Doing Less

These days of December have been difficult for me – the winter months are all about rest, recovery from the rest of the year…not doing anything in payment for the frolics of the spring, summer and fall. And here’s me, unsure of what to do with myself in this “resting” period. Resting means…not moving, right? So when I read books, it’s resting, right? Knitting is resting, right? Writing is resting, right?

Well, if the mind and body are connected, when I engage my mind, my body is engaged as well. So reading, knitting and writing are not resting.

To rest. What does that mean, exactly? Can I watch movies and rest? Can I meditate and rest? Is it resting if I just lie here, unengaged with my friends, but present in body? This resting thing is not exactly boring, but the idea of the things I could be producing with all this downtime floods my mind whenever I ask myself what I’m going to do today, whenever I think of what I’m not doing.

After two weeks of concentratedly doing less, or nothing at all, the urge to Do Something is still strong. I’m afraid that I really will like not doing anything, that I will turn out to be a lazy bum, and that doesn’t sit well with my expectations of myself, or what I think others expectations are of me. In one sense, doing less is one of the hardest things I’ve tried to do, just in the way it makes me aware of what I fill my days with and how little it all mean anyway. Emails, reading books for fun, knitting hat after hat for no other reason than to be productive, ‘just for something to do’ – it makes me realize how little I need to do, and hey, maybe I’m a little afraid of myself, or of the nothingness within that’s not taken up with an activity. An activity that distracts me from myself, from seeing me as I am, a person who is trying not to pay attention to the elephant in the middle of the room. What is the elephant?

The nothingness within myself.

Does everyone have this?

Does everyone distract themselves? Seems like it.

I want to think there must be more to me than nothingness.

What if there’s not? What if all I can do is experience each moment and that will be enough to fill me, occupy me?

Life would be simpler.

Meditation would be quieter.

I could think about things other than myself.

It could be a good thing. This stillness, this nothingness within me, within all of us.

The world would be quieter. You could hear the birds outside, the snow falling. People laughing in the tent next door. Humanity.

Instead of insulating yourself.

We all insulate ourselves. From ourselves and the rest of the world. Because we’re scared of ourselves?

Is this why everyone gets depressed in the winter? Distractions are distilled to their essentials in winter, until we’re finally confronted with ourselves.

That is what I’m confronting; myself. So many are afraid to look at themselves, but what better time of year?

With this, I’m taking a hiatus from blogging. I don’t feel the need so much to write, more of the need to Not.

Not do.

It’s difficult, let me tell you. I’ve already got plans for my non-blogging time.

Like nappingJ

Being Me

I just figured out that I’ve actually been doing, been living the life I want. I like my life. I like myself. I set up my room the way I want it to be. I set up my schedule the way I want it to be. I do the things I like, like knitting, cooking, walking in the woods. Hanging out with my friends. Without planning it, without even realizing it, I’ve set up the ideal life. I am where I want to be and I’m happy with that. I may be a little tired, sleepy even, I may be a little manic, I may be still searching (for what I don’t know) but I’m here. I’m present, clear, living with purpose (to be happy) and achieving it.

What more could you want?

Well, one thing I’ve been struggling with lately is my energy. I finally feel a little like I used to. This morning I felt the tug of possibility roll me out of bed and hit the ground running. It’s been a year and a half since I’ve felt that. What I realize is that this is just the tip of the iceberg. Continuing to take care of myself, love myself, eat well and exercise correctly is all key to my improvement and maximum self-realization. I realize that whatever I create is just that – something out of my head, no more or less real than the skating rink behind my tent, or the sleep dirt in my eyes. I realize more and more that I create my reality, so whatever I want to have happen, can and will.

I just have to decide.

Waiting and doing nothing is the hardest part. Doing nothing is all relative. In reality, doing nothing is life. I think of myself as a child, the middle child who actually got her chores done for Saturday morning cartoons, who was so concerned with not being lumped in with her “lazy” brother and sister that she did a lot of things she didn’t want to, just to be the ‘productive one’. I was doing those things for my father’s approval, to make my mom happy, to get a good word from my gymnastic coach.

Never for myself.

How far did this go?

I was with a guy for almost six years because his approval meant so much. I was afraid of life without it – afraid of life with myself. I’m beginning to recognize my cycle – I take a turn and reach the exit, that point of self-love and liberation, that self-solidity that I’ve been searching for. Instead of taking the step, leaving the cycle, I find a distraction, I run away. After Dan, I found Charlie. After Charlie, I moved to Bend. After Bend I moved to Yosemite, where I’ve finally become aware of my cycle, where I’ve found friends to help me exit it. I want to stop running. I have stopped running. And I am left with nothing.

I’ve given up climbing. I live far from my family. I realized I don’t want to write literary anything, that I knit to design, not because the process of knitting is that fun, that I read to escape, that I walk to exercise.

Where is the enjoyment in my life? What do I do because I want to?

I cook. I design knit things. I read silly and serious books. I spend time with my friends, usually doing nothing. I’m learning to give myself acupuncture, to evaluate my diet, my condition, my tongue, I’m learning to trust myself.

I’m learning to trust myself.

Because what I just learned, walking back into my tent after crying out my confusion and frustration and fear and sadness to the ever-willing listener and verbal distiller, John, is that what I’ve been doing here is what I’ve wanted to do all along, that all this really is just for me.

I’m not doing it wrong! I’m doing it right! This is my life. And I’m ok with that. I’m ok with whatever I might become because right now, I’m ok. Ondrej of Cone Stand fame explained it to me this summer – he said, “I live in a tent, and I’m ok. I scoop ice cream and say ‘our flavors are chocolate, vanilla, strawberry and cookies-n-cream’ and I’m ok.”

What I didn’t realize then, John reiterated for me now. It doesn’t matter what I end up doing with my life, as long as I’m happy. I could be an ice cream-scooper, a garbage collector, a window-cleaner, the president of the United States, a roomskeeper, a knit designer, I could be paid to speed-read bestsellers, it doesn’t matter. What matters, all that matters, is that I’m happy.

And happiness is a process. Just as I change every day, every second, so does what I like, what I get enjoyment from. You could call it an evolution of tastes, except my tastes at the end may not necessarily be better/more sophisticated than what I started with. It’s all relative anyway, ennit? It’s just somebody’s opinion that making $100,000 per year is better than $10,000. That having a family is better than staying single, that traveling the world is better than living in the same place.

My current reverie (from this morning’s possibilities inspiration) is to live sustainably on a farm, producing all that I need to live, with a group of my friends, working in our small way to live in harmony with the land. Sounds peaceful, doesn’t it?

Thank you, John Blue, for listening to me. I suspect that you make this process much easier than if I was on my own. For that matter, thanks to all Yosemites and the other people in my life – Bree, Marina, Kelly and Ivy, Lasey and Shannon – thank you for sharing in my life with me.

Practicing Life

Practice life.
Every moment can be perfect in its imperfection. I am every moment changing, growing, becoming more myself, deciding who I want to be. When I spend a perfect day, it's an experience. When I botch it, when I speed through Curry Store picking out all the vegan junk food which I then speed-consume solo, when I hate myself for putting down my friends; a thousand "when's" - it is a lesson. Granted, one I learn and re-learn daily, hourly, but it does not make or break me. Eating a cookie is not going to kill me. It might even be better that I gave in to the temptation and experienced sugar bliss and sugar crash, because it strengthened my resolve to do better. That's all you can do, right?

Breezy introduced me to the idea of practicing living. I was beating myself up about not doing enough, not making enough progress with my health and happiness, when I was feeling frustrated at being frustrated. Now with the help of Goenka's equanimity, which is observing things as they are without reacting, and Breezy's "practice life" philosophy, I feel much better about everything I choose to do.

And everything is a choice. A conscious choice to an action or non-action - whatever it is, it doesn't matter, what matters is me making the choice. Ah, these decisions!

