December Field Notes

What was the last thing you did that scared you? Did that choice give you cause to wonder about your sanity? If so, I know the feeling. 

 We traveled as a family to Joshua Tree to spend a few days in the warmer high desert of Southern California for Thanksgiving week, seeking sunshine and warmth while winter temps frosted Bend. 

 We began our trip in Joshua Tree National Park where I climbed on granite rocks in shorts, scraping my forearms and knees, remembering what it felt like to fully trust my body to guide me. 

 Pressing my toes and fingertips into cracks and crevasses, I clung to the rock in faith that I was safe, securely harnessed to the rope that looped through the carabiners held by Ryan, our guide. There were times I held myself and my breath frozen in place, convinced I had nowhere to go. A foreign body in a foreign land, every choice was beyond my comfort zone and well past my lived experience. I had no knowledge to draw upon, only my primal drive to survive.

 With one good foothold, I managed to adhere myself to the rock face like a shadow hiding from the sun. I lifted my free hand to blindly pad the smooth surface seeking a ledge or a finger-width crack my eyes had missed. I resisted the urge to look down. Closing my eyes to feel the stability offered by the strength of my body, I breathed in and out, calmed by the rhythm of my breath. Ryan shouted advice from below, coaching me to reach right with my foot.

I reached my fingertips into a crack above my right knee, pressing my bare forearm into the rock. I inhaled as I pushed off with my left leg, forcibly exhaling through pursed lips as I laser-focused on landing the move and surviving the climb. I repeated the mantra under my breath, “You got this. You got this. You got this.”

I moved up the rock stringing together movements that closed the gap between where I was and where I wanted to be.

I stood rooted at the summit, smile shining wide for a photo before rappeling down the rock to stand in the dirt beside the kids and Brent. With feet on terra firma, I finally relaxed. Unclipping and stepping out of my harness, I felt loose in my limbs, smoothed out from the full-body effort.

This was the feeling of aliveness! All systems were firing together. I felt alert and ready to take on the unknown obstacles on the path ahead. I was invigorated, open, and resourced, capable of solving the next problem, and the the one after that.

As I climbed I reminded myself that this is exactly where I want to be, despite feeling scared, despite risking the embarrassment of failure, despite feeling painfully vulnerable navigating the unknown path up the rock. 

It was for all these reasons that I planned this adventure and why I love all adventures. I wanted to have an experience in my body that felt like coming up for air after a long underwater swim. I wanted to feel myself turned on and fully illuminated.

Fear makes us feel alive.

Feeling alive is foundational to our experience as human beings. We can’t embrace being alive without being in touch with our fear.

We decide what feels scary enough for our degree of risk tolerance. It need not be rock climbing or bungee jumping. It might be starting a conversation with a stranger, writing a personal story, or traveling abroad alone or with your mother.   

Practice using fear as a tool for your expansion. 

 Feeling alive is foundational to our experience as human beings. We can’t embrace being alive without being in touch with our fear.

 We decide what feels scary enough for our degree of risk tolerance. It need not be rock climbing or bungee jumping. It might be starting a conversation with a stranger, writing a personal story, or traveling abroad alone or with your mother. 

Practice using fear as a tool for your expansion. 

Test this hypothesis by doing something that scares you daily—-or at minimum feels risky and uncomfortable. By tying your choice of action to an intention that honors a core value, you will connect the action to an outcome that promises a return on your investment aligning you with your vision for your dreamiest future. 

By befriending fear, we unleash the fullness of our potential.

So get it! 

Hirshfield shared that she starts each New Year morning on January 1 writing a poem. “Poems,” she says, “exist as necessary questions that have no answers.” Her tip for writing a good poem is to walk while writing it to feel the rhythm of the words in your body.  

 To Major Jackson, poems give space to explore what we don’t understand, to linger in the uncertainty, and to find comfort and beauty there. I like to think of poetry as a remedy to assuage our drive to seek answers and control outcomes in the face of uncertainty. 

 Jackson offers a new perspective that gives me cause to steer clear of the false promise of certainty. He shared with us in the audience that “Seeking answers shuts down possibilities.” 

 So dear one, be in search of uncertainty and linger there. Don’t be afraid of it. 

 Trust that asking questions and observing your sensory experience expands your awareness, key to making your best decisions. 

Pause and reflect.

Make a list of the experiences in your life that bring you a sense of aliveness.

Set a 20-minute timer and write without editing.

Write about a time of intense aliveness.