Better Than A Thousand Words?

It's been awhile since I posted anything. I've written, sure; but nothing that felt worthy of publishing. There's so much going on that it's been difficult to step back and reflect on all of the changes.

So in an effort to get back with the program, I thought I'd share a little update. 20 Questions, what's different? Or if you prefer, what's not different?

Yes, I am looking a little white trashy. Give me a break though. It's November and it's warm enough to wear cropped pants and a tank top.

No, this is not my new house. While I did buy a house in Ridgway this summer, this is Stephen's place in Mancos (about two hours away). He's been working on this place since long before I joined Team Barnes. With new siding and windows, this place looks better each weekend - and it's warmer inside, too!

Yes, that is Kilz primer I'm using. I do not know what it's made of, but I am aware it is toxic. That's why I'm outside. However, it still smells better than whatever crap the neighbors are currently burning in their backyard. Not that you can smell it, you'll have to trust me. Ridgway and Mancos are similar small towns in southwestern Colorado, but I'm pretty sure you'd be drawn and quartered in my hood for torching your yard like that.

But I digress.

No, I haven't been eating donuts lately. That's a baby growin' in there! Stephen and I are super excited and the whole process is magical. I am a believer in listening to your body and trusting your intuition; but this experience takes it a huge step further. It's an awesome life lesson in letting go of control and allowing your path to lay itself at your feet. Okay, enough deep thoughts... all I'm really sayin' is it's pretty freaking cool.

Couple of answers to your potential questions:

- We're all healthy. I've never paid this much attention to my diet before, I'm saving tons of money on alcohol, and I'm choosing to be amused by the dramatic changes in my body rather than getting unhinged by the additional pounds and curves.

- We don't know the baby's sex yet and we definitely don't have any names picked out.

- We are due in late March. I doubt I'm gonna send Mighty Aphrodite this year and I'm not sure I'll ski the steeps; but it doesn't feel like a sacrifice. At all.

I'm sure there's more to say, but I've got several more months to blab on about choosing this new path and the wonders of pregnancy.

Peace!

Just Like Riding a Bike

In a typical summer, I can be found anywhere..... except Colorado. Trekking in Asia, climbing snowy slopes in Washington, scaling rock walls in Canada; it seems my singular purpose was to leave the very place I'd chosen to call Home.

This is the year I decided to actually be a resident of Colorado, and not just for tax purposes. Being here for the summer months has provided me an opportunity to put down some roots, hike with the ladies, swing on tire swings, and enjoy new activities that engage its full-time residents.

So, ever been mountain biking? It's more of an assumption than a question with folks around here. People have quivers of bikes like they have quivers of skis.

Now truth be told, I'm not a total stranger to biking. Long before I moved to Colorado, I came here in the summers to ride my bike. I spent two days in a car with a bike strapped to the back to ride in the very hills I live in now! Maybe not the best example of irony ever, but I think it's on the podium somewhere.

Back in the day, I rode the lifts at the Summit County resorts, sped through wildflowers in Crested Butte, and I even explored this corner of the state on my way out to the slickrock of Utah. I had a dining room painted a brilliant green, that we called Colorado. I also had a bedroom called Moab... you can guess the color.

I was, by many definitions, a mountain biker.

But somewhere along the line, I got away from it all. As my life took twists and turns, it led me to new pursuits and away from those summer vacations in Colorado.

So after four winters in Colorado and not an inch of singletrack in my wake, I gave my mountain bike to the neighbors thinking my 13" frame would be good for their tweeners until they outgrew it.

I suppose Murphy's Law dictates what happened next.... that the very next summer I would be here amongst the mountain biking elite. As the days grew too warm for rock climbing in the sun and my partners scattered across the country, it seemed worth a try.

Some days you feel your age? I never thought I'd be old enough to say, 'it's been 15 years since I've been on a mountain bike.' But there it is. Like the DOB on your driver's licence, unavoidable.

Showing my age also came through with the bikes themselves. Brakes are different, wheels are different, shocks - um... well, shocks exist, and fancy bikes even come with a brain! Yes, my old bike did not have a single shock, front or rear. That's what you get when you buy a 'mountain' bike in the flatlands of Chicago.

My guess is it'd be like getting back to climbing after cams came on the scene, or maybe like discovering shaped skis. Anyway, I digress. Let's just say I have some catching up to do.

So what am I learning?

1. It's so much fun to embrace being a beginner.
   I learned a long time ago that Satisfaction = Expectations - Reality. While that applies anywhere, it is a required mindset when you head out on the trail with Adventure Racers, single speeders, and a work-hard-play-harder crew. With expectations so low that any trip that ends back at the car is a success, it's easy to have a good day.
   
   
2. Speed is your friend. Until it's not.
   Let's just say after a few encouraging days out, I got a little cocky. In one 24-hour period, I experienced over the handle bars, bike-passenger separation in mid-air, no-no-no-no-no-no I can't pull this drop off, and the slow fall. Just for the record, the slow fall was my least favorite.
   
   
3. Every sport has it's own language.
   Getting called out for my 'cat 6 tatoo' (i.e., gumby, beginner, newbie) was only made funnier by the fact that I had no idea what it meant. And conversely, climbing references (jokes about french freeing the trail by grabbing trees) might be funny, yet they are lost on a non-climbing audience. As a 'participant observer' on the trail, it was much easier to notice the cryptic language and how the syntax itself binds its participants together.
   
   
4. While each sport has unique qualities, there is more that ties them together than makes them different.
   I fully expect my days on a mountain bike, re-learning to embrace the flow, the feeling of letting go, and speed (caveat: see lesson #1) to translate to the slopes this winter. And I believe the 'go-get-it' feeling of committing to a stretch of trail will help me continue to think UP on the rock. Recognizing that my new biking humor will not translate, I'll have to leave the stand-up to Elena Kagan.
   
   
5. Wear your helmet.
   So I'm a beginner who is exploring my limits... again. Why not take simple precautions? I think we've covered this one before as it relates to climbing. All of us know someone who would be better off today if they'd taken an extra moment to consider the potential consequences of their actions. Think of that loved one next time just before you rack up, click in, or pick up that paddle and do the thing you wish they'd done.
   
   

It took me a few weekends to pick out a new bike.... complete with shocks and a brain. I justified my extravagant purchase with the home buyer tax credit that it looks like I will NOT be receiving, but I'll save my bitch session about that for another day.

It's not just the biking... did I mention fun on a tire swing? After so many summers running away, my heart feels full right here in the San Juans.

