.
Here are the epic women’s thoughts upon reflecting on their mountain climb:
MARIAH: Climbing the mountain was an incredible feeling– although the mountain itself was a challenge, the best part was doing it together. Some people had sore feet. Some people were more affected by the altitude than others. But we worked as a group, and we got there as a team. Holding hands as we reached the summit was a powerfully emotional experience. Their was collective triumph, but also 10 individual victories on the mountain on that day. Seeing how people were affected– by the feat itself, the view from the top, etc.– was the best part.
ROXANNE: After successfully climbing the mountain, I thought of many things you said – checking the map, making a plan, taking turns taking the lead, taking a break and re-checking the map, noticing how far we had come & different times along the way, encouraging others when needed, asking for help when needed, all lead to reaching the summit successfully. All are great metaphors for our everyday lives as we encounter various issues & obstacles that may feel like climbing a mountain. I will certainly pull from this experience when encountering other challenges in my life.
VICKI: When we held hands on the summit, I could literally feel the electricity flowing between our hands and our hearts, the welling of emotion, the hint of acknowledgement that overcame each one of us as we peered back through the valley and the lakes below – gazing in quiet disbelief at what we had just accomplished.
DIANA: The big rocks/boulders appeared at first glance to be solidly placed, fixed upon the steep slopes. But when stepped upon some of them teetered or shifted which was a bit alarming. I did not expect them to do that. So what appeared to be concrete and definite had some unknowns built in. Then entered the second guessing and the doubting. Do I step here or should I step there? If I step there will I fall? The doubts and the uncertainties compounded. But then after watching others tackle the boulders and through the encouragement of others I realize my fears were unfounded. I had to be confident in my choices of where to step. I had to be flexible in my stride, stand upright and bridge the rocks with my feet. And if a boulder dipped or rocked no need to panic, just go with the flow. In many ways I think life is similar. There are things that just by looking at them we assume we know. We step right in. But then we quickly find out such is not the case. We might become timid or intimidated by this and find ourselves in an uncomfortable place, the unstable footing if you will. Then there is the self discovery aspect…we learn what we do not know. Then the choice, to turn away from the issue or to turn in to it and face it. And then the enlightenment that all things are possible with flexibility, determination and balance. Life is filled with lots of uncertainty and unstable ground. It just boils down to how you approach it and how you view it. Not everything is as it seems and not all things are fixed and solidly placed. And that’s cool. Lesson learned on Mitchell: be receptive to life’s unknowns and know that with confidence, skill, focus and balance many things that seem most intimidating can be achieved.
JACKIE: Upon coming down, I was thinking, Wow, that thing is up there! I can NOT believe I went up to the top of that huge pile of rock!…I feel pretty impressed with myself. I was scared coming on EWE that I wouldn’t be fit enough, skilled enough, hadn’t prepared enough, might be too old, too fat, too slow, the altitude, etc. Climbing Mitchell affirmed in me that I am strong, pretty fit for an almost 50-year-old dame, and that when I set my mind to something I can achieve it. I realized that I have strength, endurance and better capability than I gave myself credit for having…I know that if I prepare, I can do a lot and I can continue to experience and see wonderful places on this earth using human power.
WENDY: After the mountain climb, I thought, I climbed a big ass mountain! And I came down on one leg. It was a powerful emotion of personal achievement for me. (Wendy injured a knee during the ascent of the mountain)
JENNI: Intimidation combined with a little determination made for a lot of motivation to conquer the peak that had been staring at me for two days! Now that I have successfully summited Mitchell I have a new record “high” for altitude. It was an amazing feeling to accomplish the climb and it gave me an adrenaline rush that I hope to keep satisfying in the future. In comparison to life….all things are possible when you’re determined to succeed. Just keep a nice steady pace, continue putting one foot in front of the other, and when you reach the top you’ll know it was worth every ounce of hard work you put into achieving your goal!
For me, climbing Mitchell Peak with Mariah, Jenni, Jackie, Vicki, Diana, Wendy and Roxanne, women I had come to know personally in the months prior to the adventure, and whose lives inspire me, was an unforgettable experience that will always be dear to me. All of these women could have been doing something else that week — something easier or more “fun.” Their courage to sign up for the epic expedition, and that was displayed throughout the mountain climb, is a reflection of their gusto for life. One of my favorite quotes is a Mary Oliver one: “Are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?” I can report that these Epic Women were not breathing just a little. They may have even at times been gasping. On the Epic Women Expedition, they were practicing experiencing being fully alive.
I’m signing up women for Epic Women 2017. If you’re interested, please email me.
When I first met her, she was crumpled under the cliff, her face bloodied, and her right eye blue, and swollen shut. Her right cheekbone and nose were also swollen and appeared to be fractured. Her face, underneath the bleeding, was pale, and although she was screaming and trembling, her body was not moving. Her uncle was with her, cradling and holding her feet in his hands.
My husband, Jerry, our three sons, and I had been nearby, exploring and climbing the hoodoos known as the “goblins” of Utah’s Goblin Valley State Park when we heard a scream, followed by a loud yell for help. We quickly descended and bolted toward where the yell came from, and that is how we came to meet Ivy, who, presumably, was just moments before having the time of her life exploring with her younger sister, and her uncle.
How quickly one’s life can go from full to fragile…
If you look closely, you’ll spot our three sons. The crag near the upper left is near where Ivy fell from.
I am the mother of three sons. Two of them entered the world in the form of an “emergency,” and at least for some moments there was concern about their survival. I will never forget the despair Jerry and I felt in those moments of uncertainty. The possibility that our son’s life was at risk was too much to bear, and I didn’t have the emotions or ability to hold myself up under its weight.
That is similar to how I felt as I took my first steps toward the girl. I didn’t have the emotions for this and yet I felt the weight of tremendous responsibility and a desire to help. I wondered if I was up to the task. I took a deep breath, and collected myself so I could put myself to use.
Sitting with my sons only moments before responding to Ivy’s fall.
I am an adventurer, adventure guide, and a member of a very adventurous family who spends a lot of time outdoors exploring. I am a National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS) graduate, and six years ago, I became a Certified Wilderness First Responder.
If something were to go wrong for any of my family members, friends, clients, myself – or anyone I encounter in the wilderness who needs help – I wanted to have the skills to be able to help. I wanted to know what to do in situations like this one, and if necessary, to be able to help save a life.
Until March 30, except for blisters, altitude symptoms and minor injuries, my First Responder skills had never really been put to the test. I was hoping it would stay that way.
We’ve been taking our sons, Wolf, 16, Hayden, 15, and Finis (“Fin”), 9, to Goblin Valley since they were toddlers. We’ve traveled extensively in search for great outdoor adventure, and to date, Goblin Valley is our family’s top pick when it comes to natural jungle gyms. The state park boasts a 3-square-mile area called the “The Valley of Goblins.” There are thousands of hoodoos (“goblins”) that beckon.
A child’s natural instinct is to climb, so it’s unreasonable to take kids to Goblin Valley and expect them not to climb and explore the area’s hoodoos. When the boys were little, I would spend most of our time at Goblin Valley yelling and worrying and freaking out as I tried my best to keep the boys on a “short leash” and from falling. That was the way it was when we came here – the boys had a blast, and Mom and Dad worried.
Our sons, eager to explore the 3-square mile of “Goblins.”
Here’s a short video clip of me following our 9-year-old as he climbs and explores up and over “goblins”:
As our boys have gotten older, and more experienced in the outdoors, and with these “goblins,” we have extended more freedom, and there’s less freaking out. But the worrying is always present, and the What Ifs are as numerous as the goblins…
What happened to Ivy is a parent’s (uncle’s) worst nightmare. She had taken a big fall from a “goblin” that was above us.
I did a quick recall of the first steps of the Wilderness First Responder protocol. “Size up the scene,” I told myself, and quickly scanned for immediate dangers to the girl and any of us. I determined she had fallen, learned that it was her uncle who was with her, that the girl’s name was Ivy, and that she had been exploring with her younger sister (who was nearby, hunched over, terrified and sobbing). I asked if anyone saw her fall. Her younger sister pointed to where she had fallen from, which was pretty high up there. I asked if she had seen how Ivy landed, and the answer was no. I (and Ivy’s uncle and my husband, Jerry) couldn’t get Ivy to calm down enough to talk to me directly. She was in excruciating pain. Moaning and crying loudly, and at times, screaming. She trembled in pain and fear, and her face, underneath all of the blood, appeared pale. I asked her uncle if she was conscious when he got to her after the fall. He said he thought she was out/unconscious for “a full minute at least.”