Everything I do now is a sign of my improvement - the fact that I make conscious choices to eat junk or to read all day. The way I consider what I eat so carefully, who I talk to, how I spend my time, the way I make healthy practices my life - and make a conscious effort not to overextend myself.

Oh, it's hard, and I slip often. I'm finally feeling more energetic and with a clearer head and I want to do something with this. I have a hard time stopping myself from taking a big hike or claiming I want to climb something. The physical exertion and exposure to the cold would take me back to dragging-ass. I feel too good, I like myself too much for that. I'm realizing that I'm here to take care of myself, to love myself as much as I can, as well as I can, so that there will still be ME left when I'm 40 or 50. What's funny is the way I used to be so upset with Dan about using his body up and I didn't consider myself at all. It's true that in comparison, I'm a shining example of health and balance.

But I don't compare myself anymore. One of those changes I'm making.

Back to me and my health, my happiness, and my life practice.

Frustration

Practicing life.

I am not perfect. I am only me and I slip. It seems like for every two steps forwards, I slide one back, and then I have to make that progress all over again. I'm not sure hwere I am, and I'm having a hard time appreciating myself, my journey, my capabilities and strengths and triumphs. I've turned to eating again, of which I'm not proud, and of slighting my friends because of my own insecurities. I'm tired of not being able to see my progress.

More on Me

Real Friends:

We have already dipped into November, the month of what – true winter onset? I’m not sure.

It’s turned cold here in Yose, it feels chilly all the time now, and it’s much nicer to be inside than out. That doesn’t mean that it’s wet or unpleasant outside, however. I saw an amazing sunset last night just as I headed off to work, staffing the Loft (the employee rec area) for some live music and pool. I took my time going to work, marveling at the golden glow lighting up Half Dome and the Royal Arches, delighting in the intensity of the colors, the way it gathered up so much of the autumnal feel and washed it across these granite faces.

I live here. Yosemite. I get to see this every day. I get to experience the beauty of Yosemite every single day. The air I breathe is different from anywhere else, the landscape that makes up my backyard is some of the most powerful on the West Coast and this is my HOME. I live here!

I’m convinced there’s something about Yosemite that draws amazing people. I am surrounded with more amazing people than I can keep track of and hang out with. People here are more connected with the earth and themselves and maybe that’s why drinking is such a problem here – people get too close to the truth of themselves and they either face it and add to the amazing community here, or they turn to alcohol to hide themselves away.

I just saw Brian, a guy I worked with at Deschutes Brewery who told me about Yosemite, and he mentioned climbing. He’s been here in Yosemite off and on for the last eight years, and he said that he’s one of the few employees who still gets out and enjoys the park. But, he hurt some tendons, couldn’t climb for a while, and found himself sucked into the drinking culture. He said, “If I can’t climb, what else is there to do? Nothing.”

One part of me thinks, ‘what with such a narrow view of the park, of the world, that when the one thing he likes to do is gone, he falls back on drinking, which it sounds like he doesn’t like to do, but doesn’t know how else to spend his time.’ I wonder if this narrow thinking is a result of being in the narrow Yosemite Valley for so long? The narrow walls of the valley could have an adverse feng-shui effect. It could be where he chooses to live as well – BoysTown is the drinking capitol of the Park, party central, where if you don’t drink, you don’t belong.

Actually, all of me agrees, because I’ve been doing everything but climbing. I meditate every day, sometimes twice when my schedule allows, and I practice qigong and taiji, and I hang out with my friends, mainly John and Marina, but Kelly and Ivy too, all of whom are my neighbors here in the Valley, which is just one of the ways in which everything is working out for me here. In a way, my life is the exact opposite of Brian’s, in that he gets what he wants by going out and doing (climbing, for example), and I get what I want by doing nothing (nothing by conventional standards of production or accomplishment. As if you can measure personal development). The difference is that I consciously choose to do nothing (produce nothing) whereas Brian feels stifled when he can’t accomplish. Does that mean that when my life is nothing by choice that I have more freedom than Brian ever does? Because I’m starting from nothing, I have no expectations for what I should be doing, or producing, or accomplishing, and whatever happens that day is a conscious choice I made and put energy into. If Brian had plans, say, a climbing tick list, and he got hurt, meaning he couldn’t climb, then every day that he can’t accomplish his goals he builds up more expectations? More frustration? Because his view of what there is to do for recreation is so narrow, he ends up unable to enjoy his free time when his idea of recreation isn’t possible.

This is me rationalizing me not climbing, or writing, or knitting, but putting time into meditation, qigong and taiji. I realized the other day that for me to be able to love myself, I have to walk the walk and value myself, put myself first, which means doing things that add to me, make me feel good, healthy, and lately, proud of myself, all of which make me like myself. One thing I struggle with is the idea of making progress on myself, which implies that I’m not perfect already, just as I am. As long as I keep doing things I know are detrimental, such as eating a whole package of cookies, I am not proud of myself, and I don’t like me. When I keep in mind loving myself, I don’t do these things. I decided that while reading, knitting and writing are all activities I enjoy, they drain my energy. Meditation, qigong and taiji are also things I enjoy, and they add to my energy – when I practice any of those things, I actively add to my store of energy, my ability to know myself, my wholeness, and loving myself, which I believe is the key to my happiness. The sooner I can love myself, the sooner I’ll know who I am, what I really like, and what I might like to use my energy for.

You may ask, why don’t I knit, write or read, since those are things I say I enjoy?

Well, I still do. But my priority has shifted, and my focus. My priority is myself, my focus is on the process, the journey, and not the end product. Thus my focus is on loving myself as I am right now, with all my imperfect body issues and relationship issues and expectations and everything that makes up me, no matter what it is. As long as it’s me right now, I want to love it.

Gosh that’s hard. It’s so much easier to focus on what I think needs changing to be perfect, except that’s a cycle that will never end – there’s always something to make better. What I need to understand is that I’m perfect as I am right now, without any changes. What I find, however, is that I like myself more the more I let go of the guards, the more I let myself be myself. I think of this as changing myself, but it’s not, really. That doesn’t mean that all these years I haven’t been Anchen; all these years have been a process, making me who I am today as much as I was myself in the past. I just feel a hell of a lot more comfortable with who I am.

Going back to loving myself, I wonder at the way I say I want to love myself, as if it’s a monkey in a cage and I don’t have a key. Well, I’d like to free you, monkey love, but I can’t bend the bars. What is the key for me? Where am I hiding it? What does it take to find it? Why can’t I simply love myself, if I say I want to? Do I really want to or am I just saying it?

At the Vipassana retreat, I spoke with the Assistant Teacher, Marie, and told her my pain while sitting felt like torture. She told me that as long as I manage to keep even just one percent of myself equanimous with the sensation that I’m making progress towards liberation. Being equanimous means observing without reacting.

Me loving myself is something I want, even if it just one percent of me wanting it. I wonder if it works the same way?

One percent of self-love is enough to keep trying. It’s worth it. I’m worth it.

Blog entry for the end of the month.

Me and my mom in Oregon at her house.

The end of October and the beginning of something new. The continuation of something. It’s all scary and new and different and wonderful. Do you know how scary it is to simplify your life? To look at your things – let me personalize this – Do you know how scary it is to look at my things, to visualize my life and realize I don’t need any of this stuff? I have crates and boxes and bags and suitcases full of my life, things I may never look at again. I don’t use it, I can hardly remember I have it, yet it doesn’t disappear.

The last two weeks have been busy. Not in the sense of rushing around doing things, although that’s been happening too, but in the sense of mental activity. I’ve been doing my best to not think, however, with my mind, it’s like telling a sumo wrestler not to eat. A big decision on my mind when I came up to Oregon was where I wanted to stay this winter. Should I stay or should I go? Kept running through my brain, just like the song. Being back in Eugene felt like being home – I lucked out with the weather, and everyone, everything was beautiful. I never realized how many beautiful people live in Eugene – there must be a vortex there – and how many cool businesses are there as well.

