Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

anxiety

Why We Climb the Mountain

New experiences cause me to have anxiety. Actually, I’m not even sure that’s entirely accurate. I’m pretty sure I always have anxiety, it’s just sometimes I’m more aware of it than others. New experiences make me feel the weight of anxiety more than familiar experiences.

The church we’ve been attending has been organizing summer hikes once a month from May to August. The kids and I went to the first one (when we were still strangers to the church) and missed the second one for my grandmother’s funeral. The third one was rapidly approaching and I was feeling a whole bunch of feelings: nervous, excited, anxious, stressed. The hike was scheduled for a trail I’d never been to in an area about 30 minutes from our house. When it comes to hiking, I’m not new, but most of my hiking I’ve done with Phil. I’m not sure I’ve ever done much of it just me and the kids.

This was my first point of anxiety. Phil is much more level-headed about outdoorsy stuff than I am. I’m usually okay once I get out there in the woods and nature because it feeds my soul to be among the trees, but it’s the getting there that almost paralyzes me. I worry about injuries and getting lost and peeing in the woods. I worry about where to park if the trailhead is busy. Phil, if he worries about any of these things, doesn’t show it. He is calm and collected and handles the unexpected in a way that grounds me. But Phil works on Saturdays and these hikes are on Saturdays, so I was on my own with the kids.

And speaking of kids, sometimes they gripe about going hiking. They ask about how far the hike is and how long we’ll be gone and if there will be bees. The night before this most recent hike, it rained hard and I warned them: it might be muddy, so plan for that. I am not a great motivator for getting people out of the house when I am weighed down my own anxiety, so I thought it was possible that I would just say “forget it” and we’d stay home.

To lessen the anxiety, I try to get as much information as possible. This hike was supposed to be moderate with a steep incline to the top, so I checked my hiking app and read the comments and reviews to see just how steep and incline-y this trail would be. Phil and I once underestimated the designation “very steep” on a hike not long after we’d moved to Pennsylvania. Illinois “steep” and Pennsylvania “steep” are two very different things.

I didn’t find exactly what I was looking for, but I did find two interesting comments:

“Eagle Rock is neat but not particularly scenic.”

“Was disappointed with the view from the top, as it was covered by trees.”

This reminded me of the one-star reviews of National Parks I saw while scrolling social media sometime ago.

And as we hiked the trail (yes, we made it to the meet-up and yes, we had a good time), I thought about that latter comment especially.

Is the view from the top the only reason we climb the mountain?

—

For the second year in a row, I’ve participated in a fitness and nutrition community/program called My Peak Challenge. If you’re a fan of the Outlander TV show, My Peak Challenge was founded by Sam Heughan, and what attracted me to the community and program was the personal nature of the goals and the program. (Also part of the annual fee goes to charity, which is a win, even I don’t use the program at all.) Peakers, as participants are called, are encouraged to “Find Your Peak,” be it a physical goal or a non-physical goal. Sometimes the goal is learning a language or going back to school; sometimes it’s about losing weight or climbing a literal mountain. Sometimes it’s about acquiring a new skill or abandoning something that isn’t life-giving. There are as many challenges as there are Peakers (so, thousands) and it’s inspiring to see people reach their goals and find their peaks.

I consider myself a bit of a slacker when it comes to goal-setting. I don’t like to commit to goals because I’m afraid I won’t reach them. (On the other hand, if I never set goals, I’ll certainly never reach them!) I’m learning that the failure isn’t in not reaching the goal but in not setting the goal in the first place. Progress toward a goal is not wasted effort. There are things to be learned along the way.

This is me preaching to myself, by the way. I’m feeling this tension most deeply in my writing life right now. I am still a writer but I’m not doing as much writing as I think I should be doing, and my writing goals are not particularly ambitious or challenging. Writing is my mountain and sometimes I fear 1) that I won’t make it to the top and 2) that I won’t like the view once I get there.

So I’ll ask myself again: Is the view from the top the only reason we climb the mountain?

—

The reviewers were right. The view from the top of this particular trail was not stunning or breathtaking. We could see a little bit of farmland through the trees but mostly the view was the trees right in front of us.

The view from the top of Eagle Rock

Did that mean the previous hour of hiking was worthless?

