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.
