On Saturday, I climbed Mt. Massive, which was my 24th 14er, and my 10th of the summer (which checks #4 off my list of goals for 2011).  Saturday also marked the 4-year anniversary of my move from Seattle – which, in some ways, was the initial leap into really big adventure that’s still unfolding.  Needless to say, the two things danced around in my head all day – life in the mountains, and life in general.

There are a lot of ways in which mountain climbing can be compared to life – but how to convey this without sounding cheesy like a Miley Cyrus song?  (Although… sigh.  You know I love that Miley Cyrus song.)

Well, here.  Let’s try it this way.

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On the trail on Saturday, I passed a man who, impressed by my speed, told me I had “an engine” in me.  I grinned so big.  For a girl who has never been good at sports, who could never serve the volleyball over the net, who never scored a goal, can I just tell you how good it is to have found an activity that my body takes to naturally?  Hiking just fits – I’m really fast (faster than a lot of MEN), my body cooperates, and it brings me a lot of joy.

Real life lesson:
Find the things that come naturally, and that bring you a lot of joy, and do those.  This isn’t to say that you shouldn’t try new things, or work hard at something that might be a stretch (or even a strain) – but pay attention to what it is that works for you.  Sometimes, it’s something that was obvious from a very early age.  Other times, you stumble upon it accidentally.  Whatever it is – music, running, writing, painting, cooking, traveling – foster it, protect it, make time for it, and then allow yourself to experience the joy.

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People die on 14ers every year, often when struck by lightning.  When climbing Mt. Yale a few weeks ago, the seemingly benign clouds above broke into a lightning storm right overhead – bolts of lightning overlapped by cracks of thunder that reverberated across the entire sky.  I’ve never prayed so urgently or run so frantically as in that moment – I bombed down the ridge toward treeline as fast as I could, projecting ahead to my own funeral and wondering how my family would find the password to my blog in order to post the bad news for you all to read.

After that, I was afraid to climb again.  That lightning had scared me on such a primal level, and when my alarm went off on Saturday morning, I was tempted to turn it off and stay safe and comfortable in my bed.

Several hours later, I was once again above treeline, watching the sky with such trepidation, thinking that the puffy clouds might unify and create the lightning that would be the death of me.  But they never did.  I made it to the summit, and then all the way back down to my car, and the entire day had been beautiful.

Real life lesson:
Learn the difference between the threats in your life.  Know when a situation is dangerous, when you should run for dear life.  Then again, know when it’s not worth your fear, because before you know it, the danger could simply burn off into blue sky, and you might as well enjoy your day.

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This summer, I had a hard time finding people to come climbing with me.  For some reason, no one wants to wake up at 4am on a Saturday only to drive 3 hours, hike 14 miles, gain and then lose 4,000 feet of elevation, stumble back to the Subaru, and then drive back to Denver in a silent daze.  I can’t imagine why.

As a result, 7 of my 10 14ers this summer were climbed by myself.

I’m not stupid about it – the peaks I’ve been climbing haven’t been super technical, and I plan my climbs to fall on days when there are sure to be others on the mountain.  I tell people where I’m going, and when I should be back – lest I wind up needing to cut off my own arm with a dull blade.  And sometimes, I make friends on the trail – kindred souls who also find the sacrifices worth it.

Real life lesson:
We live in a culture of safety and comfort.  The trail toward beauty and adventure and risk isn’t terribly popular, and thus, traveling companions may be scarce.  This is okay.  Certain paths can be walked alone.

But even in the midst of solitude, don’t disconnect from the people who love you most.  And don’t close yourself off to the unexpected friends you might meet along the way.

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You can hold it.  There is no reason to pee in the woods.
The sun burns.  Wear sunscreen.
Keep going.  Those miles aren’t going to walk themselves.

Real life lesson:
Those just kind of translate over.

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It’s been a great summer in the mountains.

And it’s been a great adventure I’ve been living.

Take a chance.  Wake up early.  Drive an unmarked road.  Work hard, and don’t quit.  You just might find yourself in the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen.

American Basin - Lake City, CO

Yesterday, I was a total crankpot.  Everything was wrong.  Everything was complicated.  Everything was making me nervous and anxious and angry and tearful.

During my break, I took myself on a walk around the lake, feeling the clouds hang low to the earth.  I tried to breathe in the cool air – the first traces of fall – but with each breath I took in, the bad things built up more and more inside.

Just when my throat was getting tight and my eyes were getting full, a friend called.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m out on a walk and trying… not… to… cry…” I sputtered.

He laughed, because he is a boy and that is what boys sometimes do, but when you’re a girl you don’t really mind – because you know that he’s a boy, and you know he isn’t being mean.

Then he asked me why I was almost crying, and I erupted with all of the reasons.