Roadtrip

Between mountains tonight. The volcanic, old-growth alpine is behind me now. The rain chases me, but I am faster than the clouds. Even with a rocketbox.

I watch the setting sun light the grass in the field like no Hollywood studio could recreate. It turns out that nature's last green is gold, too.

Halfway there, by any unit of measure, I nestle into the comfort of my sleeping bag. Using clothes at my back, kitchen bins for a table; I crack the laptop and prepare for this evening's feature film. If only I had popcorn.

I watch the sun set further, hoping no farmers will come to check on their fields until after I’ve crept away when the sun's chariot returns in the morning.

I think I am alone, but my phone keeps me company with its chirping and vibrating. I am not alone at all.

Cracking open a cool PBR from my fridge, I greet some new neighbors, simply looking for a quiet place themselves. My clothes bear the look and smell of our tribe's uniform.

The sun falls too low now to set the field on fire. My world closes in to the size of my Outback. It's movie time.

I am home.

Wanna Hear a Little Funky Avocado?

I love Michael Hedges - one of the best guitar players of all time.

"I'm not trying to play guitar. I'm trying to play music. That's the difference right there."

I miss Michael Hedges. I remember the day I heard of his untimely death in 1997. I was headed to a work dinner and stopped on the way to purchase every Michael Hedges album that I did not already own. I wanted to collect as much of him and his music as I could, as if I could somehow hold him close and erase the picture of his BMW driving off the Pacific Coast Highway.

I've been listening to a lot of him lately, and I began to wonder about the source of my love of the guitar. As a teen, my Saturdays were devoted to piano and composition lessons. Between lessons, we'd eat pizza and listen to a friend play guitar in the park. This was my first real exposure to the fullness and diversity of sound created by this compact, stringed instrument. My piano was far less entertaining, and undebatably less mobile.

Anyway, around the same time, I was introduced to Michael Hedges by a dear friend. I remember the first time he played Breakfast in the Field (Hedges' first album) for me. The music was surreal and I found it unbelievable that one man could create and perform these pieces. Check out Funky Avocado, which is THE song that made me a fan for life (not the best audio ever, sorry).

I first saw him play live in college. In the years that followed, I lost track of the number of times I saw him perform, but I never missed an opportunity. I witnessed the evolution of his look and his art. I watched his hair grow from a mess of long braids to gone altogether. I watched him add to his performance with a piano, his voice, and a bouncy ball. The last time I saw him, he even performed Lewis Carroll's Jabberwocky.

In addition to his own compositions (which are fabulous), I've watched him cover Hendrix, Prince, the Rolling Stones, Pink Floyd, Madonna, the Fine Young Cannibals, and whoever it was that recorded Buffalo Stance. (If you're in the mood for just one cover, watch Hendrix's All Along the Watchtower. Two? I'm fond of Love Bizarre. Oh hell, they're all great to watch; that's why I posted them. And you're already here reading my blog, so what do you really need to do that's more imporant?)

He walked the line between yuppie and hippie, as he describes in the intro to this performance of Dirge. (OK, so we've already established you're not so busy that you can't catch a few tunes while you multitask. Start this one, watch his intro, and then go check Outlook while you listen to the song.)

So enough with the links. Sorry. Too much, I know; but for me, every one of these clips is stacked with memories, so it's difficult to choose. Imagine how much time I wasted picking them out!

Anyway, he got a little out there as his style progressed (did I mention Jabberwocky?), developing interests beyond the compositions that formed the base for this art. I suppose that's what artists do though, right? I remember the last concert I saw, thinking to myself that I hoped he would get back to his roots again in the next album or two. I would gladly pay to watch him hop around on stage or play the piano, if I could hear him again today.

I still love the guitar... and there are lots of amazing performers out there. But there was only one Michael Hedges. Youtube's great and all, and I'm happy to see so much of his music being shared there; but it's not like the real thing. I feel fortunate to have experienced his magic while I could actually feel the energy he generated in the room.

Hope you like him.

Hanging On and Letting Go

I've been climbing the last few weeks around Moab, Utah; and today I'm taking a well-deserved, long-overdue rest day.

For those of you unfamiliar with rest days, they are the non-climbing days of a climbing trip. Sometimes voluntary, often involuntary, they provide the time and space for reflection and a couple of fish tacos. Living in the desert, these side trips also provide the only link to the real world - and by that I mean showers, beer, laundry, and the internet.

So what am I learning out here? There's been some interesting duality to my spring - learning about both holding on and letting go.

By holding on... I mean hanging in there when the climbing gets tough. Trying harder. Falling on my on-sight attempt of Quarter of a Man was disappointing, but I believe it also opened a door. I tried hard. I failed. But trying hard and failing felt better than giving up or not trying at all. Somehow, ironically, that failure helped me unearth some confidence. Sounds crazy, sure; but in the 24 hours following that attempt, I red-pointed three new climbs. Just like that... go figure.

By letting go... I mean freeing your mind of all the noise in the past, the future, and the sideways (for more on sideways, see Lost, Final Season) and fully experiencing the present. My friend Mary Beth is about to begin a 10-day vipassana meditation; but I'd like to believe that through the potent energy of the desert, I have a window into similar lessons without the knee pain.

I'm also learning about happiness, by reading Dan Gilbert's Stumbling on Happiness. He's sort of a cross between Malcolm Gladwell and David Sedaris. I had the pleasure of dining with him years ago in Paris, where he told me my life is all about rejecting the status quo. I'm not sure that was a compliment, but I liked hearing it at the time. Sort of a psychological explanation for my life's twists and turns. Anyway, his book is less self-help than why self-help doesn't work. Check him out.

A few other musings from my world out here:

1. To the guy trying to fix his Eurovan here in the bakery by calling every store in a six-hour radius with a potential radiator hose to sell, I have two words for you.... indoor voice.

2. When the topo says 'do not approach in a storm,' perhaps there is a reason. Ever fishtail on mud? I didn't even make it to the 'steep switchbacks,' and I have mud embedded in my tires that will likely outlast the remaining warranty on my car.

3. Next time I climb the North Face of Castleton, I will tape my forearms. The next time I climb Fine Jade, I will sack up for my lead.

4. Listen to your belayer when he says 'your gear's good... now climb.' Better yet, develop the inner voice to tell that to yourself.

5. Fish tacos. Yum. I may not forgive the Wake and Bake cafe for switching the bookstore and cafe to opposite sides of the store (makes me feel like I'm in a funny house with distorted mirrors); but the fish tacos go a long way to make up for it.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Faffing with an Open Mind

faffing: 1) to aimlessly waste time doing useless tasks. 2) my new favorite word.

