As I listen to the wind howl outside, I’m reminded of the many times I’ve hiked in weather conditions where I was sure the wind was going to blow me off the summit of the mountain. I remember the fear. I remember the anger. I remember how I felt like I couldn’t bear to be up there one more minute because I was sure the wind was going to kill me. Wind in the White Mountains is strange. The sun is shining, the skies are blue, the scenery is stunning. It is another world on the summit of these mountains. When the wind was blowing, I couldn’t enjoy this other world. I was too fucking angry. Angry at the wind for making me feel out of control as it tried to dictate my every move. Angry at the wind for pushing me around, for taunting me with its power, for scaring the shit out of me.
For scaring the shit out of me. There it is. I wasn’t angry. This was fear. There was no need to be angry at the wind. It was pure nature. Nature is power, not evil. Nature is not trying to hurt you. Nature simply exists.
But nature can be scary. And I was scared. I hate when things feel out of control. Not because I hate when things are seeming to control me. But because when my tightly controlled life with its routine and safety and comfort in knowing what is familiar, is threatened in any way, I feel helpless. And feeling helpless makes me angry. Which usually means I’m scared.
Which, up here in the mountains with the powerful gusts of wind, I am.
My fear keeps me wound so tightly that I can’t feel all the good that surrounds me. I can’t see the beauty of my life. I can’t feel the sun on my face. I can’t feel the love that surrounds me everywhere. I can’t reach it.
On the top of Mount Madison last summer, I found myself at the summit, in what I would later learn were 60 mph wind gusts. All I knew at that time is I didn’t want to be on that summit anymore. But I hadn’t reached the top yet; I was probably only 200ft away. I hated where I was. I hated this wind. I was angry that it was so fierce that each time I took a step, I would get jostled so that my foot wouldn’t land where I wanted it to. I’d either lose my balance, fall, or scrape the hell out of my legs. I found a large boulder and crouched down underneath it where the wind couldn’t get me.
Under this boulder, in the calm, my anger dissolved, and I started to cry. I pretended I wasn’t scared. I resisted the fear, fought against it, tried to reason it away.
But until you look it square in the face, and see it for what it is, fear will not go away. It is stubborn. It wants attention. Fear reminds you that there is something in your life that needs to be paid attention to. And it won’t go away until you lean into it, experience it, and begin to examine exactly what it is in your life that scares you.
I crawled out from under my boulder. The wind was howling, but the sun was beaming a new perspective down on me. I realized I couldn’t stop the wind. But I could lean into it. I could stop resisting and see it for what it was. I could lean into the fear. I didn’t want to, I wanted to shut down and crawl back under my rock. But I also wanted to reach the summit; I wanted to experience my life for all that I knew was waiting for me.
I leaned in. I accepted the fear. I kept hiking. Mount Madison felt like it was going to break me that day.
But it didn’t.