My family is also in Eugene. I love my family, but I cannot live with them. It’s something about excess – whenever I’m home I eat too much, buy too much, and stop doing whatever healthy exercises I’ve taken up. In fact, there’s not really room for me at home, a sign to me to freaking make up my mind!

Fortunately, I got a call from Yosemite, telling me I have a job this winter staffing events at the Wellness center for employees, which means I’ll get to know the cool people who choose to spend their lives here in the Park. This turned the tide, and I turned my energy towards a cold, wet, dark winter in a National park with people I’ve just met.

Hmm, that doesn’t sound like such a bright future.

I’m living in a National Park this winter. I’m living in a supportive, enthusiastic community and I’m excited to get to know the people who work here year-round. I think I will eventually end up with Eugene as my home base, but until I’m ready to truly settle, I’m in exploration mode, of myself and my environment. How exciting is that?

What I really plan to work on this winter is myself. (I almost said my knitting projects). I will have a space to meditate and be intertwined with a group of people who make this a part of their daily lives, something I’m learning to do oh-so slowly.

And, I’ll have time to design knit projects, since I’ll only be working part-time. How cool is that?

Things I have to admit to: These are things I figured out during my meditation retreat.

I don’t want to write for money – it clouds my mind and changes my motivation. I write for self-exploration and for my own enjoyment, but not to please anyone else.

And…

I climb for the same reasons of self-exploration and enjoyment, and until I can keep them foremost in my mind instead of satisfying my ego, I’m not climbing either. Unless I’m invited out for a leisurely day…who knows.

I’m going to let things happen. I will not force things; I’m not going to demand or make goals or do anything of the sort. I will let life happen to me, and take the routes presented to me, and be happy.

Be happy! That is the key.

Meditation Reflections

Has it really been a month that I've been at a meditation retreat?

Silly question. Yes, I've been at the North Fork Mahavana Vipassana Center for the last month, first to sit (for over one hundred hours, according to our rigorous meditation schedule) and then to serve a ten-day course.

Why am I giving away my labor, you ask?

I asked myself the same question the day I signed on to be a server (the last day of my sit) and again in the middle of my service when I was going through something that made me extremely anti-meditation.

But first things first.

The sit was amazing. Amazingly hard. And painful. Physically painful. I would wake up in the morning with shoulder and back pain, and by the end of the ten days I had constant back pain. What does this have to do with meditation? Well, it seems that my issues, my sankaras as Goenka would call them, manifest as burning, unrelenting pain that starts in my back, along my spine, spreads to my right shoulder blade, my right leg, my right shoulder and after that I had to move and start over.

Ugh.

I realized some things, especially after I started talking on the last day. I tend to exaggerate to try to impress people. I allow the moods of other to influence me, as well as what I perceive to be what they want. For example, I offered a ride to a lady heading to Yosemite, and made sure to tell her that I was being picked up, I didn't know when, but I gave her a time estimate. When my ride didn't show up within that time, I became agitated and annoyed and passed that on to my ride when she did show up.

Ugh.

My group talked a lot about how Goenka annoyed them, how they went through so much emotional stuff. I didn't feel that way, I felt like I was in a lot of pain, and when I allowed myself to really focus on the pain, to get into it, experience it, then memories came up, things I've been holding onto, and I observed myself getting really annoyed

People Connections

Looking over my photos from the Grand Canyon trip, I found myself really hoping that I’d gotten photos of Harpo, one of our rafting guides. It’s not that he’s an amazing hottie whose body I want to share with the whole world; rather, he’s an amazing human being I feel fortunate to meet, and in the absence of adequate words to describe him, I feel a photograph at least explains a little – the physical aspect at least, so I can try to focus on the rest of his amazingness.

Who is he? Harpo’s a happy guy. In the moment with whatever he’s doing, he’s honest and completely open (sometimes a little too much so) about himself, what he’s feeling, what he’s doing and why. He also has a bead on everyone else around; he sees into people and into why they act the way they do. For example, a guy on our trip constantly pushed his friends to go harder, to be the best. Harpo saw that this guy had never been the best at anything, that he didn’t know that when you are the best, you don’t care about being there, you love doing what you’re doing and you happen to be the best at it. I asked Harpo how you get someone like this to stop pushing. Harpo explained he would validate this man’s accomplishments by telling him he’s a success, so that he doesn’t have to continue trying to be the best.

Later, Harpo called over to him and said, “Hey, nice job. You kayaked entire Grand Canyon – you accomplished exactly what you set out to do!” And then my brother stepped in and said, “Except for the four miles you missed when you hiked to Thunder River.” And this guy’s face fell.

Harpo said to Tris, “Why you gotta do that? Why can’t you let him have his victory?”

And Tris said, “Someone’s got to keep him off his high horse.”

I can identify with both respects. On one hand, I really respect Harpo for recognizing this need and for acting on it to help make this person more whole. On the other, I feel like Tris, that this man is kind of an ass who makes people feel inadequate in their efforts because he’s always pushing for more.

However, never allowing a moment of victory…speaks volumes of how Tris thinks of himself. Always bringing you down to his level. Hearing compliments from Tris happens rarely if ever. He doesn’t believe me when I tell him he’s great, he doesn’t believe that he’s interesting, and that’s why it’s like pulling teeth when you try to talk to him. He doesn’t volunteer information about himself for fear of boring you without realizing that it’s hard to be the one who always thinks of questions and leads the conversation. He hasn’t yet equated the way it’s easy to talk to a person who’s open, like Harpo for example, who spits out whatever’s on his mind or share the letter he got at Phantom Ranch, with the way he keeps himself closed down until someone asks the right question.

I don’t know. I’m not my brother. These are my conjectures.

What I am grateful for is the opportunity to experience so many people in such an intense and intimate place. Welcome to rafting in the Grand Canyon.

PS - I will be out again until Sept. 30th at a Vipassana meditation retreat.

Immensely Fortunate

I’ve changed in the last months. I’m on my path, well, the one I’ve always been on, but now I feel like I’m coming home, that there are answers to my questions and reason to my expectations. Now I know I can live life by myself, as myself. I know I can continue my self-growth in any circumstance, and that is empowering and reassuring.

I’ve been thinking a lot about self-love lately, and feeling for the seed within myself. I know it’s there, though dormant, and I’ve had a lot of feelings grow up around this expectation of self-love. I expect to feel a glow, a warmth, to feel untouchable in my me-ness; what I’ve come to understand is that I have to take care of myself first.

What does that mean? It means I do basic personal hygiene. I meditate. I communicate my confusion or assumptions or fears, I do activities that feed me and I don’t do what I really don’t want to – if I don’t want to go hiking, then I won’t. If I don’t want to work, then I won’t. If I don’t want to climb, then I won’t.

Doing these things keeps me whole. It balances me. I can approach a situation with an open mind and heart, look at the people involved, see what it is I can contribute, and give freely, openly, wholly. Without helping myself first, I don’t have enough energy for anyone else; I lean on others for their energy, their interest, their direction.

I am finding my way my way, learning to do for myself. Other people have found their ways, have found their personal practices that keep them balanced; this is what I feel I’ve been lacking all this time. When there was always a someone (be it boyfriend, or best friend) there to lean on, I wasn’t willing to develop a personal practice.

Now I am just myself, a realization that makes me . I almost said alone, but no one is ever really alone in this world of 7 billion people.

Now I can see that when I felt alone before, and ate and ate and ate to feel full, that I was really scared to look at myself.