I returned last night from a week's worth of climbing in the desert. While I take a brief hiatus from the newly-blooming flowers and warming temps, I will heal my bruised hands and feet, file my quarterly taxes, and check in on the non-progress of purchasing a short-sale property (you may be doing well on the stock market, Wells Fargo, but your ability to process my offer sucks big time).

Okay, truth be told, I will also log some Facebook time, catch up on Lost (enjoying it, but sort of over it, too), get in on the new season of Glee (when no one is around), watch video clips (SNL, thank you for bringing back Tina), and read all of my friends' recent blog entries.

Now that I'm somewhat of a blogger myself, I enjoy reading ruminations about life, climbing, medical conditions, house renovations. In particular, I enjoy my friend Pat's blog. His latest entry compares a newsworthy event depicted on both the NYT and Fox News web sites. As I faf away here in the land of electricity-that-doesn't-require-a-generator, I decided to check out Fox News' home page myself to check it out first-hand.

In the headlines, I was thankful to see Obama's name in the headlines. I noticed earlier this morning on Google News that every story under 'US News' was graced with a picture of Sarah Palin. I started to wonder if leadership of our country changed hands while I was unplugged in the desert.

Next, I noticed, in extra large print, Terror Plot Details Revealed. Again thinking I'd missed some important event of epic proportions, I opened the story with interest. The 'details' were pretty thin (lacking when this attempt at terror actually took place), so I looked for other stories. Turns out this mega-headline on FoxNews.com is a follow-up to a story from May, 2009. Important news? I suppose. Breaking news? Hardly. Maybe it's a slow news day, but it seemed like the story was there more to remind us to be afraid than to impart any real information.

Then I took the 'How can the govt expand revenue' quiz and found that start to finish, this was an excellent demonstration of how to skew data. For those of you who know me as a dirtbag climber with a mystery job, I do a lot of this in my work (i.e., create surveys, skew data). I'll spare you the details, but 'tax the rich' seems laden with sarcasm. To be fair (and balanced), FoxNews disclosed that this was not a 'scientific poll.' Um, yeah.

I found a section called Fox Nation, which seems to hold their opinion columns. Maureen Dowd may have a deserved reputation for antagonism in her musings, but she's got nothing on the anonymously-written articles here. Today there are two new columns: 1) why Obama is the most naive president ever, and 2) Obama might be insane. Thanks Fox, this now concludes my morning on your web site.

While it may not sound like it to my Fox-loving friends, I have put a lot of energy into approaching today's divisive political world with an open mind. In addition to reading some of the apocalyptic propaganda in my inbox and viewing Fair and Balanced news without Jon Stewart's interpretation, I had the most productive political debate I've ever had in the Creek yesterday.

The lasting lesson of my desert discussion was to have correct intentions before you open your mouth. With the intention to listen openly and to seek understanding, the entire conversation took on a different purpose. Yesterday was an experience in self discovery that also led to a deeper understanding of the topic at hand in a way that no red herring, circular debate about Obama's birth certificate could ever be.

Once everyone gets out of the dualistic us/them mindset, leaves the rhetoric behind, and gets genuinely interested in what others have to say, there is so much to learn. Not so much about the topic of healthcare or the topic du-jour, but understanding how our unique life experiences shape how we see the world.

• I want healthcare reform, but I can also relate to the person with a five-figure tax bill who doesn't want to subsidize it. Imagine freeloaders eating your food, drinking your beer, and sleeping on your couch. Forever. Legally mandated.
  That said, I think you can also argue that healthcare is already costing us a ton. That same taxpayer already subsidizes it. The freeloader is already on your couch - reform isn't letting him in, it's giving him a blanket.
  
  
• I see the cracks in a system that works for healthy people on group policies, but not folks in the fringes. (Ironically, it seems to work especially well for our citizens on Medicare.) We have a system built on assumptions of how people live their lives. I was one of those mainstreamers for over a decade, and back then I wouldn't have understood what it's like to play insurance defense like I do today. In a recently purchased insurance policy, I was required to complete three surveys to reveal anything that would allow them to deny me coverage later. (I was told this was standard policy.) Does this sound like good customer service to you? Does it sound ethical?
  
  
• I've also spent my consulting career trying to help people cope with change - realizing that change is not easy under the best of circumstances and real change develops over generations, not in days or weeks. We are a society with extremely high expectations and no patience.

Wow, that's a rant. Sorry. What's my point?

I guess it's that I am trying to find my voice and my own perspective in this national debate. I feel surrounded by dualistic, divisive stimuli (e.g., Tea Party... sorry if you're a tea partier, but 'we need to reload' is basically divisive by definition). Intimidation, fear-mongering feels like noise to me and it shuts me down. I find the irrelevant, sour-grapes debates about the legitimacy of Obama's presidency unworthy of my energy. (You didn't vote for him. You don't like him. I get it.)

However, yesterday opened my eyes to a new way to engage. Genuinely seeking greater understanding of yourself and others by exploring these huge challenges we face as a nation - now that is rich. It's less divisive - and ultimately it is far more useful. If we could replace some of the noise with some more of this, I have some hope for us all.

'And that's just about all I have to say about that.'

Pat, please don't write about Glenn Beck... I think he'd raise my blood pressure and I'm not sure when coverage for that kicks in with this new insurance.

Thanks for listening. Could someone please give me a hand off this soapbox?

It's Not the Destination, It's the Journey

I'm getting ready to head to the desert for some rock climbing. (That is, after I ski the 18" of snow that fell overnight here in the San Juans.) I hope to have better luck this trip than last time I went out, about a week ago...

Philippe and I planned to get in our first days' rock climbing for the season at Indian Creek (about an hour southwest of Moab, see photo). I had visions of writing about my transition back to rock climbing, the feel of taped gloves on my hands, the grit of the rock embedded into my clothing. But it turns out that the Creek wasn't my meaningful experience of the weekend.

But before I begin, let me just share that I hate driving at night. First and foremost, I don't see well at night. Next, things jump out in front of your car (e.g., deer, cows). Typically, I plan so that I don't need to drive at night. That said, sometimes the schedule doesn't accommodate daytime driving. Headlights it is.

There isn't much on this drive. Lots of open range and beautiful scenery (Paradox Valley?!?), and very little in the way of infrastructure. One gas station in 3 hours' driving, two grocery stores, and a bakery (that is worth the stop). But that's about it.