I remembered from my WFR training that when someone suffers a fall from a height, there is a significant risk of spine or head injury – and likely, both. “Let’s be sure to not move her,” I said. She was not on level ground, which made it hard to assess her condition, but we made sure not to move her.
I quickly went through what is known as ABCDE. I checked her Airway for obstruction; Her mouth was full of blood and I couldn’t tell if her teeth had been knocked around, but I couldn’t see anything obstructing her airway; I checked her Breathing–I looked, listened and felt; I won’t lie, this was hard given Ivy’s screaming and pain, and my anxiety and concerns for her were great; Circulation – I tried to check her pulse, and I examined her for any bleeding other than what I could see on her face; Disability – I managed for spine injury, again cautioning anyone who could hear me not to move her; and last, Environment/Expose – assessed environmental life-threats and exposed any serious wounds. I was just guessing, but there appeared to be fractures to her face and nose, and I wondered if her left arm, or wrist, might be broken, and worried about her back being broken, or at least severely injured.
Next, I did a quick and dirty head-to-toe exam. She had sensation in her toes and fingers. “Good news there,” I told myself. I tried repeatedly to discern from Ivy what hurt the most, but couldn’t make out what she was saying; she couldn’t talk and was in tremendous distress.
I recalled from WFR training that it would be important to keep her awake and alert, so her uncle and I continued talking softly to Ivy, and tried to help calm her down. We asked her if there was a song she liked, that she could sing. It was no use; she was in extreme pain and couldn’t compose herself. But we did keep bringing up that idea. It would help her, and us, if we could calm her down even a little bit so we could learn more about her injuries and state, and to conserve some of her energy.
Then, to my great relief, a man appeared who identified himself as a family doctor who happened to be in the area, and who had with him a trauma kit. I moved aside, and let him take over the medical care while I remained in the background trying to help calm Ivy down. A moment later, another doctor, an anesthesiologist, was also on the scene. (Whew! I have never loved doctors so much…)
“I know it’s hard, but try to take some deep breaths. You’re going to be okay,” I told Ivy, while rubbing her left arm lightly. Now that there were doctors on the scene, the mother in me took over. “Help is here, and more is coming. You’re going to be okay. Try to take some deep breaths,” I told her over and over again, while no doubt also trying to make myself believe it.
In the meantime, the family doctor wondered out loud if there was something we could lay Ivy on to at least transport her to more level ground without compromising her spine. The uncle mentioned he had a cot in his trunk, and gave my sons Hayden and Wolf the key, described his vehicle, and our boys ran as fast as they could to the parking lot to retrieve the cot. In the meantime, other area tourists started showing up and lending a hand.
Turns out, when we first arrived, another man, who also heard the initial yell for help, had ran to get help from the Ranger station, so in pretty short order, the Ranger(s), along with others, including our Wolf and Hayden, ran toward us, carrying a litter, oxygen and other supplies.
Several minutes passed while the head Ranger and the family doctor worked on Ivy, and not long after that, we started hearing Ivy singing, what sounded like the song, Jingle Bells.
As the Ranger and doctor tended to Ivy’s care, and more help was solicited, our son, Wolf, worked to comfort Ivy’s sister, who was by now in great distress. The rangers and doctors completed their assessments, and a handful of people were able to move her to a board and then put her on the litter. Next, the crew administered oxygen to Ivy, and the group, including our oldest sons, took turns carrying the litter with Ivy in it. (Jerry, and our youngest son, Fin, walked just ahead of the group to navigate to find the easiest and most direct path for them to take to the parking lot.)
Once at the parking lot, Ivy was put in the bed of the Ranger’s truck and accompanied by the doctor, her uncle and the rangers to the Ranger station to meet a helicopter that was now en route.
As we parted ways with the uncle and Ivy’s sister and the others who had helped in the rescue effort, the uncle looked at us, and thanked us. I told him we’d pray for Ivy, which he seemed to particularly appreciate. (I remembered during the emergency births of two of our sons that a nurse in each case had offered to pray with us. It was moving and powerful and just what we needed in our desperation and helplessness.)