Is that true? Was I just scared? Of who I might really be? I think there’s more to it than that. Why did I feel so alone so often in Bend? Because I shut myself off from everyone, didn’t ask for help because I was afraid to show myself, to open myself up to scrutiny when maintaining the façade of “being ok” seemed to be easier. It’s easy to lie about being happy, to fake it, to hide my true feelings so well that even I don’t know what I’m feeling anymore. I don’t cry during sappy movies anymore, and I don’t allow myself to express anger. Both of these are important, big emotions that need outlet. I’m learning to feel them, accept them without judging (oh, the hard part, not judging) and keep an open mind to what’s next. The whole year I spent in Bend, I didn’t allow myself to become truly close to anyone for fear of being found out – for not being honest. And from the fear of finding myself, of examining who this Anchen person is and what she really wants in life, what she’s capable of, what her weaknesses and strengths are, and what foot she puts forward?

I was afraid of looking at me and not liking what I found.

Luckily, I found two fantastic friends who have helped me find the courage to follow through with my desire to look at myself, to recognize and name my issues, who appreciate me with or without my bullshit, who recognize when I’m faking it, who don’t judge me for faking it, who are here to listen when I’m ready to be honest. Being in this environment has helped me to become me, a process I’ve been saying I want to go through for the last year.

Immensely fortunate is how I feel. Thank you.

Perfectly Me

I’ve said that I’m a climber, a writer, a girl who’s finding herself. What I’ve been learning and thus realizing is that I’m not anything; I just am. I exist. Simply existing is enough for me to be Anchen – I don’t have to do anything else, be anything else. I can’t be anything or anyone else. And in this way I am perfect.

Perfect, you say?

Is that possible?

What about the popular saying, “Nobody’s perfect” ?

What does perfect mean, then?

Well, it means that I, in my uniqueness, my Anchenness, am perfect with all my flaws and, ahem, imperfections. Because I’m me, I was born, I exist, there is no one like me, no one else who can fill my spot in this life, in this universe, and in that respect I am whole, complete, perfect.

This is not to say I don’t have things I want to change about myself. Au contraire, now that I see myself as a whole, I am better able to see who I am and who I have the potential to be. Or rather, what I have the potential to be? My potential, in any case, and it’s

Frightening.

Yeah, really scary.

I see myself being great. I am slowly realizing that I am a great person, that everyone is fantastic in their own way (if only they would step out of themselves and see it!) Everyone is good at something, everyone has that skill or the passion or the knack in something. It’s a matter of recognizing and embracing whatever it is.

What is it for me? Why do I think I have such potential?

Because I feel it. I want to make the world a better place, as in help people to realize their own potential greatness and give them courage to explore and utilize it. Maybe this isn’t making the world a better place, but helping people to be happier living in it.

I mean, what if everyone in the world was happy?

Is that even possible, you ask? Personally, I think Americans are some of the unhappiest people alive, and they’re good at spreading the discontent. If I start with America the rest of the world should be a piece of cake, right?

How am I going to accomplish this making people happy thing?

Well, I believe people don’t get out enough.

Not “out” as in bar-hopping, drinking and dancing out, I mean “out” as in Outside. Into the Great Outdoors. Just taking a moment to enjoy the sight of spring leaves on a Maple tree, to watch the park ravens trolling for trash and listen to their gurgling call, to pause and just be and to remember where we all came from, remember what we’ve built our cities on, what provides the means for food and life – that’s what I want to remind people of. That’s what I believe will make a difference in people’s lives.

A better option could just be to take people by the hand and lead them outside, show them the beauty all around, how the natural environment affects their world no matter where they are.

Touching people through words accesses the intellectual part of the population that would rather pick up a newspaper than step outside – and for me, that’s the people I relate to, the people I think can take this and make a difference themselves. And how cool is that?

This whole meditation thing

Two weeks til blastoff into the Grand Canyon. A little less than that left to chill here in paradise.

Who knew that’s how I’d view myself and my life here in Yose? And I know the two weeks will fly by just like all time does. My main objective is to live each moment (eating yummy bread, feeling exceedingly annoyed in tai ji, although nothing compared to how aggravated I used to feel in the mornings.

So here’s me, embarking on Alternative Medicine to help myself. Growing up in Eugene, I always waved off the hippies and their day-glo wandering eyes, the sighing breaths and the way they end every sentence with ‘man.’ As in, “it’s hot today, man.” Or, “I had this crazy dream last night man.” I’m not interested, man. Not interested in appearing to be as out of it as they are, as far off into the horizon, so far separated from reality that they can’t tie their shoes (“That’s why they invented Birkenstocks, man”).

I never ever wanted to be classed into hippie.

But here I am, being asked if I am one by the cute Russian wife who’s younger than me and has two kids already, being taken for a vegan by the tourists (this kid said, “see, dad, I told you she was!”) and living up to every stereotype I’ve been running away from since I noticed how closely I resembled them.

I figured the only way for me to shave my head and get away with it was to become aggro – a mini GI Jane. Get away with it meaning I didn’t want to be taken for a vegan or someone who believes in that ‘mind-body’ connection.

Why not?

I didn’t want to be associated with those darn hippies I know so well from the Eugene Saturday Market, the panhandlers in patchwork pants, the drummers with the dreads and nose rings and a picture of ganja tattooed on their calf. Not me! Not me! I’m not one of them! Don’t group me with them!

Now I realize that I was never one of them. It’s only a problem of perception. The way I see myself is the only way that matters. Thus, me being a vegan, learning tai ji and accepting the mind-body connection, and me looking like everyone else’ idea of - what? A healthy vegan hippie? - is just a coincidence. Perhaps this is what happy, healthy people look like.

What about Vegas, the land of two-dollar breakfasts (cardboard bacon and rubbery eggs, granted) and 24-hour gambling? What will I do then? How will I continue my routine – that sounds so mandatory – how will I continue to do the things that make me feel good when no one around me does them? Rising at five a.m. to meditate (I’ve already thought of driving out into the desert when it’s not truly that hot, then sleeping by the pool for the rest of the day), do qigong and practice the form? Will I really do this? Even getting two hours a day to meditate is going to be difficult, since no one else in my family does it.

*Unless I spread the love.*

(Arched eyebrow and mischievous twinkle).

Unless I convince my once-Buddhist parents to give it a go, to try what I’ve newly discovered. We could have a family meditation party, make it a part of our day, use it to enrich our experience together as a family and on the Grand Canyon.

I wonder why my parents don’t meditate anymore. When my dad asked my sister and I what the last thing we would do if the earth were going to disappear, we both said “learn to fly”. My dad said he would meditate.

One, what is so great about meditating that it’s what he would do at the end of the world?

And two, why isn’t he doing it now?

I realize that meditation is not just sitting on a Zafu and counting your breaths. It can be anywhere, doing anything. When I go to class from 5-8am, it is three hours of meditation. The first hour of sitting meditation gets me started and the last two of qigong and tai ji are simply movement meditations, where I focus inward on my dan tien, on its rotation and on spreading qi throughout my body. I can do this anywhere, make anything a meditation. The hard part is focusing. The hardest part is focusing. But maybe that’s what my dad does for himself, the way he makes it through his twelve-hour days at work. Sure, he loves his work, but it’s got to be exhausting, all that energy output. He’s got to get something back somewhere.

We all do, somewhere. We get some energy from food, some from sleep, some from doing activities that “feed” us. What feeds me, I’m still trying to figure out, to separate what nourishes me from what I think should.

Like climbing.

But I don’t climb anymore and I finally feel like I have energy to put into myself. I don’t want to climb right now. The cons outweigh the pros at this point. Squeezing my feet into nerve-cramping shoes? Torqueing and twisting my hands, shoulders, back, ankles and knees to get up a route? Risking a fall so I can claim a redpoint or onsight?

I admit, I’m not letting it go. I’m exploring this energy work, this inner development, this mind-body connection, this dan tien rotation as a way to improve my climbing. I move through the form and imagine myself floating up the rock face, propelled from within, focused inside with the movements expressing themselves outside. I think there’s a way to combine climbing with tai ji, and I believe that with enough work and attention to myself I will be able to make the connection. I will move from the inside out, and climb for the right reasons.