Near the Colorado/Utah border, something popped unexpectedly in our headlights - two people walking in the snowy, cold night (weather that had us questioning our plan to climb rock so soon after this storm... call it determination, or perhaps denial). Although the woman waved us down, instinct stopped our car more than anything.

Lest you think this was my strangest late night hitchhiker/rescue/ person to wander in front of my headlights.... I'm afraid the grim reaper in Boulder Canyon may always hold that title (i.e., 7 foot tall man with long hair and big black jacket). Did I mention he was on mushrooms?

Anyway, back to last weekend:

"We need a ride to Salt Lake City."

"We aren't headed that way at all," replied Philippe.

"That's okay. Anywhere is fine."

Um,... first of all, we are about 6 hours' drive from SLC. And not only are we not headed to SLC, the 'anywhere' we are headed has no hotel, no restaurant. Hell, there's no water, no phones, and the only building for miles is the one outhouse shared by all the climbers. Hardly someplace you'd hitch a ride to.

As Philippe pointed out later, a woman who wants desperately to get into your truck (with no real backseat, mind you) to go 'anywhere' is a big red flag.

I should describe these late-night hikers a bit further.... a woman in her thirties (Jen), with an eight year-old daughter (Anna), and their cat. Anna was frightened, crying, and cold. It was as if the mother and daughter slipped out of their home in the early evening hours to wander on an empty road, headed towards Bedrock. Another red flag.

Ever seen Thelma and Louise? Bedrock is the store where they stop to use a payphone.... Brad Pitt's there, which is usually how women remember the scene. Anyway, I'm sure there was plenty there as they filmed, but without Brad Pitt there's no nuthin' in Bedrock.

Well, we piled mom and daughter into our backseat, settled the cat in the truckbed, and motored off to...? Well, we'd figure it out as we got going. As we drove west, Philippe did his best to figure out what this woman had going on. Yes, she smelled like alcohol; but she didn't seem drunk or on drugs so much as she just seemed completely overwhelmed and unprepared for a journey into the night and away from whatever she left behind. Somehow Anna had a backpack with schoolbooks, gloves, and a bucket of change; but Jen had no cell phone, no credit cards, no cash, no plan, and not even the phone number of the sister in SLC to where she was supposedly running.

We didn't get many answers on the drive... The couple left Ft. Lupton, CO a week earlier to live on Boyfriend's 70 acres of land. He had no job because he broke his hand in some steel accident. She hadn't worked in over a year, and they were living on social security provided for Anna because of the death of her father. Or something like that.

My dad used to call me 'oily' when I wasn't straight with him. This wasn't oily so much as it was like trying to see through a big bucket of mud. Or like opening a 1000-piece puzzle box and trying to mentally put the puzzle together. It wasn't so much lieing as it was a series of seemingly poor choices and unfortunate circumstances that just didn't add up to anything coherent. So much for a clear backstory.

As for the night in question, after living a week in nowhere-land, Boyfriend kicked them out because she wasn't helping enough as he fixed a broken sink? It was as if Jen just kept throwing new puzzle pieces into the picture, stirring them around a bit.

Giving up on mom and their story, I focused my attention to Anna. She was warm now, less frightened, and began showing me things from her backpack. We discussed the new school she had started in La Sal Junction (which I thought was just a post office, but apparently there is a school around there somewhere). I couldn't help but wonder how many therapy dollars would be required to deconstruct the damage being done to this girl. Made me sad. I suppose we all have experiences that effect us in positive and negative ways. That's what makes us who we are. At the same time, I couldn't help but wish to alleviate the life lessons imprinting her at this very moment.

We eventually called Sister in SLC from our phone, but got no answer, Jen left a cryptic message, 'we need a ride. we'll try to get to Moab tonight. answer the phone if you don't recognize the number.' The number of times Anna called Sister crazy made me wonder if Sister would even respond to their cry for help. And this was their only hope?

So the moral question is..... what do you do? I am a big believer in the Kindness of Strangers, but once you step in are you fully committed? If not fully committed, then where do you draw the line?

We considered taking Jen and Anna to Moab (first city in their direction of travel), but with no plan and no money; where would we take them? We decided the best option for them was a place to 'camp' for the night. We thought of a Rest Area (behind Hole in the Wall) where they would have lights, heat, water, bathrooms, a phone, vending machines, and a chance to find another ride to get to Moab. What a sucky best option.

I gave them some dinner and helped them move Bluie the Cat out of the truck. And then we pulled away... feeling completely unsettled and uncertain about whether we were right to leave them there. But what else should we do? Where else should we take them?

Where do you draw the line on helping others? Was our help tonight enough? Was it help at all? Again... what do you do?

Philippe was the one who found a solution to our moral dilemma - he decided someone needed to look in on these two. In his opinion, the responsibility did not rest with the next passerby, or some restaurant waitress after they found a ride into Moab. In Philippe's view, this was the function of the police - to protect. I can't articulate why, but my first feeling was that calling the police would be ratting them out. Without a better idea, I decided to embrace Philippe's optimism about Utah's State Troopers. Then I said I hoped Jen wouldn't be angry with us.

We made a call to 9-1-1 and got patched through to local police, who thanked us and promised to send a trooper to check on them immediately.

I wish I had some further information about what happened to the family; but I am only left to speculate on 1) what kind of policeman showed up... a helpful one I hope, 2) what situation they actually left behind.... I can assume it was something bad, but who knows, really, and 3) what situation they will find ahead of them.

I am not optimistic for Jen. Makes me sad to admit that, but that's what my gut tells me. More than anything, I hope that Anna will survive the next 10 years with her head and heart intact.

So my question to the universe is... what would you do?

And the Creek? We finally made it out there. It was cold and muddy. I got sick that night. And to top it all off, the rock was too wet to climb in the morning. I'd like to believe we were where we needed to be that night.... helping out some strangers and their cat.

We Love You, Dolores

While I've been more motivated to climb this winter, the recent weather provided some incentive to get my butt out on a couple of waxed planks. Let's just say that if Dolores LaChapelle were alive today, she would be totally psyched right now.

If you are not familiar with her legacy, here is an excerpt from her book Deep Powder Snow: 40 Years of Ecstatic Skiing, Avalanches, and Earth Wisdom:

Often, I'm asked: "How did you get into ritual?"

I did not get into ritual. What happened was that ritual engulfed me before I had a word for it or knew anything about such a process. For years, I had been skiing steep, deep powder and fully knew the bliss of such interaction with snow, gravity, and the humans in the group. But all that seemed perfectly understandable at the time and I needed no explanation. The first event which caused me to really wonder was a day at Alta when it was snowing graupel....

We had been up and down enough times to know how really good it was and that it would continue for a while, so on this particular ride up the chair I had the chance to ponder about what in the world was going on here. Looking at my friend on the chair ahead, clutching the metal rod, head buried deep between his shoulders, I thought that if someone watched a film of this scene; they would think we were suffering unbearably, when actually this was sheer bliss. Why? Well, I couldn't figure it out, although I knew it had something to do with the effortless flow of all of us together each time down the mountain. No thinking was ever needed; no concern as to whether that turn could be done before hitting the tree. So all are moving together with no thought. And of course we aren't doing it at all. All of us had agreed that none of us could ski this good - ever. So the mountain and the snow were doing it for us. These are the actual words many of us used.... the others were either on the lift crew or ski patrol; so this kind of group would not be speaking poetically; they meant it when they said the mountain and the snow were doing it...

Now, much later, I know where this feeling comes from. In ritual, it's called tuning. From the neurobiological point of view it has to do with the older brains in us: animal (limbic) and reptile, as well as other factors. Bonding develops out of this tuning, and bonding is the real basis of all society - both human and animal. When one experiences this tuning and the bonding that grows out of it, there is a feeling of deep gratitude, or grace. And you always know it's not just you - it's the more than involved. ...

It was some years later, when I found this sentence [by Josef Pieper] concerning the overflowing Goodness of nature: Joy is the response of a lover receiving what he loves. This is the joy we feel when skiing powder. All this is a gift for us, now at this moment! This overflowing gratitude is what produces the absolutely stupid, silly grins that we always flash at one another at the bottom of a powder run. We all agree that we never see these grins anywhere else in life....

This is at the heart of powder skiing and of all nature festivals. One experiences during that time the universal goodness of nature.

So, what does all this mean to me? To you?

While the silly grin may be unique to a run filled with face shots, I don't think the experience is limited to limitless powder. I've had similar experiences connecting with something larger than myself climbing rock on Yosemite's Half Dome, ascending Mt. Rainier's Sunset Ridge in a whiteout, SCUBA diving in Little Cayman with groupers who thought they were puppy dogs, and practicing yoga with my mentor.

That said, I can say for certain that I never experienced joy writing a status report, or (worse) sitting in a status meeting. I can't think of a situation in which I would use the word gratitude in the same sentence with any Microsoft product.

What I can also say for certain is that my day yesterday conjures up the experience Dolores describes. I feel thankful for the experience, even if the day started with calculations of where we could ski to avoid the howitzers doing control work.

So here's my hypothesis, more collective moments of joy would make the world a better place. I'm not saying everyone needs to quit their day-jobs to bus tables after a day at the slopes. I am suggesting that we can increase our happiness by increasing the ratio of time we spend connecting with nature instead of connecting with a Blackberry, the television, or Cloud Technology (whatever that is).

I had an experience on my last work project, shortly after I started. Someone in the group said to me: "You love your life, don't you?" I didn't know how to respond to this. Taken without any intonation, my answer was easy: "Yes, I do." What was less easy to respond to was the implication that it was somehow wrong or unacceptable to love your life.

I think this person needs more turns in their day. More joy in their life. We all do. This video may not help you experience the joy of powder skiing, but it may make you laugh. (FYI, we skied the couloir on looker's left above this shot.) I never fall when I ski. The video will prove me a liar, but it had to be said.

Ethics of Free Speech and the Internet

"Great minds discuss ideas. Average minds discuss events. Small minds discuss people."

-- Eleanor Roosevelt

While I am ambivalent or even a little wary of our constitutional right to bear arms, I am a big fan of Free Speech. Eminem, Sarah Palin, and Sean Penn…. It doesn’t matter who you are, you can say whatever you want. Explaining the concept to a teenager in Pakistan made me acutely aware of how deeply embedded it is in our culture. I believe our world has become tainted by bitter, ugly debate; all made acceptable because it is our inalienable right to do so. What I have noticed lately is the role the internet plays in this Free Speech free-for-all. I don’t want to step on anyone’s right to elocute and I’m not preaching about political correctness – just manners. Ethics. Think about it. As climbers, we embody the American expression of the right to live as we please - weekend warriors and full-time dirtbags alike. It is our form of 'the pursuit of happiness.’ In this pursuit, we are shaped by ethics – whether or not to bolt a route originally put up on gear (Mighty Aphrodite), using heel spurs or not (insert steep mixed route of choice), using bolts to ascend when maybe you just shouldn't be on top in the first place (Compressor Route), breathing supplemental oxygen (any 8000m peak)... the list is endless. So why not apply a little of this self-regulation to how we treat each other as fellow Americans, as human beings? Take, for example, emails (that often begin with fw: fw: fw:) that spew apocalyptic, factually-suspect venom out to any and all who are willing to scroll down far enough to read it. A couple examples from a recent email in my inbox (titled ‘Obituary’... as in Obituary of America): If Congress grants amnesty and citizenship to twenty million criminal invaders called illegals and they vote, then we can say goodbye to the USA in fewer than five years. Little known fact, Obama only won 19 states in the 2008 election. The first statement may ostensibly be about an immigration; but the statement makes an emotional argument that is more about fear and bullying than discourse. Personally, I get stuck on the poor taste and lack of compassion, but I suppose that’s my bias – we all have one, you know (but unless you live on a reservation, your ancestors were immigrants at some point, too). And the second? IMO, it isn’t about anything. It is noise. Seriously, what purpose does it serve to circulate obviously factually incorrect statements about an undisputed election a year later? (Turns out, it is rehashed from 2000, only the Montagues and Capulets have traded costumes. With this context, it made a lot more sense to me. Remember 2000? Hanging chads? Florida?) So now I find myself in a plagiarized, re-imagined debate that is totally irrelevant in the context of our current politics? (unless I'm missing something) Really? Are we itching for a fight that bad? The internet is powerful; but it's important to see the differences with this medium than say, the dinner table. Consider this as you engage in email 'debate.' Email does not stimulate collaboration and discussion; it is a soap box. Before you send (or worse, forward) that next email, take some ownership of what you pass along. These statements become yours once your name is at the top of the list. Maybe ask yourself the following: Did you really read it? (if you want me to read it, I expect you have, too) Did you fact check it? (Google is your friend) What is your intention with sending it on? (do you want to piss me off?) What is the likely effect of sending it on? (regardless of your intentions) Would you type that email yourself? (forward makes it too easy to pass on spam) I'm not trying to do away with Free Speech. I’m just saying, if we took an ounce of the energy that we put into protecting the climbing style of a Mugs Stump route or the cryptobiotic soils of Canyonlands and poured it into the ethics of how we communicate, what could we come up with? Perhaps we would worry less about protecting our right to say any thing we desire - true or not, constructive or not - and put a little more thought into what things we say (and what it says about us). Maybe our country would be a happier, kinder place. And now I will step off of my soap box. Peace out

Backstage at the Ouray Ice Festival

For those of you unfamiliar with it, the Ouray Ice Fest is a weekend in January where thousands of ice climbers come to town. There are tons of events (all with New Belgium beer); lots of climbing; and good energy everywhere.