He laughed a little bit more, and then offered very logical advice (boys are good at that, even when it feels kind of annoying), and by the time my break was over, my tears had passed and I was ready to get back to work.

Today is a new day.  I’m going to treat it as such.

On Sunday night, I returned from 10 days of travel – a week in Nashville, and then a couple of days in Kansas City.  Starting tomorrow, I’ll have visitors for 10 days.  Needless to say, these few days in between have held a to-do list a mile long.

But in an inconvenient yet providential twist, my work computer crashed on Monday afternoon, rendering me useless on the job until the replacement showed up (picked it up first thing this morning).  So yesterday?  UNEXPECTED FREE DAY.

Glory, and amen.

I got so much done – errands, and cleaning, and organizing, and planning.  I went to the gym at 2pm, staring in wonder at everyone else on the treadmills, wondering why no one else has jobs.  And finally, in the evening, I did the one thing that had already been on my calendar: I got a massage.

I had been looking forward to this massage ever since I bought the Groupon a few months ago: a 75 minute massage for $29.  Twenty-nine dollars exclamation point!  I thought it was too good to be true.

And, well.  Maybe it was.

Despite my protests, the lady poked and prodded me in all sorts of awkward and painful ways.  She laughed like Fran Drescher.  I was freezing, and when I asked if she could turn the fan in any direction other than, you know, right in my face, she said, “Well, I’m hot.”  And when she stopped halfway through the massage to inform me that she was going to anoint me with frankincense, folks, we had a legitimate WTF situation on our hands.

And yes, I know.  Being tired from traveling to fun places, getting ready to host friends that I love, having a surprise day off from my very wonderful job, only to get a weird massage?

Yes.  I am aware that this is what we call a “first world problem.”

I’m back in Nashville this week, working in the office and seeing friends.  Every time I come back to Nashville, I’m struck by two things: how much this place still feels like home – and how things can’t ever be the way that they were before.

The longing for “the way things were” is my Achilles’ heel, and it has the power to sink me like a cinder block.  It doesn’t matter what my present looks like, or what the past actually was like – nostalgia is a revisionist, and cuts out the tough things so that only the best memories remain.

But I’m in my little row boat on the river of life, and time is the current that’s pulling me forward, forward, forward.  I’m thankful for the places I’ve seen, and the the people I’ve met, and the opportunities and adventures that have surprised me along the way.  I’ve survived rapids and waterfalls and the occasional overturned boat, only to find that the stream just keeps going.  Paddling back the other direction doesn’t get me very far, and leaves me frustrated and tired (not to mention hungry for a hot dog).

So I choose to be content in this little wooden vessel, oars at the ready to help determine my course, but ultimately trusting that the river is pulling me in the right direction.  This week, it’s looped me back through Nashville – and as always, I’m grateful.

Confession: I want to be awesome.

Fun.  Smart.  Witty.  Talented.  Cool.  Not necessarily “together,” but at least effortlessly disheveled.  Not necessarily “popular,” but at least able to be choosy.  Not necessarily “rich,” but…  Fine.  Sometimes I want to be rich.

But, you know, life can be boring.  Life can fly by without the luxury of those cute moments – the times where a surprise comment in the grocery makes you feel validated, or a silly joke makes you side-smile, or a flower growing out of a sidewalk crack makes you think about life and death and God and beauty.

Life doesn’t always afford us those cute moments.

And it’s not that it’s ugly and awful and torturous.  It’s just… daily.  And busy.  It doesn’t leave much room for the fabulous, as much as I would like for it to.  The busyness expands, and balloons, and bullies its way into every corner of our lives, and makes us feel ugly and tired and unfocused.

Sometimes, some days, the most excitement we have is killing a spider before it makes it under the couch.  Eyeliner is the only tool we have to feel any semblance of “pretty.”  We cling to the satisfaction of having paid our bills this month, because that’s just about the only accomplishment we can pinpoint.

Life can be so daily.  Life can leave us feeling un-awesome.

Even now, my temptation is to steer this post into some charming little twist, some cute phrase that will leave you all with a grin and a vision of me, “C’est la vie!” skipping off through a field to make daisy chains out of the weeds.

But the truth is that I’m sunburned and muscle-sore and fly-bitten, and a little bit cranky because I don’t think I got the recycling bin out to the curb on time this morning.  The Greebs tore apart my new box of Kleenex, and I returned a new purchase from Target because Dave Ramsey would have shame-shamed me.  I’m trying to figure out how to work in my workouts this week, and wishing for quick fixes and easy answers and smooth sailing.

In short, today, I’m not feeling that awesome.

But I’ve lived enough dramatic excitement to know that the quiet, daily, dare I say boring moments are to be blessed. I’ll live to see another fabulous day – but for now, it’s business as usual on a Monday.