Until then, I don’t want to climb. Because if I’m doing it, it’s for the wrong reasons, all those ego-traps I get caught-up in so easily; the show-off in me, the fear of falling… all the things that make climbing not fun.

What I do for fun now is meditate, practice standing posture, and sometimes I practice the form. I take naps after lunch, I spend less time on the computer and reading books, more time taking care of myself, figuring out what it really is that I want and doing that.

If rising early and meditating is what I really want to do in Vegas and on the Canyon trip, then it shouldn’t be a problem, even if no one else is with me.

That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try it, though! (Mom, dad, Bree, Tris...and anyone else out there)

End of Days

Today was my last day at the Cone Stand, forever immortalized by the Cone Stand Rock, tucked safely into Zen and the Art of Conestand Maintenance. Five days of eight hours is not enough time to actually do anything with the rest of your life. I’m too tired, exhausted really, at the end of this five day week to think much farther beyond bed. And that’ where my thoughts take me, is to sleep. I fell nothing profound or really even intelligent, just like repeating myself over and over…

Hw do I feel about the end of my CS time? Relieved and already a bit nostalgic. It’s a job I can add to my list of things I never want to do again (along with bussing and retail) but there are certain things I’ll miss. I told one lady today about meditation and how it’s helped me; she took the advice to heart, ”I got an ice cream cone and life advice.”

That was cool.

Ondrej was teaching me to sing today – last night we tried to make a tune for the ConeStand rock, and it came out to be more like me rapping or raging like Ani, neither of which was very impressive, apparently, although liberating. So the last hour of my last day at the Cone Stand, Ondrej decided to help me out a little with my voice. He ordered, “stand like this. Open your mouth. Breathe through your belly. Imagine you’re a scuba diver.”

What?

A scuba diver? What does that have to do with hitting the high notes?

He said it didn’t matter, just to do it.

I forgot. I was concentrating on breathing and projecting and enunciating. Na ne ni no nu, la la la la

I think we’ve got a date to practice tomorrow.

Something Tangible

As my time here in Yosemite comes to an end, as my summertime friends leave, as I realize that this completely unique experience will live on only in a few people's memories, I decided to leave something tangible. A song to commemorate our time sweating it out in the Cone Stand.

Thus, I present:

(Read this with the influence of the Fresh Prince, Weird Al Yankovic and the Beach Boys)

The Cone Stand Rock

Climbers come here for the walls

Tourists come here for the Falls

But why do I keep comin’ back?

For me, it’s all about the Cone Shack.

Chorus: I’m comin’ back for the Cone Shack

Cone Shacka lacka lacka Cone Shacka lacka

The kids inside are oh-so friendly

If they can hear my order over the Public Enemy

Personally I go for the double scoop

And I just pick off the mouse poop

Brightly lit and clean is how it’s supposed to be

But the way they keep t, it’s light-free

The Devil’s Cone Shack

Open three months of the year

Hot dog stinky, the windows never quite clear

Employees who’d rather be outside than in

The Devil’s Cone Shack Den

The air back there is hard to see through

The haze of hot dogs and nacho cheese goo

Sticky and slippery, the floor all wet

But that hasn’t stopped them from serving me yet!

Chorus

I walk up to the window through a blast of hot air

“Hey, what’s cookin’ in there?”

I order my double then change my mind

“A banana split is healthier, right?”

The dude behind the counter gets upset

He hasn’t been trained on the register yet.

So we wait and we wait for the Cone Shack Queen

To return from her lunch out under the trees

Swingin,’ swaggerin’ thru the back door,

She assesses the situation and almost goes for more

Lunch

But she stays and straightens and unruffles and scoops

And hands out freebies and clean nacho goop

And the guys get credit but she gets her liberty

Which is better than a fat check any day of the week.

Chorus

A steady succession of Cone Stand fill-ins

Are trained regularly for the interim

While the real Cone Masters step out to indulge

In cranking finger cracks over a bulge

These fill-ins, these imposters

Start out as babes the Cone Masters must foster

Put thru the paces of the register and restocking

They realize the amount of work to get this place going is shocking!

Occasionally help will be sent from the Food Court

An untrained cashier with whom speaking English is more like a sport

“Yes? No? How do you say?...”

Seems like that’s what I hear all day.

But I’m patient, I explain, I even learn to repeat

“Carbonation is Czech is bublinki?”

Chorus

Colby and Anchen are the Cone Masters

With one in school and one with a Bachelor’s

Working together, they’re just faster

Reunited every Monday, Tuesday and sometimes weekends,

They sweat and scoop and remain good friends

Is this what it takes to make you appreciate the life?

School work ain’t so bad compared to this strife

Where you work and you sweat and you injure your wrist

“All in a day’s work,” your manager grins

I don’t agree. Call the union, call your friends

It’s time to take a stand

This mistreatment of employees has got to end

And we’re starting with the Cone Stand

“Is it really so bad?” You ask

“If only you knew,” I tsk

One hour to prepare, restock and reassess

From the previous day’s disastrous mess

Out of everything, the floor’s not mopped

(You can tell from the ice cream cone outline they dropped)

Wash the windows, collect the rags

Set up your bank, change the trash bags

Answer guest questions like,

“what time does the pool open?”

When the sign’s right there, I could just point to show them

Or they ask, “Where are the Falls? How about the bathroom?”

Holding their knees together and looking wildly about

I get some satisfaction telling them it’s down, around and out.

These people, these tourists, it’s like they left their brains at home while they’re on vacation

They expect me to think for them, to whisper incantations

And save them from themselves and their relations

What’s even better are the folks who forget

About vacation and are just here to vent

Who carry their stress up inside their heads

Until steam comes out their ears

And you hear

“Hurry up! Don’t train now, if I don’t eat I’ll be dead!”

And I say, “Relax, smile, pretend you’re fine,

And remember you’re on vacation, you’re not on company time.”

Chorus

Now the Dream Team’s disbanding

Our lives are expanding

To include TaiJi and school

We’re no longer the Cone Masters at the edge of the pool

Colby’s off, back to Utah

Anchen’s off, to sit Vipassana

This summer in Yosemite’s been a blast

Lots of grumbling, complaints and not enough time off

But we’ll both be back, our hiatus can’t last

Betwixt the walls of Yosemite we can’t get enough.

Back to ....Me

So for a while there I felt sheepish about quitting climbing. (I keep telling myself it’s temporary, although I’m more and more ok with not climbing, since lately the only way I’ve felt about it is unhealthily competitive and like I hung my self-esteem on routes.) I didn’t write about it, because, well, I thought you (my reader had expectations. And I had expectations about myself, my climbing, what I Should be doing in Yosemite instead of what I’m actually doing, which, because I’m doing it, is what I’m supposed to be doing in the first place.

Enough of a mouthful. The point is, I’m here, writing, because I like to write, and I’m posting it because a) I might as well get used to folks reading what I write since I’m going to change the world with words, b) If I don’t write the truth then it’s not worth reading anyway and c) going deep is good practice. I know when I read something truly true, something so deep it probably felt like rolling in a blackberry thicket to write it, that I feel a stronger connection to the person, the idea, the situation, and I’m more likely to learn from it.

So what I say is sure, this blog may have been started to chronicle my climbing exploits, to chart my progress toward the “ultimate goal” but I’ve decided to keep it up, because a) I like to write and b) this helps people keep in contact with me because the phone reception down here in the valley isn’t the greatest. Plus I’m spending all my evenings with my new (and very cool) friends, Marina and John. You know those people you meet where you just want to hang out with them all the time because you never know what’s going to happen next? These are that kind of people. Anyhoo, I’m writing this more like an email to all my readers out there because I feel like I need to update ya’ll in the longer-than-a-month hiatus I’ve taken from publishing. (Sure, I’ve been writing, but no one wants to read self-obsessed depressive speak. So I waited until I feel bettah. Here I am!)