A few years ago, I volunteered to assist with the competition. The process is pretty simple - the athletes rappel down into the canyon, wait for their turn, and then climb as high as possible on a route set up specifically for this occasion. They get one try. When they fall, they lower back down to the bottom of the canyon, and then walk or climb back out of the canyon via a different route. In a typical year, one climber in 25 tops the competition route out and everyone else falls at some point along the way.

I had a few jobs for the day - rigging lines for the climbers to rappel in before they compete and to climb out after they fall, retrieving stuck tools during the competition itself (sometimes the athletes fall and their tools remain stuck in the rock or ice), and providing backup for the athlete check-in process.

As the day drew on, there was a rescue call from somewhere else in the ice park. Colette (in charge of registration, but more importantly, one of the town's EMTs) was gone as fast as you can say crampons, leaving me to check in the remaining competitors. I hadn't paid much attention to the details of this particular job; but as I took over, I discovered that I was basically just providing a little low-down on the process for the athletes (e.g., where to rappel into the canyon).

After a person or two, I relaxed into my new job. Up walked Josh Warton. It was his first year competing and he had a simple, but new question for me.... 'if I take my jacket down with me, how will I get it back?' I was taken aback by Josh's assumed outcome in his question - that he would top out the route.

My surprise must have shown on my face. Embarrassed, I laughed and said 'no one has asked me that all day.' He laughed and said something along the lines of 'I know it's unlikely, but you never know, and it is cold out here.'

In that exchange, I saw the practice of positive mental attitude, visualization, law of attraction, or whatever label you prefer, in action. Josh had thought through success far enough to realize he would be cold when he reached the top of the gorge.

Josh did not climb out of the gorge on the comp route that day. But two years later, he would. And the year after that (see picture for him topping out the 2010 comp 5 minutes ahead of the second place finisher... that's huge).

I'm no expert, but I can tell you that the most impressive accomplishments on Josh's resume have nothing to do with competing. Let's just say that he's climbed some big stuff in amazing places.

So far my version of this positive mental attitude thing is pretty simple...think UP. Simple, I know. But it (sometimes) works for me.

It's been suggested to me that I employ what I call the 'Josh Warton training program' - climbing at Rifle and the Black Canyon this year. I'm not sure I'll be stalking him quite like that, but I would like to model his mindset. And maybe I'll pack an extra jacket to leave on top.

Kahiltna Basecamp Tweets

As we move into 'late winter,' thoughts drift to spring projects and Alaskan expeditions. Last spring, I made my first trip to the Last Frontier with the objective to tick as many classic moderate routes as we could (thanks, Joe Puryear - Alaska Climbing).

What did I learn in Alaska? What did I take away from the experience? The first words that jump into my mind are big and cold, but I suppose those are intuitively obvious. As for the climbing, Mark Miller and I took advantage of great weather in our nine-day window, ticking Shaken Not Stirred, Mini-moonflower, and Mt. Barrill via the Japanese Couloir. (you can see Barrill on the left).


Mark and I spent a lot of energy preparing for the climbing: ropes, crampons, extra picks, first aid kit, climbing gear planned down to every camelot and ice screw. We also spent hours planning for basecamp: tents, snow-stakes, sleeping bags, clothing, and food; but somehow it was the living part that I was least prepared for as I arrived.

For those of you planning your own trips this spring.... A few things I wish I had packed:

• An Exped mattress (or rather, a working exped)
• Pencils (did I mention the cold? Really cold? As in, too cold for pens.)
  
• Bacon (Mark is a vegan)
  

And conversely, things I'm glad I packed:

• A backup Thermarest (see Exped debacle)
  
• Pee funnel (it may not be worth sexual reassignment, but I can't say how much better it is to pee standing up)
  
• Bailey's Irish cream (although I must admit it wasn't a satisfactory substitute for bacon)
  

Anyway, there were many stories and lessons learned each and every day. I wouldn't nominate myself for MVP of Alaska, but maybe Most Improved.

Got time for a quick story?

So Mark and I were in Kahiltna Basecamp, alone (it was mid-April, no rangers, no basecamp manager... no one). We were waiting for our flight to bump over to the Ruth Gorge the next day. I heard a plane flying low and went outside to check it out.

I’m no expert, but I knew something was odd the moment I stepped outside. This small plane (a Cessna 152) was flying low with his flaps down, as if it were landing. But it didn’t land. Passing the snowy landing strip, the plane dipped down, banked to the right, climbed as it turned towards Mt. Hunter (see photo), and then.... gone. No sound. No plane. Just eerie silence and one confused chick standing on the glacier.

To make a long story short, the plane did in fact crash; having lost too much speed and lacking the power to turn and climb. The young pilot and his passenger (both unhurt) snowshoed to our camp, where we called TAT to give them a ride out. As they waited, the poor pilot kept muttering that he could have just straightened out and landed the plane. Can you guess the very first thing out of Paul's mouth when he arrived to pick them up? Yep, 'Too bad you didn't just land.'

One of the last things I heard the passenger say was ‘man, this would be the best Tweet ever!’

Does social networking change how we experience things? Instead of taking pictures or writing journals, have we evolved to experience our adventures through our ability to share them with our friends and followers?

As climbers, social networking provides a means to draw an already-small, but dispersed climbing community even closer. We now have a way to find partners, to locate empty couches, to share our adventures from all over the world - whether it's sending hard routes in Nepal or crashing a plane in Denali National Park!

Am I returning to Alaska this spring? Don't know yet, but I've got the Spantiks and a new deluxe Exped ready for the journey!

Groove is in the Heart

You've heard of kids with imaginary friends? (a sign of brilliance?) Well, I took imaginary friends to a whole new level. Donna and Dosa were my best friends. I communicated with them through the air vent in my dad's Lincoln Continental. But that's not all. My imaginary husband was Danny Verno, but I'm sorry to say that it didn't end well for us. He cheated on me, we got a divorce, and he moved to California. I was five. I remember feeling uneasy when my family would ask why he hadn't been around lately. Crazier than my early childhood relationships was the fact that I created it all in my own head.

