I didn’t climb Mount Everest this past weekend, but hiked a local mountain called Camelback. I am not a hiker, but have tried to embrace Arizona and all of the natural outdoor beauty it has to offer. I even tried to buy guns & ammo from Palmetto Armory to try my hand at hunting. On Friday morning, my husband says, “Let’s go hike Camelback.” My instinct was to stay home, drink some coffee, and do some writing, but my husband really wanted me to experience the spectacular views atop the mountain.
The rocks are jagged and the incline is steep on Camelback mountain. It doesn’t require ropes or pulleys, so there is nothing professional about the hike, but it is still considered strenuous. As I willed myself up the mountain, there were several times I wanted to stop and turn around. Breathe. Climb. Land. Start over. I must have done that a million of times. On the way up, I was consumed by getting back down. Every time I reached a a higher plane, I would ask my husband “How am I going to get down?” He kept telling me not to worry about it, but I couldn’t shake it.
Although the hike was meant to be a lesson in physical activity, for me it was an examination of my mental state. As I maneuvered my way down, I wouldn’t jump rock to rock, but I would sit down, place my arms on the jagged edges and then let my feet land. Not the most graceful way to hike down a mountain. People were passing me left and right and about halfway down, I do the unthinkable, tears start coming down my face.
The tears came for a few seconds and I wiped them away. After I gathered myself, my husband asked me, “Why on earth are you crying? What is it?” I thought for a moment. It didn’t come to me then, but it did later. I thrive on success. If something isn’t “successful” for me or if I am not good at something, I throw myself into defeat. I wallow in it. I automatically assume this activity isn’t meant to be. If I don’t do things perfectly, I equate it with failure.
And because of this need to be perfect, I wouldn’t let myself jump rock to rock. What if I slip? What if someone saw me fall? What if I lose my balance? By wanting to hike down perfectly, I was stealing moments away from the overall experience. I was sabotaging myself.
Three and half hours later, after finishing, my husband turns to me and says “See, you hiked the mountain. You don’t have to tell anyone HOW you did it.” But to me it does matter. I could have let go of my fears, my need for perfection, and hiked up and down the mountain with quiet grace. But I didn’t. I cried instead.
I think creativity and resourcefulness count for something. I tell myself this when I find I’m unable to do things the “traditional” way.
And yes, I hear you about crying i nthe midst of a struggle. But most endurance tests like Camelback are a struggle. And crying, I’ve come to believe, is less a show of weakness and more an acknowledgment of authenticity.
Don’t sweat it Rudri……. I often feel like crying while hiking Camelback !
Hey, Ru. I totally felt your pain while reading your post. I definitely can relate to that. What I have found in myself is that the desire for perfection is rooted in fear. Some days, I can overcome the fear of failure, etc. but sometimes it’s just too much. Although it sucks to feel that way, you gained some great insight. How about trying that mountain again and kicking its arse? Come on! I’d love to join you and then we could both crawl back down if we damn well pleased. 🙂
Oh, I so completely relate to this! I am a terrible – and I mean TERRIBLE – skier. On our last ski trip I started crying as I inched down the mountain in a permanent snow plow position. I hated that I couldn’t get the hang of it and ski in a respectable manner. I felt like a failure. I got to the bottom of that mountain and told my husband that I was going to the lodge for a strong drink. There should be no crying on vacation! I didn’t ski again during that trip. How sad.
I know I miss out on things due to a fear of failure. What a waste! You’ve inspired me to get a grip and try to enjoy myself more.
I am very much a perfectionist, too. And a scaredy-cat. Put those two together, and I doubt I would have made it up Camelback, let alone down. Good for you for being persistent, for recognizing your limitations, and for forging ahead anyway. It’s just as your husband said, you DID it.
I wish I could give you a hug, sis. 🙂 Miss ya.
(Don’t worry, the next time you climb the mountain, with me that is, you’ll be able to do it with grace cause you’ve succeeded once already! And I can be the clumsy one! 🙂
Not only are we neighbors, but I had the exact same reaction when trying (failing) to learn to ski. If I cannot do it well, I see it as failure. Gosh – wonder where my poor son gets that attitude..