Breaking Patterns On The Side Of A Mountain
I posted this shot yesterday on my Instagram feed
Instagram did not do it the justice it so rightly deserves in highlighting how incredibly stupid I was.
This was yesterday during a hike in Kings Canyon National Park, California.
And that is my foot, and my backpack, and my hiking poles.
When I need a helping hand I don’t usually need to go far to find one. I am incredibly fortunate in this regard. Incredibly.
I get a lot of support, encouragement, and sustenance from my family, from friends both near and far, and I always can find so much inspiration and motivation from the blogging community.
All the support, encouragement, sustenance, inspiration, and motivation …
Are. Just. Not. Enough.
where do you go when you are broken open?
Someone once told me the cracks are where the healing happens, where the light gets in.
there’s a crack
a crack in everything,
that’s how the light gets in
I decided to go hiking in a state of brokenness. In a state of despair. In a state of pure rawness.
Where can I get more light than in one of California’s National Parks?
Where I can exhaust every bone in my body while climbing a mountain?
Where can I get some relief for the pain?
Because nothing else was working.
Not even coming close.
And In an effort to break patterns of old, I give you this post.
Patterns: Denial. Blame. Running away. Regret. Self doubt. Calling Ex’s. Passive-aggressive silence. Anger.
And my all time biggest pattern, pretending all is well. Putting up a brave front. Smiling. Laughing.
When all you want to do …. Is most definitely not be brave, smile, or laugh…
In this particular shot, the full impact of it didn’t hit me until a day later (today.)
As I was preparing to take a break and get a few pictures in, I put down my backpack and my poles, (obviously) too close to the ledge, and they both went sliding down the side of the mountain. At the time I was completely unfazed. Totally untroubled. I’m pretty sure I swore just once and snapped a picture of the situation. Then I went after the backpack and the poles. Alone. Down the side of the mountain. Without a rope. Without a harness. Without support. No one knew where I was. Nothing.
And I retrieved both the backpack and the poles.
This is where the lesson comes in. This is where the pattern needs to break.
why didn’t I just Let. It. Go.
When I think about ALL the ways things could have gone wrong in retrieving these things, I am gigantically fazed. I am completely troubled.
And why did I think posting this shot on Instagram would be a good shot to post?
I disabled my facebook feed about three weeks ago, how that came about and why is completely unrelated to this, but it is connected in a way I suppose (because here we are.) I had an amazing facebook profile. Lights, camera, action type of profile. Travel from around the world. A life of adventure. My best side always shining, and smiling, always smiling. But behind the scenes no one really knew just how much time I spent choosing just the right shot and thinking of the perfect caption to illustrate just how happy I was, just how great my life was, how all was perfect in my world ALL. THE. TIME. People actually thought I was never sad, or unhappy, that I was so positive and inspirational and motivating.
that I didn’t break.
Of course, because that is what I put forward. That is what I consciously intended for everyone to see and think.
I am not infallible. I am not perfect. My life is not perfect. I am not always positive.
Without walls. Without social network smoke & mirrors. Without a smile. Without an inspirational quote.
I needed to break a pattern
I needed to allow myself to be…
to be broken open
Without positiveness. Mine or Yours.
Without your help.
Sometimes I need to learn the lesson on my own.
sometimes the healing is in the tiny cracks of insight,
even in my most brokenness
Sometimes the healing is in the lesson.
While sitting with the pain,
and not masking it.
not pretending it is anything but what it is –
the pain of being broken open
Regardless of how it got down the side of the mountain.
Regardless if it’s my fault. Or someone else’s.
did I ever stop to think that maybe no one is to blame?
Perhaps it’s just the way things were meant to work out.
I was meant to leave this particular backpack and poles
on the side of the mountain?
the healing is in what is left behind