Far from it. On the way up our lungs expanded and our legs burned as we traveled up the incline. We talked with those who were on the journey with us (and some who were not; we helped direct a family on the right path that their oldest son, who was far ahead of them, had taken). We tripped and consoled and kept going. We raced ahead and we lagged behind. We stepped on every rock on the path. We stopped to catch our breath.

And on the way down, we talked like old friends. Some of the kids got far ahead of the grown-ups but they were having their own great time. The time passed as if it was no time at all and by the time we were at the bottom, no one was talking about how mediocre the view had been.

All we could do was bask in the togetherness as we gobbled our packed lunches while giving our legs a rest.

“That was so much fun,” my kids both said in the car on the way home.

The view, it would seem, was not the point of the hike.

—

At the top of a mountain or rolling hill, the view might be amazing. It might take your breath away.

Or the clouds might hang low and block the view. Or the trees might be growing right where you’re supposed to be looking. 

Or maybe you don’t make it to the top and have to turn around before you even get there.

Maybe the top of the mountain is crowded and you can’t enjoy the view, even if you can see it. Maybe someone has graffitied the rock or left some trash. Maybe it’s not what you expected at all.

Maybe it’s beautiful.

Maybe it’s mundane.

But was the climb still worth it? 

(To quote a Miley Cyrus song, “Ain’t about how fast I get there, ain’t about what’s waiting on the other side, it’s the climb.”)

What if the climb is the whole point?

—

On that Saturday hike, the talking, the being in nature, the exercise of our bodies was the point of the hike, not the view we would see from the top.

With my writing, maybe the end goal isn’t the point, exactly. Maybe it’s more important what happens along the way.

Maybe the view from the top is only one of the reasons we climb the mountain.

Maybe we climb the mountain to see if we can. 

Or prove that we can. 

Maybe we climb the mountain to restore our souls with the sights and sounds of nature. 

Maybe we climb the mountain because it makes for a good story. Or a picture for our Instagram. 

Maybe we climb the mountain to spend time with friends or family. 

Maybe we climb the mountain to strengthen our legs or our lungs.

Maybe we climb the mountain because it’s there to be climbed.

Maybe we climb the mountain because we can’t imagine not climbing it.

Because we have to. Or need to. Or just plain want to.

Even if we climb it just for the view from the top, we have to accept that we can’t stay there at the top. Eventually we have to come down. And maybe the view at the bottom isn’t the same as the view from the top.

But then again, neither are we the same.

The person who went up the mountain is not the same as the person who came down.

Maybe that’s the whole point of the climb.

Cold medicine, crutches and capability

“Why are you in the sped class?”

We were walking outside with some of our students when I overhead a student from another class that was also outside say this to one of our students. I didn’t hear our student’s reply, but I couldn’t let it go, so I turned and said, “That’s not what it is.”  The student who asked the question seemed surprised that I had heard and responded. She asked a follow-up question: “Is it the Leap class?” and by that she meant the “gifted” class. I shook my head and walked on. 

I probably could have had a longer conversation with the student, but I didn’t. Maybe it wasn’t the time or place. Maybe I was reluctant to draw further attention to the student in our class. The teacher of the class and I continued our conversation as we walked and I realized that this is one of the reasons students hate having to come to our class.

We teach reading skills. It’s not a special education class, it’s an intervention class, a distinction I still don’t fully understand. What I do know is that the student’s comment is probably not the first one our students have heard when they say they have to come to our class instead of stay with their friends. And it’s indicative of a larger societal problem.

Needing help in some area of our lives is seen as weakness. As something wrong with us. I try to fight this stigma with our students by constantly reminding them that needing help is normal. Asking for and accepting help is healthy. There’s nothing wrong with that. I don’t know if they believe me, but I know I have to keep trying.

Because sometimes I don’t believe me, either.

—

Earlier this month I developed what I was pretty sure was some kind of head cold/sinus thing, but to be on the safe side, I scheduled a telehealth visit with a provider who sent me for a COVID test that turned out to be negative. My cold symptoms persisted and taking cold medicine helped me sleep and get through the day, so for two days, I relied on Mucinex to keep my cough under control so I could sleep and function.