During our one-mile hike back to our camp, my family was mostly quiet. It had been a sobering experience, and we were all a little traumatized. Then one of our sons spoke up, recalling that, coincidentally, the uncle and Ivy and her sister had been camped in the spot right next to ours in the Goblin Valley State Campground the night before. We hadn’t talked to them, but we then all recalled that the uncle looks like one of our favorite comedians, Jim Gaffigan, and I mentioned that I remembered noticing he was eating Honey Nut Cheerios at the picnic table in their camp that morning. We recalled Ivy and her sister had been playing and messing around at their camp, but we hadn’t paid very specific attention to them at the time.
The night before, we had marveled at the beautiful sliver of a moon that was right above a black, silhouetted ridge of “goblins.” Soon after, the sky became totally black, except for the thousands of twinkling stars. It was one of those unforgettable, brilliant night skies as we ate s’mores, and looked forward to our next day of adventuring in the “goblins.” The boys’ anticipation was palpable.
The moon over our camp the night before the rescue.
Later that night, as we lay in our tent trying to sleep, we could hear the man (who we now know to be Ivy’s uncle) and the girls’ –Ivy and her sister’s– voices, laughing and talking, presumably by their own campfire. By all indications, it was a blessed night for them.
We had no idea that the next day we’d meet them the way we did, and be involved in helping to save Ivy’s life. (I tend to think there are no coincidences – that the Universe has a plan – and and that things happen for a reason. This experience certainly feels like that.
For a day or two following the experience, I think we were so traumatized that we felt like it was bad luck for us to be part of such a terrifying and serious experience. But now, we view the experience, and our role in it, as more of a blessing. Of course we so wish Ivy didn’t fall, and yet because she did, we feel grateful to have been so close at hand to be able to help.
Family selfie in Goblin Valley, March 30, 2017.
As a family, we have revisited the experience often.
Since our return home to Lander, Wyoming, 2 weeks ago, I’ve tried to hunt Ivy and/or her family down. We are worried about her, and continue to talk about the experience and pray for Ivy. We would love to know how she’s doing. We know she was helicoptered to St. Mary’s Hospital in Grand Junction, CO, but Ivy is a minor, and we don’t know her last name, and due to HIPPA and other privacy restraints, we’re limited in our quest. I’ve searched Facebook extensively, and have shared the posts with all of my friends in Grand Junction and also in Salt Lake City, where her uncle (during the rescue, had told me she is from), in hopes that someone will know her, or of her condition.If you’d be willing to share a link to this blog post, I’d be grateful. I know it’s a long shot, but it could reach someone who knows Ivy and her family, and somehow we could get information about her well being, which would mean the world to us.
For the record, my family members and I are no heroes here. There were numerous people who helped to save Ivy’s life and to get her to help as soon as possible. The doctors and Rangers did far more to help Ivy than I did.
I have always worried about what it would feel like to be with someone who has a heart attack or who suffers a life-threatening injury, and to not be able to help them. I can’t think of a greater feeling of helplessness than that. Although I probably will never be completely confident in my Wilderness First Responder capabilities, I am grateful for my training. Thanks to it, I was able to know the very basics of what to do when I met Ivy on March 30.
Finally, people are amazing. It was spectacular to see how so many strangers came together to contribute to help Ivy, and I will never forget the kindness and compassion and leadership that a group of strangers demonstrated. None of us exchanged names or shook hands, and yet what happened was significant. Deep and meaningful connections to one another were formed in our group’s effort to help Ivy, and yet none of us will probably ever see each other again.
I have a feeling that whenever we hear the song, Jingle Bells, and whenever we return to our favorite “goblins,” we will think of Ivy.
SIDEBAR:
This experience has been a great teacher. I have learned so much, including:
–How quickly one’s life can go from full to fragile. One minute you’re playing and feeling so vital and alive, and the next, your life could be hanging by a thread.
–Worrying and trying to keep your kids “on a short leash” in the wilderness is a good start, and is better than having a cavalier attitude, but in the wilderness, worrying is not enough. What happens when someone does fall or get injured? We all need to ask and consider this question before going to a place like Goblin Valley. A first aid kit is of no value if we don’t know what to do when we need to use it. At the very least, I recommend a CPR class and certification, and if you spend a lot of time in the outdoors, are a parent or lead groups on adventures, consider a Wilderness First Aid or Wilderness First Responder course.