Yes, I've been told that I have an active imagination.

Anyway,... As I begin thinking about the spring and long alpine routes, running is my go-to exercise for cardio training. It's a great way to exercise while I take advantage of the sunny weather (sorry, East Coast), watch the eagles along the river walk, and provide an open space for my mind to wander.

I threw some new material in my ipod for my morning run. Before I got to my music, I noticed a new episode of Dirtbag Diaries. The opening for 2010, guests explored their goals for the year. One that stuck out as I trotted along was a woman who wants to find a place to live this year.

It's something I’ve been thinking about for a long time… well, since I left Chicago over four years ago. To those who are more settled, this may be a question of neighborhoods and school systems, but to a wanderer it a much deeper question.

When I lived in Chicago, I had an anchor, for sure (see 'job at Accenture'). Pulling up that anchor was a good thing, sure; but the limitlessness of what comes next can be too much at times. It's a Paradox of Choice.

So what do I need? More floorspace than a backpack, bigger than a Subaru; but not something to tie me down or force me to travel to Houston in July. Hmm, maybe a yurt would do nicely...

What about the wandering? I love traveling, and not in a match.com, Facebook things-I-like kind of way. Traveling each summer has become my status-quo. If I didn't travel, I wonder if I would enjoy Ouray as much as I do each winter.

Maybe the difference is that traveling is an excursion away from basecamp and wandering is the excursion alone, without the basecamp. Perhaps I will graduate from wanderer to traveler by putting better definition around home than 'the greater-Ouray area.'

(While I'm considering my basecamp requirements, I'd like to include: indoor plumbing and hot water, someplace big enough for the dining room table I've been patiently waiting to unpack since 2003, and a place to plug in the espresso machine. I don't need everything. As evidence, I'm actually growing fond of the crash-pad coffee table. God knows I'm not getting much use out of it bouldering.)

Rarely do I solve problems as I run, so don't expect a nice, neat conclusion to these musings. Just a few minutes to consider things. I suppose it was comforting to hear another woman with a similar goal for herself this year.

After a few regulars on my ipod (maybe there is such a thing as too much Abba), I rolled into some new tunes that lightened my mood considerably.

Let me preach for just a moment... I strongly believe everyone should have a hip-pocket karaoke song. Something ready to go, should the need arise. I mean, imagine yourself standing on-stage with a crowd cheering you on to sing. Do you want to be unprepared for that moment? I mean, I’ll admit it may not be as critical as your emergency savings account; but it could happen. Thankfully, I got a chance to practice my Mary Chapin Carpenter set. Hopefully the passersby on my run didn’t mind. Yes, Mary Chapin Carpenter. When the day comes, I'll be ready.

And check this one out…. Groove is in the Heart! If you graduated from Northwestern with me, you heard that song 1,000,000 times during Dance Marathon. Basically, Dance Marathon was a weekend-long party, masquerading as a ‘charity’ event. 30 hours of dancing, it was highly memorable and somehow also all a blur. I love how a song can take me to such a happy memory, if a hazy one. We should dance more often. Maybe that's why Ellen is so popular. (Is she still popular? I hope so.)

Anyway, have a great day. Shuffle up the ipod and let your imagination take you away.

Eat Your Ice Cream

So what did I learn about climbing this week? Well, I retreated from Birdbrain Boulevard after ~100m of climbing, and here are my takeaways:

• Just because Steve House climbed it, doesn’t mean it’s necessarily 'in' for me. 'nuf said.
• When your number of pitches exceeds your number of gear placements, it's game-on.
• Maybe 5.8 chimneys are better climbed with hands than ice tools. Just sayin'.
• Ever gone swimming in San Juan facets? With approaches like that, who needs Crossfit?
• When you’re sick, be sick. Don’t go climbing.

So it wasn't the send-fest I'd planned for, but I kept it together through the M5 X (or 5.8, or whatever rating you want to give it), long enough to build a belay and realize I didn't have the energy to keep it up. I do look forward to returning to this choss-pile on another day. Hopefully next time someone else will put in the boot-pack.

Anyway.... After my morning, I proceeded to spend the next three days sequestered in my home - feeling like crap, getting an ab workout from coughing, and remembering a friend's words of warning 'if you are getting sick and you go climb Birdbrain, you'll be sick for a whole week.' I could hear the 'I told you so's' without even needing them spoken.

So I'm sick. What can I do now? Embrace it.

Allow me to digress for a moment... The first summer after I left my job and my life in Chicago, I traveled to Europe. It was one of those unstructured, unplanned trips that you might expect from a gap-year Aussie; but certainly not a 30-something American. On-sighting France without so much as a Lonely Planet. On 10 Euros a day.

As my trip drew to a close, I splurged and took a trip to Bordeaux, not for wine, but a little spiritual encounter. I spent time at Plum Village with Thich Nhat Hanh, or Thây. For those unfamiliar, he is a Vietnamese Buddhist monk and Plum Village is the monastery/meditation center he built in France after his exile. His story is both painful and amazing; certainly worth a read, but I'll leave that for Wikipedia to explain in more detail.

To sum up my own experience with Thây's teaching, it is to be mindful of all that we do, our feelings and experiences, good or bad, big or small. All of it.

To give you a sense of the experience, there are several house rules there to provide guidance on mindful living.

1. First, nothing gets done quickly. New Yorkers, multi-taskers, and moms must need a lot of help adjusting to the pace when they arrive.
   
2. Next, there is very little talking, and none during meals. You chew. You taste your food. You swallow. With less interaction, you begin to experience all of these things that typically happen absentmindedly.
   
3. And here's another, when any bell goes off (e.g., the clock, every half-hour) everyone stops what they are doing and takes three breaths before they resume (which explains why it is so difficult getting anyone there to answer the telephone).

One of my favorite stories I heard there was about Thây explaining mindfulness to a group of children. He told them 'when you drink your tea, you should only ‘drink your tea.’' When the children responded that they didn’t drink tea, Thây quickly countered with ‘eat your ice cream.’ I understand that it was a big hit with the kiddos.

I could go on and on, but it's not the kind of thing you can easily put into words. If this gets you interested, pick up one of Thây's hundred-plus books, subscribe to their podcast, or become a fan of their Facebook group. Yep, they podcast and Facebook just like we do. Well, not just like us... I'll bet they never chat, post photos, and blog all at once.