What’s been happening to me since I’ve been out of the virtual world? Lots of worldly things, I would say. I’ve been learning the Chen form of TaiJi from John, practicing standing posture, qigong and meditation in the mornings (yes, me, I’m sitting still), getting life advice from Marina, and lots of love from both of them. I went to San Francisco with my dad for a weekend, I watched John get a lesson from his sifu, Mark Wasson, a white guy who lives in Livermore and who waited to hit John really hard until I left the room. Mark really emphasizes power, and as I watched John bouncing across the floor I marveled at his ability to laugh and learn from this ‘lesson.’

The major thing I’ve been dealing with (and here come the deep honesty part) is self love. Or in my case, lack thereof. If I don’t love myself, how can I love anyone else? That is where all love comes from, is the self. I’m so used to ‘pushing’ myself to do better, go harder, to prove myself, to be the strong one, that I’ve forgotten why I like myself, what I like about myself, what there is to like. I don’t like myself a lot of the time. And I don’t even know where to look for self-love. That’s actually pretty scary, not to love yourself.

These last few weeks have been really scary.

That’s partly why I’m going on a Vipassana sit in August or September.

Not to leave you hanging...but I’ve got a 5am meditation class. We’ll see how honest I can stay when I come back to this stuff.

Love, Honesty, Friendship. And oh yeah, I've stopped climbing

I am so excited and content and happy. I am a time in my life that I’m making lifelong friends, a process I hope never stops, but I feel it especially now, the possibilities and the crazy reality that is now and forever. I am me. I have potential. I am unique. I am special. I am free.

Coming into the park, my expectations for myself and my experience were higher than El Cap, and I took it upon myself not to disappoint. Where I’ve ended up is confused, tired, unmotivated to climb. I haven’t been since I got here.

It embarrasses me. I live in Yosemite, the climbing Mecca of the world, I celebrity watch daylong at my job, I live beneath the face of Tissiac, I contemplate North Dome and try to find Serenity beneath the Royal Arches, fresh rockfall produces new boulder problems and yet I don’t climb. I don’t want to. I am not compelled to.

It kills me to write this. This is the reason I’ve been silent via internet, why my blogs are stilted. I am embarrassed. My expectations were higher than El Cap, I had so many.

Now, I wait. I wait for the inspiration, and until then, I do other things. I work at the Yosemite Lodge Cone Shack by the pool, helping America fuel their fructose addiction, directing tourists to the nearest bathroom or if I’m lucky, to the Upper Yosemite Falls trailhead. I parly with Colby, fellow compatriot of the Cone Shack and fellow climber, although a more motivated one than I. The lifeguards add a dash of sweetness, Kevin with his puzzling compliments about my “granite eyes” that have “routes from 5.3 to 5.15 to 5.10” (he spun this tale of my eyes one day as I stood in front of the ice cream cooler and he in front of the Coke machine, about how they contain a multi-pitch route. I’m still confused, although flattered, I think) and Ally, the cornfed Californian with the Miss Piggy Voice and character, my favorite and the most personable of the lifeguards.

I’m thinking of saying goodbye to the lot of them. Of giving my two weeks and shoving off from dishing brandless ice cream. Of saving myself from tendonitis in my scooping arm (ambidextrous practice isn’t enough), from the temptation of gooey sweetness every single day, saving myself from the soul-sucking existence that is being a cashier at the Yosemite Lodge. Save myself to become myself.

This morning in my journal I wrote to myself to become who I am.

Here, I’ll write it for you. Become Who You Are.

I’ve never written truer words.

I must be developing as a writer.

That was a joke. True, but still a joke.

I’ve come to terms with a lot of things lately. I’m happy to be me. I’m comfortable with my body, even if I don’t like how it looks just now. I’m developing my honesty into a habit, my openness into more than just a show and tell. I make being healthy a life routine, build it into my existence.

I decided to stay here through the fall until December. I decided to gain the certifications to be a guide – WFR and maybe AMGA, depending if I get a scholarship. I feel committed, ready, wanting to make change, to start into something. I’ve experienced the soul-sucking, deprived existence of tourist service, and I understand that I will never be happy in a job in the service industry because I’m self-serving. Through that I serve others. Through my writing is how I want to affect people. I can’t make a difference scooping ice cream or seating people at a brewery. I can make minimum wage. I can exhaust myself.

I can do better.

I’m reading On the Road, by Jack Kerouac. His character Sal Paradise (who’s really Jack anyway) said, “…life is holy and every moment is precious.”

I wholeheartedly agree. In a way, a lot of what I’m reading relates to what I’m living. The Beat generation was revolutionary for their time. I feel like I’m living a revolution right now, the green revolution, the health revolution, living the mind-body connection in a way most of fat America will never experience. Ever since I read Write to Change the World, that’s what I want to do with my writing. I want to change the world. I want to change the world. I want to change my little piece of the world. I want to help people. And ideal easily scoffed at, easily dismissed, easily forgotten, except for the way it reappears in my mind at each turn in my life.

**

I have met my other half, in the form of two people. I’ve never been great at making friends, and meeting people I connect with is as rare as leap years. Meeting two, that’s providence. Marina and John, people I’m unable to describe but whom I feel fully.

New phase of exploration: Go. Start out now, opening avenues to the world, stay open and alert and happy and go forward, seeking, feeling, being. Forget the unneccessaries. Forget the ridiculous. Forget society. Focus on what’s important. Focus on what’s essential to happiness. Love and friendship.

In On the Road, DeanMoriarty and Carlo Marx decide to share absolutely everything on their minds. The sit across from each other and discuss everything, letting it flow out, being precise about meanings, voice inflections, innuendos, references of the past day. It sounded horribly boring, tedious yet liberating, this honesty that in modern times we don’t have time for.

Absolute honesty. Communication. Trust. Understanding. The foundation to a good relationship is in these words.

A little bit of everything

Separating my identity from being a climber chick. I am not just a climber, I’m not just a writer, I am me, I’m Anchen, I’m unique despite my name.

I define myself as a climber and as a writer to make it easy for other people to see an aspect of me, to identify with me, with that little piece I set out for them, and to make it difficult for them to get around to any other piece of me.

I’m trying all the stuff that isn’t me, just to reassure myself that what I like really is what I like and not just what I’m used to.

I haven’t been climbing much lately. I wonder if I use the excuse of no climbing partner as an excuse not to climb, or to rail on climbing, or to avoid doing it when I claim that’s what keeps me sane…I don’t know. I know I love being outside, that I feel nestled into the wilderness, the trees, the air, that I feel comfortable. What I’m seeking in my life is that feeling of comfort – not material comfort, because as I speak I’m swatting flies from my head and wondering what could have possible bitten my boob. I’m greeting the arrival of the sun through the morning cloudcover, swatting mosquitoes and glancing ever now and then at the trees surrounding me, rising in front of me, the Glacier Point Apron at my back. It’s worth the itch.

I climb, I suppose you could call me a climber, but I’m contemplating not doing it for a couple of weeks, or not putting such an emphasis on climbing – perhaps then it could be more of my life instead of holding the vaunted position it does now, where, when I don’t get to climb I fight off disappointment and depression. How about, every time I do get to climb is a blessing, a treat, something I can’t come to expect but an experience I appreciate each time.

That way the climbing doesn’t become mundane, everyday, the way I get my exercise in. I refuse to become one of the Smith Crew, making fun of the gullies and greasy routes yet addicted to the movement. That’s not me, I knew it even as I tried to get into it. I’m not sure what is me yet, but I’m pretty good at figuring out what isn’t.

Climbing is a pastime, not a job. Thank you, Emily Harrington, for reminding me of that.