–The stakes/consequences are high in the wilderness and in remote areas. A medical emergency in Goblin Valley, or any wilderness or other remote location can have a very different outcome than in a town or city. Everything is harder, and takes considerably longer. When we go to play outdoors, we need to consider the risks, and not only worry about and mitigate those risks, but seriously consider what we’ll do if something bad happens. We need to have an emergency plan in place in case something does go wrong.
–Time in the outdoors is important, fun and invaluable for children, and for all of us, especially during these times when we’re so attached to our phones, computers, TVs and other “screens.” Most of the time, things don’t go wrong. For years now, my family and I have spent significant time in the outdoors, and we have never had a serious injury and, until March 30, had never been involved in a rescue or evacuation. Incidents like Ivy’s, although very serious and sobering, should not be a deterrent from spending time exploring the outdoors, but they should serve to inform us.
–Being unplugged on a vacation or adventure (without a cell signal) is both the good news AND the bad news. We had left Four Corners National Monument the morning we arrived at Goblin Valley. That was basically a four-hour stretch that had virtually no cell phone signal. We did not have a cell signal anywhere during our 2 days in Goblin Valley, even when climbing to the highest perch we could find. Do not count on your cell phone to call for help when in remote, wild places like Goblin Valley.
–Being able to manage our emotions, especially during times of high stress and/or a life-or-death emergency, is a very important skill. I like to say, “Freaking out isn’t leadership.” No one wants to follow a leader who is freaking out or who is an emotional mess. And if our life is at stake, we’ll do much better, and our outcome will be much more positive if the people caring for us have a calm and emotionally collected demeanor. This is hard to practice unless you’re tested in real life. Last Thursday, I got a lot of firsthand practice. I didn’t wish for that, but I know it could help me to help, and lead, others in the future.
Here’s a video I captured about one hour before we heard Ivy’s scream and her uncle’s yell for help. It will give you a fantastic look at what is Goblin Valley:
“Someone who does not run toward the allure of love, walks a road where nothing lives.” –Rumi
File this post under #sappy. What can I say, I’m a lover… On the upside, it’s a short blog post, with more photos than words.
Howdy!
I hike. A lot.
One of the reasons I hike is to clear my head and to be inspired by scenery, and whatever nature provides during a given hike. It could be a sunrise or sunset, or a “murmuration” of Bohemian waxwings rising above the Middle Fork of the Popo Agie River. It could be an elk, deer or moose sighting, or an incredible mountain view. Or wildflowers.
Often the inspiration comes in the form of a heart. I see so many hearts when hiking. Mostly I discover heart-shaped rocks, but I’ve seen hearts shaped by dirt, snow, a setting sun, a leaf, a cactus, and even manure! (See photo included with this post for proof of the latter!)
I’ve spotted heart shapes during hikes and walks in my Wind River Mountains, in the Tetons, in California, the Hoh Forest, Montana, Utah, Colorado, Toronto, and even in Portugal, Switzerland and Italy during our 30-day Epic Europe trip last summer.
I’ve found that I don’t have to be actively looking for hearts to see them. I only have to be open and to be paying attention, and so often, I’m blessed by a heart here or there.
Still, looking for love – for hearts – on the trail is a fun way to meditate during a walk or a hike, and I highly recommend it. Why not look for a heart, which is the symbol for love, and which is defined as: The center of a person’s thoughts and emotions, especially love or compassion; courage or enthusiasm; the central or innermost part of something; the vital part or essence. Or, as a verb: to like very much; to love.
Love, Shelli
In Florence, Italy, last summer.
On a family hike in Switzerland last summer.
Two for one on a trail in Ojai, CA, recently.
I looked up during a walk as the sun was setting and was blessed by this heart in the sky.
In Malibu, CA.
A manure heart I discovered while walking circles at the Rodeo Grounds.
Cactus heart on the Mugu Peak trail, in CA.
On the Shoshone Lake hike last November.
Double blessing – a heart and a sunset at the same time!
Dirt shaped heart.
On my descent of Fremont Peak last August.
A heart in a rock.
My son, Hayden, posing next to a rock that someone else found and propped up for all hikers to enjoy.
The only instruction was to meet at the lighthouse at 5:30 am, and then at first light, we’d all take our clothes off. As a group, we’d get naked.