Anyway, it was a great experience for me and I find myself remembering it as I sit here coughing up phlegm. I know. TMI.

So whatever you do today… Embrace it. Climb Birdbrain. Be Sick. Eat your Ice Cream. Breathe.

God Bless Helmets

Mixed climbing has not been my favorite climbing discipline.

Steep rock climbing with lots of sharp points protruding from my arms and legs, tenuous holds, big reaches? Not so sure about that. Early this season, I put in a few days to get in shape as the ice was still forming. Each day ended with me saying some variation of, "I could be clipping bolts in Spain right now."

I can't point to a moment where things turned around; but somewhere in the following month, things did start to click. I found myself begrudgingly ice climbing, because I'd rather be scratching my tools on rock despite my ineptitude with it. My friend Jason put it well when he said, "everyone hates mixed climbing until they start to get good at it."


The process and rewards of learning something new - I'm addicted to that rush of new light bulbs flashing in my head. I had similar waves of excitement learning to aid climb, crack climb, in the alpine. The initial spark of understanding, rather than the more elusive mastery that comes later - it's the quick, cheap buzz without the real work required to raise the bar further.

Back to the subject of mixed climbing, I had a big day this week - a day with some success, a few lessons learned, and a new-found appreciation for my helmet.

With a handful of moderate mixed leads under my belt, I brought my enthusiasm and blooming confidence to the Ouray Ice Park. My partner convinced me to pull the rope on Circling Vultures (M7ish, Ouray Ice Park), with the simple statement that if I was going to learn to mixed climb, I should embrace leading as well. I agreed to lead rather than top-rope, realizing the consequences as the rope began piling up at my feet.



Learning to route-find on lead is unfamiliar, as I have a fondness for wiring routes before I consider leading them. While I'd been on the route once before, it was now missing the ginormous pillar that previously functioned as backrest, foothold, and pickhold.

I will spare you the play-by-play of my climb, except to say it was slow going as I unlocked the puzzle move by move. I had already agreed with my belayer not to take, and for some reason just making that decision had put the option out of my mind. Could it always be that easy?

I made it through the now pillar-less section to seemingly safer ground up high. "Only two clips to go," I thought to myself as I began to envision myself getting the route clean. And with the predictability of a Timex, that's when the wheels came off.

Here's where the lessons really started to queue up fast:

Lesson #1: When you fall on mixed climbs, it is often abrupt and unexpected. I'm told this is like an aid fall, but I haven't had the pleasure of that yet. On this day and that particular move, I didn't even have the thought of falling until I was in the air.

Lesson #2: Falls can send you, how you say - ass over teakettle - or upside down. If the climb is steep enough, you feel nothing. If you are me on this particular day, you are not so lucky. My shoulder took the brunt of the force, and I believe that without my helmet I would not be typing right now.

Lesson #3: What's harder than making a hard move? Making the same move knowing the last time you tried it, you fell about 15 feet and drew the attention of EVERYONE in the area. Somehow the tool placement I'd used was no longer there (hmm...), so I was forced to find a new sequence to clip the next bolt. Clipping that bolt was perhaps the biggest victory of my whole day.

Lesson #4: Having friends and strangers cheering you on is just about the greatest feeling ever. Somehow my friend Dawn knew to yell something encouraging just as I needed it.

Lesson #5: Leading Tic Tac (M7ish, Ouray Ice Park) right after my Vultures experience was a visceral experience of the difference between working a route into submission and the added effort (and reward) of on-sight climbing. I had put so much top-rope time on Tic Tac that I was able to climb with the confidence of knowing there's a good hold ahead (and even better, the location of said good hold). So what's the lesson? Leading: hard. Onsighting: harder.

I'm sure there are many other lessons from this one small day of climbing. As I describe this new medium of mixed rock/ice climbing to my non-climbing friends and family, I love the response, "but it's all climbing." I can almost hear the 'just.'

But there are new and renewed lessons to be found by broadening my horizons and trying something new. Like 'Wear your helmet.'

Photos by Jason Nelson, www.VisualAdventures.com

My Own Rhythm Section

My father has a phrase he uses to describe people like me. He says that we dance to our own rhythm section. I used to think it was how he described weird people (and truth be told, usually it is); but I’ve come to understand what it means on a deeper level. I am following my own path.

I live in Ouray, Colorado and I spend my winters climbing ice. I spend my summers traveling, climbing whenever possible. I do freelance work occasionally, but mostly I just live simply. By some standards, I am living the dream, but I disagree. I am just living… consciously. That said, I like my life an awful lot.

I should take a step back and explain how I got here. I left college and embarked on a management consulting career full of carrots just out of reach. By most measures, this life was successful. I grew a 401k, a garden, and a healthy collection of kitchen toys from Williams Sonoma. I settled into a life that was comfortable and stable. Somewhere in that process, I started to think about what I wanted out of life; and I began to feel like part of a Talking Heads song.

Several attempts to change my life incrementally taught me: 1) Chicago has a great airport for consulting, but maybe that’s not a reason to live there, 2) you can’t change yourself by changing relationships, and 3) I really like rock climbing. In an attempt to revitalize a struggling relationship, I spent four days learning to ice climb in Ouray, Colorado. That trip was the first glimpse of my life-to-be, and the beginning of a tectonic shift in who I am.

As we basked in the sun atop Skylight, our morning’s objective, our guide told me, ‘you know this isn’t going to work, right? I mean, all guys say they want a rope gun for a girlfriend; but that’s not actually true. When you’re ready, you should come out and we’ll climb.’

1. No one had ever called me a rope gun before.
2. I already knew the relationship was over.
3. I wanted more of this. All of this.
4. While I couldn't even wrap my head around what a life of climbing would be, somehow I couldn’t imagine a life of anything else.

The first time I led Skylight I kissed that tree anchor; thankful for the moment of clarity I found there. But I am getting ahead of myself.

Six months after my fateful trip to Ouray, dissatisfied to the point of doing something about it, I enrolled in an intense yoga retreat. There, I awoke to a simple idea: The only thing standing between me and the life I want to live is me. It was that simple. If you think it’s not, you’re wrong. I’m not usually one to argue; but there it is. Thankless job, dead-end relationship, sedentary lifestyle – it was all in my power to change.

That was the difficult part. From there, the move was easy. That was five years ago, and I’m still here in Ouray today. I’m still climbing, still living a life of my own choosing, and still learning life lessons every day. Throwing the rulebook away was empowering, but that doesn’t make it easy.

I believe living a conscious life is worth living, and hopefully worth writing about, too.