Balancing my life between it all. Not climbing is not what I mean, I mean allowing my other interests to take precedence instead of pushing everything out of the way in favor of climbing with people I don’t know. I still want to drive down to Wawona to see the giant sequoias. I need to go into some town to look for a used store so I can stock my kitchen with more than one pot – preferably one with a handle. I want to explore Tuolomne, maybe do a long route up there, maybe the Regular Route, I want to hike to the top of Half Dome, I want to do Snake Dike, I want to know my future. I want to know what I’m doing after this summer, but I think what has to happen is me being me, forgetting about goals and planning and just being.

Practice just being. Stop thinking ahead, stop being so concerned with what others think of me, stop saying what if, stop the hamster routine and settle. Relax into myself, be like water, let myself wash over since none of it is that important.

Apparently Zen Buddhism is the most difficult kind of meditation. I was thinking about meditating…I’ve stopped drinking coffee (when a scant two weeks ago I was duly addicted without desire to quit) and milk, I decided to try being vegan. It’s not that hard, now that I don’t care what people think of my food. I bring pasta and veggies to work for lunch in my glass container and get looks, but whatcha gonna do? Not eat?

I can’t see myself being a strict vegan for the rest of my life, or even a long period here, but it’s something to try and see if I like. I’m in the trying phase. I live in Yosemite, I work in food service (also something I’m just trying), I’m trying to be a consistent writer, I’m relaxing into myself. Instead of trying to BE myself, I’m just letting everything else that isn’t me go. John Blue brought that to my attention – the way I force things, instead of relaxing into them. I force myself to relax. How f-ed up is that?

I think of myself as transforming, becoming a new me, but if it’s me that I’m uncovering anyway, then becoming anyone else would just be fake, as would reverting back to the so-called “old me”.

What to do with this dichotomy? I question the changes I’ve made, the mental shift. I wonder if I can keep it up, but why should I wonder if this is really me? It is natural for me to be me, to feel this way, to ask these questions, to be weird and insecure and happy and have a strange sense of humor. But I’m afraid of losing this person before she’s comfortable in who she is to the person she used to be – who was always trying to please someone else.

I’ve gotten better at making changes lately. I realized the catalyst is wanting to change, and then having a plan to facilitate that change. Saying you’ll change is one thing, actually doing it is quite another.

What is commitment to friends? I think of it as these people you know that you’ll want to have in your life for years to come. Nathan, I’ll use you as an example.

On the whole, we haven’t spent a lot of time together but we have a connection, a common interest of climbing and a curiosity about the world. We’re both writers and revolutionaries, in different ways. The way I see it, you’re going to be driving by for the rest of my life, on your way to save the world or climb a mountain or study pygmy ants in Africa. And I’ll be doing my thing, wherever I am, and we’ll meet for an intense few days of sharing and reflection on the state of the world, then we’ll take what we learned from the other and use a little of it in our current work. I’ll be writing to save the world, maybe a treatise on why we should only eat wild venison instead of farmed meat or whatever my current interest is, really. By idea sharing we spread the word of different points of view and maybe reach a larger audience. We trust each other enough to confide our ideas and maybe create something new between the two of us.

This is one example. Being committed to friends means making time in your life for them. It means being present, in the moment when they’re around, and being honest if you’re busy or unhappy. It means trusting them to be a friend, being able to rely on them if you need an ear to listen or a shoulder to lean on or an arm to help with moving. Friends are rare creatures in this world, worth treasuring every minute of. I have few friends (in the grand scheme of people I know) I am truly committed to. You could say I have commitment issues. Being at the same time over-committed (typical climber) time-wise, and emotionally reserved, my commitment to a friend is almost a relief. It’s how I want to treat all the people I like, but I’m not sure if they’re ready for me to be that committed to them. Something about boundaries, that break-in period…so I’ve developed my own indestructible boundaries to protect myself.

For example, new people I meet, like Lisa and Ty. I felt like I knew Lisa the moment I saw her, and the more time I spend, the more I feel comfortable, fated to know her, sure of our friendship. Yet, I wouldn’t call us friends because we’ve hardly had a conversation that hasn’t been about work. This is me doubting my feelings and waiting for empirical evidence – like a good time climbing together - to back up that first recognition.

I have trust issues and I climb with people I don’t know? Where is the logic in this?!

Thus, my idea of a climbing partner is too ideal ever to be a possibility, though I’m constantly complaining about my lack of one. I scope out partners and wonder at their partnership, how they manage to find each other, I wonder what they put up with in each other, and how easy or hard it is to spend that much time together. I know I get sick of whoever I’m with after a certain point, that as a part of being Anchen; I need alone time.

Maybe I’m too much of a perfectionist ever to find a partner. More likely, I’m afraid of being disappointed, or of conceding too much, or of not finding that person who fits me perfectly. I have extremely high partner standards, which is why I have no partner, am on a constant search. I can always find something wrong with anyone who wants to be my partner. I’m afraid of committing to one person as a climbing partner because what if something better comes along? I’m not willing to settle, but I’m also not willing to commit.

I am so jaded. Not the right word. I am so…perfectionist. I have such high expectations. And it’s so easy to project them onto others, especially ones I like.

I am afraid of settling. The way I have it now, no one is good enough, there’s always an obstacle, always a reason not to commit.

And, sometimes things just don’t work out. People get jobs, responsibilities crop up, days off don’t materialize. I’m learning to be grateful for what I get, to appreciate the good climbing partners I do have, and the time spent with friends no matter what we might be doing. This is me relaxing.

The Honeymoon is Over

Yesterday after we finished Nutcracker, Morgan and I drove to El Cap Meadow and ogled the Capitan. The sun was sinking below the walls and lit up the West Face in a golden glow and split the Northeast face off into shadow. It was beautiful and exciting to sit and watch the wall. Some people had chairs, and I’ve seen people out there with a spotting scope. We sat for a while, comparing lines in the book to the ones on the wall, picking out features like Boot Flake, Texas Flake, Hollow Flake, the Sickle, Changing Corners and the Great Roof, North America…This wall has so many lines on it, yet it’s so massive it’s hard to see all the parties on the wall. It’s not obvious that there are probably a hundred people climbing that wall at once. I assumed there were many I couldn’t see, hadn’t yet picked out, and I ached for a pair of binoculars to scan with.

Instead, we took the long way around the meadow, following the trail girdling the outside that gets progressively fainter and weedier the farther West you go. Well, the trail petered out, so we cut along the stream back to the road, through the fiddlehead ferns and prickly brambles to the line of cars parked. A crowd had gathered and was staring at something in the meadow. It was about dusk, time for deer to be out, so I figured it was a herd cavorting for the tourists. Morgan pointed out the crowd that I’d just dismissed as being townies from LA. Well, he got me to look and there was a good-sized cinnamon-colored black bear sitting under what I think was a spreading oak tree. I got the impression it was a female just cause she sat, sometimes wandering around the tree, never going far. Cameras flashed, cars pulled over willy-nilly, (Memorial day Monday and a bear stops traffic flooding out of the park), too excited about the bear to park off the road. Morgan and I watched this bear thoroughly enjoying its life, throwing its head around, simply sitting on the ground and hanging out. As we began walking back to the car, we stopped and looked periodically at El Cap rising above us, still picking out lines, monitoring the parties we could see on the wall, and we decided to walk up to the base. I’ve never been, and Morgan said it was a short hike. So we went, fighting the skeeters, and ended up at the base where we talked to a couple of guys who’d been blown off Freebase.

I touched the start of the Nose, a shallow flared fingery crack, and imagined myself starting up for a three-day suffer-fest. Hauling hundred of pounds of gear, sleeping on ledges, no escape from the wind or cold or storms or other parties or even myself, losing sight of the ultimate goal of finishing instead being caught up in doing the King Swing and hoping my rope doesn’t get eaten by the flake and bickering with my partner and eating ravioli out of a can.

Hey, I can do that. Rack that’d be fun!

What a goal. What a fix. What a lot of work.

