The mountains provide refuge for the dreamer in all of us.
They also provide refuge for the scared little bitch in all of us.
"I'm going to do that." "Dude, lets get on that!" "That's going to be rad." "I'm psyched."
"I'm not really feeling it today." "It looks sort of sketchy." "I am cold." "I can't do this."
The mountains are inanimate. They will not congratulate us on our sends, nor will they belittle us when we fall off of them. Though the canvas may be shaped like a spire, it is blank. This realization can be empowering or overwhelming. Climbing, and perhaps life as a whole, is a lot easier when gazing through a car window. The wind can still be seen garnishing peaks with snow, but her harsh bite bounces off the impermeable car. The vertical realm can still be admired, and a beautiful photo can be taken. There is merit in this; not everyone has the desire to dance a delicate chasśe. This becomes even more understandable when one of your dance partners is considered: Fear. Perhaps it is simply a lack of desire that keeps us from getting out of the car, or onto the dance floor. Perhaps, if we tell ourselves we don't care over and over eventually we will believe it, or maybe at the very least our followers will. Perhaps we are scared.
I have been on both ends of the introductory dialogue. The second line tainted my younger self's passion for snowboarding into something contrived and meaningless. Luckily for me, I discovered climbing at the dawn of a time where I feel inspired to hold myself to principles and listen to Bruce Springsteen with my head out the window. I still find myself constantly butting heads with fear and ego. I flail. I flail a lot. I have had days where I bit off absurd amounts more than I could chew, and utterly choked. But choosing to battle fear is a victory in a war that will never end. The conscious decision in itself is the switch that must be flipped in order to experience anything in its fullest potential: In order to climb well, you have to let go of the fear of falling. In order to ask someone out, you have to let go of the fear of them saying no (I wouldn't know, cool, cool, cool). Ultimately in order to live, we have to let go of the fear of dying. These themes are magnified during a life painted on the mountains.
The abiotic nature of the mountains means that the only living force trying to stop us when we are climbing is ourselves. This rare intimacy with the corners of our mind that we typically try to suppress force us to accept and confront the raw fear in all of us. The canvas begins blank but is constantly being splashed with colour and there is an ongoing power struggle for control of the brush. Though my writing is a filter just like the window of a car, and my words will not do any experience justice, I think it is important to share how we live, and strive to live:
If fear paints my picture, I will not be happy.
Each time we go into the mountains, or whatever the mountains may parallel in your life, we have an opportunity; a day that depends on self determination. We can be scared, and it'll be easy, but lack any sort of satisfaction. Being a scared is a tumbleweed, nothing will stick. Or, we can choose the harder way of life. The stronger way of life, where we put our roots down on what we do. The outcome doesn't matter, the effort alone is the source of a euphoria that is invaluable and refuses to compromise. It is an emotion that is unbridled. It is freedom.
"Talk about a dream; try to make it real.
You wake up in the night with a fear so real.
Your spend your life waiting for a moment that just don't come.
Well don't waste your time waiting."
-BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN !
They also provide refuge for the scared little bitch in all of us.
"I'm going to do that." "Dude, lets get on that!" "That's going to be rad." "I'm psyched."
"I'm not really feeling it today." "It looks sort of sketchy." "I am cold." "I can't do this."
The mountains are inanimate. They will not congratulate us on our sends, nor will they belittle us when we fall off of them. Though the canvas may be shaped like a spire, it is blank. This realization can be empowering or overwhelming. Climbing, and perhaps life as a whole, is a lot easier when gazing through a car window. The wind can still be seen garnishing peaks with snow, but her harsh bite bounces off the impermeable car. The vertical realm can still be admired, and a beautiful photo can be taken. There is merit in this; not everyone has the desire to dance a delicate chasśe. This becomes even more understandable when one of your dance partners is considered: Fear. Perhaps it is simply a lack of desire that keeps us from getting out of the car, or onto the dance floor. Perhaps, if we tell ourselves we don't care over and over eventually we will believe it, or maybe at the very least our followers will. Perhaps we are scared.
I have been on both ends of the introductory dialogue. The second line tainted my younger self's passion for snowboarding into something contrived and meaningless. Luckily for me, I discovered climbing at the dawn of a time where I feel inspired to hold myself to principles and listen to Bruce Springsteen with my head out the window. I still find myself constantly butting heads with fear and ego. I flail. I flail a lot. I have had days where I bit off absurd amounts more than I could chew, and utterly choked. But choosing to battle fear is a victory in a war that will never end. The conscious decision in itself is the switch that must be flipped in order to experience anything in its fullest potential: In order to climb well, you have to let go of the fear of falling. In order to ask someone out, you have to let go of the fear of them saying no (I wouldn't know, cool, cool, cool). Ultimately in order to live, we have to let go of the fear of dying. These themes are magnified during a life painted on the mountains.
The abiotic nature of the mountains means that the only living force trying to stop us when we are climbing is ourselves. This rare intimacy with the corners of our mind that we typically try to suppress force us to accept and confront the raw fear in all of us. The canvas begins blank but is constantly being splashed with colour and there is an ongoing power struggle for control of the brush. Though my writing is a filter just like the window of a car, and my words will not do any experience justice, I think it is important to share how we live, and strive to live:
If fear paints my picture, I will not be happy.
Each time we go into the mountains, or whatever the mountains may parallel in your life, we have an opportunity; a day that depends on self determination. We can be scared, and it'll be easy, but lack any sort of satisfaction. Being a scared is a tumbleweed, nothing will stick. Or, we can choose the harder way of life. The stronger way of life, where we put our roots down on what we do. The outcome doesn't matter, the effort alone is the source of a euphoria that is invaluable and refuses to compromise. It is an emotion that is unbridled. It is freedom.
"Talk about a dream; try to make it real.
You wake up in the night with a fear so real.
Your spend your life waiting for a moment that just don't come.
Well don't waste your time waiting."
-BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN !
