Chapter 1 (Twelve): Stepping Into the Ring
I wrote a post on Instagram the other day, promising to start a blog in which I’d explain how I was feeling at the time I was photographed in one of the most spectacular canyons on the planet. So, here it is:
*Disclaimer*
Through this blogging journey, I am going to try to be as open and honest as I feel comfortable. If you know me, I might tell you things about myself that could make you uncomfortable. They might be difficult to accept, they may come as a surprise, or they might just confirm suspicions. If I talk about events from my past that have stuck with me, it is not my intention to lay blame or guilt on anyone who was involved; I see these events or conversations as things that have contributed to where I’m at purely because of how I perceived them, processed them, have chosen to place significance on them or let them define me. Sometimes even the best intentioned events can have lasting negative effects.
The above photograph was taken about a month ago while on a 24 day, 280 mile journey down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon in Arizona. It shows the Colorado winding its way down a hallway made for giants; formed by the vertical, red stained, striated sandstone and shale canyon walls that have been carved away by untamed waters for millennia. The cliffs are slightly overexposed in the afternoon sun on river left, and shaded in contrast river right. In the foreground, I stand on a precipice in shadows, dwarfed and vulnerable and seemingly unaccompanied in this grand landscape. Behind the camera, 14 friends scramble up the trail towards our destination; a small and ancient structure that has withstood the powerful elements that sweep through the canyon for years unknown. How did I feel being surrounded by friends, in one of the most beautiful places I have ever been? Did I feel inspired by the grandeur of the gorge? Or grateful to have such amazing humans to explore with? Spiritually connected; that I was fulfilling my life’s calling? Ecstatically happy to have this opportunity that so few people on the planet will ever experience? Honestly, yes, a little bit. But the most prominent feeling was that of loneliness. I felt about as alone as I look in that photo and wondered how I got there. Obviously, I walked up there after rafting down the river for a few days, after driving down to Arizona, after leaving Golden, BC: the town I currently call home. But how did I get to a point where I could be in the friggen GRAND CANYON amongst amazing humans and feel lost, alone and disconnected? How long have I been living this way? And most importantly: What do I need do to change it?
I’m writing this blog to help me figure that out. I’m not reaching out for sympathy or concern; I simply want to begin a new chapter in my life that is centered around vulnerability. This is something I have ran from most of my life, and now, I’m tired of running.
I have two objectives in this.
To practice vulnerability: to let you in, to know the real me so I can let go of shame and in doing so develop a deep sense of self love.
To maybe reach someone who might be feeling the same way and spark a sliver of hope that you aren’t crazy, that you aren’t alone, that you are worthy.
I just got back to Golden after 10 days or so in Saskatoon. My sisters, Lindsey and Gina along with their husbands and kids, call it home. Gina just had a baby while I was in the canyon and since I’m currently unemployed I decided to go out to see my new nephew Conrad; and to attempt to take some space to heal from an emotionally challenging winter. Saskatoon is no amusement park but I was definitely on an emotional rollercoaster while I was there. Though I couldn’t find any escape in my mind from my anxiety and stress from the winter, my sisters were amazing in helping me reground myself. As I was heading out the door to begin the long and arduous drive home, Gina strongly suggested I download the seminar “The Power of Vulnerability” by Brene Brown, author of Daring Greatly. I had just filled my phone with enough audiobooks and podcasts to get me to Newfoundland but I trusted her judgement, so I added it to the list with priority status.
I turned on to Circle Drive (my life over the past 10 years has felt like Circle Drive, making the same mistakes over and over again. This time I won’t miss my exit) and started the six and a half hour seminar; conveniently the same amount of time it takes to drive from Saskatoon to Calgary. As I listened intently, I began to realize that I was exactly where I needed to be; this information was resonating to my core. It was like a light began to glow in the darkness of my heart. I began to see that I had been searching for meaning in my life, living they way I wanted to, but through action, not heart; that I have been held captive by feelings of shame and guilt and that I had built an impenetrable protective wall around myself that has kept me from feeling vulnerable to truly love myself and the best people in my life. This was groundbreaking for me, and is.
In subsequent posts, I want to break down her seminars while doing some self analysis to rewrite my perspective on past events. I want to discover the sources of my feelings of shame and speak it. Bringing my shame gremlins to the light is the only way to overcome them.
This is the beginning for me. Now that I have an understanding of what has been holding me back from living my best life, I can begin the process of turning it around. I’ve never thought of myself as a good writer; my gremlins tell me that I can’t. But I’m going to ignore them and do it anyways. For years, I’ve wanted to write about my life, the things I’m stoked about and lessons I’ve learned along the way but I’ve always been afraid to because “I’m not a writer”. Just like I’ve told myself that I’m not a photographer because I don’t have all the fancy gear and I don’t sell my photos. Just like I’ve told myself that I’m a monster not worthy of love because of past failed relationships.
So, here I am, putting myself out there; stepping into the ring.
““It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.””