Can you imagine the crap you’d have to take with you to make it up there? Hauling that much gear with one other person makes for an intense experience where you’re learning how well you work with this person, what they sound like in the morning when they’re sore and tired, when they take poops, what you do when you’re strapped for water or low on food.

I want it. I want to do it. I want to experience the line, to get comfortable with this wall the same way I’m comfortable at Smith, knowing every area, every feature, knowing stories of the history and the epics and the shortcuts and the innovations that made the climbing possible. I am fortunate in that I call the birthplace of sport climbing my home crag. I got a sense of the development of the sport, the experimental nature of climbing in the ten plus years I’ve been at it.

Sitting up there on the terrace with Morgan I could see across the valley and scope the Cathedrals – and I could imagine myself on the Nose. I can imagine it would get hard, once the honeymoon period of actually being on the wall wore off, to the point that you are immersed in the work, feel nothing but tired at the immensity of the task ahead of you, can’t see the big picture anymore but are only an ant on the wall, trudging up unrelenting granite.

But I won’t know this until I try it. And I really want to try it.

Wow. Climbing. There is so much more to it than just going up.

Partner Trust

The last week’s been work work work. I opened the Cone Stand yesterday with a fellow climber, and we scooped banana splits and sundaes, prodded hot dogs to check temp, and filled giant paper cups to the brim with vanilla ice cream balls and root beer. Truly, I work in a diabetic’s nightmare. A dietitian’s as well.

I’ve been climbing a little bit since last week. The old excitement is coming back, still flickering, still holding. I wonder if anything’s changed about it.

I’ve been climbing with some sketchy characters from work. Colby, my coworker, and Joe, the I.T. guy and I went after work one day, to go do Jam Crack. I’d told them both I’m a 5.8 leader, and I guess I’m shortchanging myself because I feel pretty comfortable on single pitch .10a. Multipitch is a different story.

So we got going at 6pm, walked five minutes to Sunnyside Bench, one of the wonderfully short approaches here in the Valley, and arrived at a beautiful slabby 5.7 hand and finger crack. Immediately I wanted to lead, but because I’d outlined my abilities as being such, Joe and Colby assumed I’d be following.

What is it with guys and taking the lead?

Do they automatically assume that since I’m a girl I don’t want to get on the sharp end? That I don’t have the confidence? That I’m just here for, what? A free ride? They didn’t even ask me if I wanted to lead. Yes, there were only two pitches. Yes, Joe did invite the both of us to climb, thus he assumed some responsibility in getting the rope to the anchors. I felt like I was imposing by insisting on leading, so I just shut up and followed, taking my sweet time and enjoying each movement, placing my hands just so, and critiquing the anchors at the top. I felt like a bitch.

Remember that post about climbing partners? So far I’ve been lucky. This night was the catch-up, the way the other kind of climber does it. Joe belays lazily with a grigri, sitting with his back to the wall, unsure of which hand is on the brake and never really aware of what he should be doing. He’s more concerned with seeming like he knows what he’s doing. At least he uses a grigri correctly and five piece of gear in his interestingly-equalized anchor. At least three of those piece would have held.

Colby, on the other hand, just goes for it. On the second pitch, he ape-armed his way through a third of it before placing his first piece, and that was after I realized if he fell it would be a factor 2 on the anchor and we’d all plummet to our deaths, and I yelled, “Jesus Christ, Colby, place a piece! Do you want to factor 2?” I felt like his mom, and really annoyed, pissed off that he would endanger us all like that instead of putting in a simple little directional.

Later he said he would’ve free soloed it except for one move.

Good for you, asshole, but I’m not about to. So don’t take my life for granted even if you do yours.

I got to the top of the second pitch, belayed up on the grigri again (off the anchor, thankfully) and rapped down first.

Why are climbers so lacksadaisical about their lives? Do they assume it’ll all be OK? Is ignorance bliss for some of them? Is thinking too much work?

One of the things I really enjoyed about climbing with Mason and Christian was the way they assumed I was in it with them. We swapped leads, made safe, took care of each other. Joe and Colby were clueless, Colby more so because he just didn’t think, and Joe was too concerned with what we thought of him to be a good climber.

My challenge this summer could very well be finding a partner I trust rather than climbing anything hard. I'm just trying to make peace with it all in my own mind.

Afraid to Climb? Me, too

I have been afraid to climb.

Afraid my body will give out on me like it did in Indian Creek

Afraid I won’t live up to my partner’s expectations

Afraid I’ll end up in something over my head, where I really will get hurt or scared for life.

I’ve been afraid that I don’t like climbing anymore.

So I haven’t been climbing.

Last Tuesday was my last day, the day of the Royal Arches almost-epic.

I didn’t realize or give myself credit, but I did two big routes within three days, Braille Book and Royal Arches, and it worked me.

What I’ve realized is: my expectations are too high for myself. I haven’t given myself time to recover. I haven’t given myself time to get used to the climbing here, I just jumped into it head first (like I always do…) and came up gasping for air.

It’s taken about a week of air for me to want to climb again.

Today I’m headed to Sunnyside Bench for some cragging with Christian and TC, North Carolina guys I met in Camp 4. I’m really looking forward to stuffing my paws into a crack after a week’s hiatus, and I think I’ve got a more realistic outlook on the whole thing. I’m not about to charge up any hard 5.10s or 5.11s, but I’ll be happy to get some pitches in, make it a long day, get some experience, challenge other parts of me besides my pain tolerance, and generally have a good time. That’s what it’s all about, right?

While we’re on the topic of realizations, I figured out that climbing with so many new partners is exhausting. (Duh, Anchen). Gauging their climbing style, speed, efficiencies, safety techniques, and climbing ability is as nerve wracking as leading any old-school 5.8 here in the Valley, and I’ve met so many people, had so many one-route stands, my standards are way down. I’ve decided it’s up to me to stay safe and that means climbing below my limit on well-placed gear. Or bouldering by myself. My new strategy is to find partners who will be around for the whole summer.

I’ve met people who exclusively boulder, crack climb, or who are here only for big walls.

Yosemite takes all kinds.

The majority of employees here party. That’s a nice way of saying they get drunk every night.

Then there are the dedicated few who go out and climb – the community is comparatively small, I expect to know them all by the end of the week. OK, that would be nice. The end of the month, then. A lot of the climbers just come for the summer to make money for the rest of the year. One guy, Alex, (exclusive boulderer) has been coming back for three, four years. He has a circuit in the Valley, goes exploring and does some “gardening” on the boulders with potential, says the bouldering guide maps out maybe a quarter of the boulders in the Valley.

This is what they do. They come back for jobs within a year of leaving to keep their seniority. Then in fall they leave to go surfing or climbing for the rest of the year, and come back in April to repeat the process. Those are the happy employees.

The majority of workers in Yosemite I would not say are happy. I would say they’re overweight alcoholics with attitudes who don’t make me want to stay longer than the three months I signed up for, for fear I might turn into one of them. Especially in the winter months when it’s cold and rainy, when it gets dark by 4 o’clock and the sun dips behind Half Dome even earlier, when the tent-cabins turn into dark clammy dens good only for hibernation.

In lieu of roped climbing I’ve been bouldering. I found a boulder on which I can do two problems over at LeConte, and a fun heel-hook traverse at the Ahwahnee boulders. I hopped onto the start of Cranium Crusher, a V3, and got about one move in – I figure I’ll just try it every time I go by and by the end of the summer I’ll be able to pull two moves – but all the rest of the boulders here remain nameless and gradeless, a status I prefer in my quest to find the easiest problems possible. I think I end up climbing the walk-offs more often than not, but you have to start somewhere. I figure, the more time I spend on the rock the better.

Yesterday I realized that bouldering is a form of meditation. It forces me to be conscious of every movement I make, to accept the consequences and act in spite of them. Bouldering forces me to start small – one or two movements is all I can make on most problems – and build up to finishing. The cool thing is, since I’ve started bouldering, I’ve made progress.