Real Adventure

I recently came across Yvon Chouinard`s (founder of Patagonia) basic philosophy of life, in his book, Let My People Go Surfing:

The basic tenets of that philosophy are: a deep appreciation for the environment and a strong motivation to help solve the environmental crisis; a passionate love for the natural world; a healthy skepticism toward authority; a love for difficult, human-powered sports that require practice and mastery; a disdain for motorized sports like snowmobiling or jet skiing; a bias for whacko, often self-deprecating humour; a respect for real adventure (defined best as a journey from which you may not come back alive — and certainly not as the same person); a taste for real adventure; and a belief that less is more (in design and consumption). Pg. 150

I found that many aspects of his philosophy describe my own. Considering that, it was hard to swallow his definition of `real adventure.` Go ahead – go back and read it.

I find this particularly sobering on a day when the climbing world lost one of its best mountaineers, Tomaz Humar. Living in The Rockies, I rub shoulders with some of these guys (and gals) that seem to be lucky to be alive. Every year at the Banff Mountain Film Festival I somewhat rudely joke with my own climbing partners that some of the climbers featured at the festival may not be back next year. But, it`s completely true, and these people would admit it.

The route up Grassi Ridge follows the left sky line

I thought I had a sense of adventure, but compared to these climbers, I may as well be hiking through a mall. Perhaps then, adventure is relative to the adventurer. My first stab at multi-pitch trad climbs this past summer was an awakening for me. There is nothing that compared to the level of focus and the mental battle I had going on some of those days, particularly on Grassi Ridge, a route up Wiwaxy Peak in Yoho National Park. Hanging a few hundred feet off the ground, I fully realized the dangers of what I was doing, and yet I needed, for self-preservation`s sake, to ignore them.

Though I try to tune out these dangers, my awareness of them also comes indirectly through my precautions against them. I tie the rope in a figure-eight knot and double it back, I grip the rope a certain way when I`m belaying, I put my protection in the rock on a certain angle, and I equalize my anchors. Each precaution represents an inherent danger to climbing – otherwise, we wouldn`t do these things in the first place.

Yet, there is so much we cannot control, and this is why I believe Yvon Chouinard defines `real adventure` as a journey from which we may not return.

Some, like me, pursue increased risk and adrenaline in adventure – and this is arguably `real adventure.`Furthermore, there are those who reduce even their precautions (climbing without a rope, being a prime example), and we may call this `pure (and perhaps stupid) adventure.` There is a good chance they will not come back alive.

Still, adventure, even at its most basic level, can be found in many places and situations. Some find adventure in a new job or starting a family. For many it is a matter of time and place. Something that wasn`t adventurous before becomes adventurous in the future. My great aunt and uncle even made an adventure of going to the hospital when their health turned for the worst, just to make it more fun for eachother. Likewise, as I get older, my threshold for adventure may weaken.

I turn back, then, to the end of Chouinard`s definition of `real adventure.` He defines it also as a journey from which you may not come back as the same person.

And this is 100% true of all adventure.

© Meghan J. Ward, 2009.

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Further reading (that I`d like to do, too):

Maria Coffey, Explorers of the Infinite and Where the Mountain Casts Its Shadow

Steve House, Beyond the Mountain

The Wax of our Thoughts

A short-lived Fall season has brought with it a time of introspection and deep reflection. Winter hit before Fall even had the chance to show its vibrant and colourful face, the needles of the golden larches thrown from their branchy homes by a cold wind and premature snowfall.

Reflection calls us to rest and take toll. But the passing time and the passing seasons are eager to move us onward. I want to understand and constantly want to process before moving on to the next phase. Sometimes these things must happen simultaneously, but we must walk into the future with our eyes facing forward and our hearts facing in all directions.

I’ve always been nostalgic in the Fall. The smell of leaves saying their last goodbyes brings back memories from childhood of heroic leaps into giant piles of leaves that were, in reality, only two and a half feet high. We used to collect leaves along the trail in the forest behind my parents’ house and take them home to dip them in wax. We hoped to keep them alive just a little bit longer, preserving the memory of their colours, holding onto the life within them.

The Child at Heart

Aren’t our memories and experiences the same? In times of reflection, we dip them in the wax of our thoughts and hold them dear, as though our efforts to preserve the good things will actually keep them alive. But, time passes and things change. Leaves rot and decay, returning to the earth with a humble funeral, leaving behind only the promise that colour will return once again in the Spring.

At times, my introspection leads me to places more complex than I have time to deal with. These are leaves I do not wish to preserve, nor do I wish to even pick up to inspect.  With no clear direction amidst conflicting and lonely thoughts, I am tempted to build a giant pile of leaves and jump in it, as if somehow a more childish approach will simplify life. But, my aunt recently introduced me to a poem by Jelaluddin Rumi that seems to express something that I haven’t been able to. One particular passage goes as follows:

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

It’s not always easy, but if I can greet my conflicting thoughts  and confusion at the door laughing, then perhaps they will giggle with me. Or maybe just jumping in leaves really is the solution.

© Meghan J. Ward, 2009.

My First 10km Road Race Ever

At the Finish Line

A month ago I had the chance for a spot in a road race that is usually sold out the day registration open. Melissa’s Road Race is a popular Banff road race and has been awarded as one of the best road races in Alberta. Sponsored by the famous Melissa’s Restaurant (a place my parents used to take us to at a very young age), the race is an exciting gathering of locals and runners from all over the province.