And I hated that I had to do it.

Photo by Kate Hliznitsova on Unsplash

I can’t remember a time in my life when I was eager to take medicine. My body is extra-sensitive to it, so I usually have to take a little less than what’s recommended as a dose and I don’t like the not knowing: am I feeling better because I’m healing or because of the medicine? (It’s usually the medicine.)

But I’m learning. Medicine is a tool when used properly and responsibly. It can become more than that but sometimes we need a little help to get through the day. Sometimes we need more than a little help.

After a couple of days, I was able to get through a day without the medicine, which felt like a victory. Because in my mind, needing medicine is a sign of weakness. If I need medicine, I’m somehow deficient, unable to function “normally” (whatever that means). I’ve been conditioned to believe that a medicine-free life is the normal way to live.

Maybe I’m not that different from the student I corrected after all.

—

I listen religiously to the “Office Ladies” podcast with Jenna Fischer and Angela Kinsey. It’s the only thing better than re-watching all the episodes of “The Office.” (Actually the podcast might be better than that because you get commentary and behind-the-scenes info.)

On a recent episode, Jenna Fischer talked about her anxiety. (Side note: I love, love, love when actors and other performers and famous people talk about their anxiety and self-consciousness. They are regular human beings who have succeeded at a job, but that does not mean they are perfect and love every minute of the fame.)

Photo by Luis Quintero on Unsplash

She said it was like a backpack. Some days it’s light and some days it’s heavy, but it’s never not there. I appreciated this description because that’s how my own anxiety feels. It does not weigh me down every day, but some days it feels overwhelming. On those days, I usually take a small dose of Xanax to help me navigate the world. Sometimes I will tell my husband, “I have to take a Xanax today” or “I’m going to have to take a Xanax to get through this.” I say it like I’m apologizing or making an excuse. Sometimes I’m still ashamed that I have a medicinal tool that works in my life when I need it to.

But the truth is: the anxiety meds help me carry the backpack when it’s too heavy. And a weird thing about anxiety in my experience is that sometimes I start out the day with a light backpack and I don’t even realize that throughout the day, I’m putting more stuff in it so that by the end of the day, I’m carrying a much heavier load than I started with. And the next day, my body aches on the inside from hauling all that stuff around. Sometimes I take the anxiety meds the day AFTER a stressful or overwhelming day because my body has been trying to handle it all on its own.

My anxiety medication is a tool.

I keep telling myself. Maybe one day I’ll believe it.

—

“Crutches are a tool, not a toy.”

I said these actual words in the cafeteria this week while I was supervising a lunch period. A student is using crutches for a legitimate medical reason, and another student grabbed them while that student was sitting and started using them. That’s when I said what I said.

We have the same problem sometimes when our students use the chairs with wheels in the classroom to move themselves from one side of the room to the other. We ask them to please stand up and move themselves and their chairs across the room because these are chairs with wheels not wheelchairs. I don’t know if we’re doing this right, but we’re trying to teach them the difference between rolling themselves across the room because they don’t want to get up and needing to use a wheelchair because of a disability.

My sister-in-law is a vocal advocate for disability rights and correcting the language we use. I learn from her about ableism and ways I didn’t even think to see it in society and in my life. She has taught me to remove the words “lame” and “crutch” from my vocabulary when they are used to describe non-medical situations. 

Photo by Lance Grandahl on Unsplash

I thought about the word “crutch” a lot as I struggled with the head cold. In my head, I thought that cold medicine was a crutch for me to get through the day. It had a negative connotation in my mind. But if a crutch is a tool you need when your body needs help, then so is medicine. Crutches don’t mean we’re weak or less then. It means we need help in some way.

I have a lot to learn. And I’m sure I’m still getting it wrong. But I’m trying to tune my ears and focus my eyes on the way our culture values ability and devalues disability. 

Please, keep teaching me so I can keep teaching my students that there’s nothing “wrong” with them if they need help in some way. Whether it’s with reading or math or social skills or managing their emotions. Whether they need meds or assistive technology.

And so I can see the world more clearly and deconstruct my own ableist tendencies.

—

Talk to me about this topic. Are you aware of ableism in our society? How do you see it? And who or what teaches you more about it?