So I had my chance to run. I always wanted to sign up for Melissa’s Road Race with the intention of having a goal to work towards. I also wanted to overcome a major fear of mine that I’d developed from bad experiences running track in elementary school: racing of any kind… especially among a large group of people.

Anyways, I had only a month to ‘train’ and I had to just trust that the hiking and climbing I had been doing all summer would help me out. Still, I hadn’t been for a run since May and sprained my ankle in August, so I was feeling a bit skeptical. All I managed to do before the race was run a 9.25 km route and a 4 km route.

Showing up on the race day, I felt a little bit silly… that is until I saw the kind of ‘racers’ that were there. Being a popular road race celebrating its 30th year, there must have been years that some of these people ran, but as time wore on, it turns out they were now settling to walk the whole way. This gave me a bit of a boost of confidence despite the super-runners that were stretching in unimaginable ways beside me.

My iPod pumping tunes in my ears, I was surprised by how fast I was going, but some unseen force was definitely driving me onwards (even up the hill on Tunnel Mountain). I crossed the finish line with a time of 58 minutes and a pace of 5:48 per kilometre. Is that good? I don’t know.

All I know is that I had a blast and overcome one of my major fears. Amazing.

© Meghan J. Ward, 2009.

Strange(r) Encounters

Sometimes talking to people you don’t know can be the most awkward thing in the world. And sometimes it is easier than talking to people you have known forever.

The past few days have led me to some strange encounters with, well, strangers. Yesterday, I was sitting at Starbucks catching up on emails and some of my writing assignments. I had been sitting there for quite sometime and was just about to leave (had nothing in particular to go to right away, I might add) when the man sitting next to me said to me, “you look like you’re from around here.”  Hearing this statement is a regular occurence at Starbucks for me, which at this time of year is filled with tourists and visitors. This man proceeded to ask me where he might find a nice outdoor patio in Banff where he could read and write. After asking what he did for a living (writer) and where he was from (all over the place, but eventually Idaho), he asked me what I did. After telling him I was a budding freelance writer, we began the most interesting conversation. The way he was speaking to me at times sounded exactly like one of my favourite writers, Eckhart Tolle, and after telling him so, we agreed that both our lives had been changed by this man’s books. We were well on our way to connecting on many levels throughout our seemingly random conversation, which was both completely surprising and at the same time, very timely.

This one person was able to help me find total clarity in the direction of my life right now, the things I recently decided to commit my time and energy to (mostly, freelancing), and gave me some viable options of how to synthesize my interests so that I wasn’t spread so thin. There is a good chance this man is reading this blog right now since I left him my blog address, so if you are – thank you. It was one of those conversations that affirmed me in many ways without him knowing it, proving to me the value in being open to speaking to people you may not know, but with whom you connect so instantly that conversation naturally flows.

This leads me now to the other side of the equation. I did an experiment today at work, where for the last 30 minutes of standing at the front doors to the store, I said a genuine ‘hello,’ looking into the eyes of the visitors, and awaited their reply. In total I did this with 16 different people. Without judging the people beyond their response, I tracked what came from them after my friendly ‘hello.’ I will do it again with more people, but the numbers gave me a good insight into the world we live in today.

3 people flat out ignored me or walked past me without saying anything in reply. I could add many more people to this number, who were visiting with the person I said the specific ‘hello’ to and also did not respond to my greeting.

8 people said a quick or curt ‘hello’ without making any eye contact. Many seemed to answer out of obligation.

5 people looked me back in the eyes and said a friendly, intentional ‘hello’ in return. Interestingly, 3 of these people were tourists from non-English speaking countries.

What this shows me is that we are generally conditioned by a social experience based on a lack of genuity and sincerity. The traditional retail environment does this to us. Sales clerks say a simply ‘hello’ because they are supposed to. Usually their next question is “can I help you find something today,” which for 90% of customers or guests is an irritating question. In fact, I have had many people actually answer “No, thanks” in reply to my otherwise straightforward question: “How are you doing today?” People just want to browse on their own at first, unless they have a specific question or item they are looking for. We are used to brushing off people because we are tired of responding to their empty greetings.

A simple experiment can be made also walking down the street and smiling at people you pass. Watch how many people smile back, look down, or pretend they don’t see you. Genuine friendliness with strangers and neighbours seems to have been lost amidst the falseness and lack of authenticity we are all so used to. It will be a struggle to get it back to a place where it is believable and reciprocated, and it starts with each of us as individuals.

My barista here at the coffee shop where I am writing provides me with a great example of how to be genuinely friendly. Each guest she has served, she has greeted with a friendly hello. Each one is important to her. The repetitive questions don’t seem to phase her. She looks at her guests in the eyes and asks them what their preferences are. And she thanks them when they are finished ordering.

In addition to being the friendly one, we also need to be open to friendliness. Next time, walk into that store and say a friendly hello back. You are sure to get better service, a more honest opinion, and a more personable, positive, and encouraging experience overall.

Each encounter we have, with a stranger or not, could be an opportunity for change, in our own lives, in theirs, even if it’s just turning a bad day into a good day.

© Meghan J. Ward, 2009.