I’m choosing to be thankful.

I’m like a can of Sprite – shake me up, and right away, you’ll get an abundant overflow of sparkly bubbles.  But pretty soon, I’ll go flat.

Conversation is like a game of tennis – best if equally matched, and only as good as the person serving back to you.

Dating should be treated like a woman treats a pregnancy: don’t announce it until you’re out of the first trimester.

Happy July 1st, my sweet and patient friends.

Come on.  You knew I’d have a video.

As you can tell, I needed a little bit of breathing room in June.  Things have been heavy and confusing and stressful, and I didn’t want to spew my emotional guts all over your internet each day (that would have been rude and, most likely, vile).

So I took the month to just hunker down.

But now?  Now, I am GIRDING UP MY LOINS.

July is shaping up to be quite a month, what with a skunk on the loose in my new neighborhood, spraying innocent bystanders and all.  Other upcoming events of note: the grand opening of Denver’s Ikea, a 900 mile drive in a Penske truck, more mountains, and who knows?  Maybe even a haircut.

Have a great holiday weekend – and if you just can’t wait one more second to hear about baby Zion – my new nephew! – click on over to read his story.  I am so in love with this boy already, and can’t wait to snuggle him.

This past Saturday morning when I was out on a walk, I got the mother of all sunburns.  I was over a mile closer to the sun than many of you, AND I’m pigment-deficient – it’s only natural.

By Saturday afternoon, I was radiating so much heat, you could have fried an egg on my clavicle.  My mom pulled out her prescription-strength aloe – the kind they gave her during radiation (you know, when they try to kill your cancer by giving you skin cancer instead) – and I’ve been slathering myself up all week.  But even still: now, I am peeling like a Tennessee cicada.

I wish that life was that easy – when you got burned, you could just shed the damage.

But maybe that’s not the point.

Maybe we’re not supposed to just slip out of the old.   Maybe it’s time for transformation.  Maybe we should hope for a tan, instead.

I’ve spent a lot of years getting okay with sadness.

While we live in a culture that tells us that, through various forms of self-medication, sadness is to be avoided at all costs, I have learned that sometimes, you just need to feel sad.  Lean into the pain.  Don’t do anything to try to change it, just fully experience it.

And why shouldn’t I feel sad?  For me, the last 5 years have held their fair share of death – death of dreams, death of relationships, death of people.  If it isn’t happening to me, it’s happening around me – although, I’ll be honest and say that these days, it’s happening to me… more than I’ve asked for, more than I imagined could hit all at once.

I’m really good at the sad.

I’m realizing that there are no happy endings – no game-winning home run, no swelling music as the couple kisses, no cowboy riding off into the sunset.  Until the good Lord comes again, we are existing in a never-ending series of ups and downs – just as soon as we seem to find our footing, the world tilts.  Despite our most wonderful moments, we will never “arrive.”  We will never figure it all out.  We will never seal the happiness deal.

Depressing?  Maybe.

But in a small way, this also feels like freedom – freedom to stop waiting for the happy ending, and to experience the happy right now.

How many times have I postponed any given occurrence of happiness, in favor of that elusive “someday” happy ending?  Brushing off a compliment because I’m waiting for the day that I’m skinnier.  Paying no attention to the moment because I’m waiting for the larger event.  Questioning my worth because I’m waiting for the day that I’m truly loved.  Ignoring any good because I’m waiting until there is absolutely zero bad.  Disregarding the many gifts in my life because they do not yet include a) a husband, b) a house, c) a baby, d) a larger purpose, e) any sense of security… the list goes on.

I’m going to go ahead and keep hoping, because good things are surely in store – but I need to remember that happy endings are smoke and mirrors.  As long as we’re on this earth, we will never be fully satisfied.  It’s time to feel the freedom to seize those happy moments – because all we’re promised is today.  Grab that happiness by the jugular, and enjoy the shit out of it.  Laugh without feeling guilty.  Be silly without feeling stupid.  Feel happy without any nonessential qualifiers.

If you need to feel sad, by all means, feel sad.  But if you’re lucky enough to have a reason to be happy, don’t wait.  Be happy now.

As my co-worker Kelli just informed me, I am being a horrible blogger.

But hopefully, I’m being an awesome liver… as in “liver of life,” and not “organ that detoxifies.”

I’ve been all over the place – Boston, where I watched the Boston Marathon, Portland, Maine, where I ate my first lobster, Kansas City, where I bridesmaided for Juliebird, and now Nashville, where I have a very busy week of work.

You would think that all of this craziness would make for some good blogging – and for a more emotionally stable person, it probably would.  But at this point in my life’s trajectory, I don’t have much to say except hello, I think you’re great, and I’ll be back sometime – preferably after a full night’s sleep and a big glass of water.

Trust me, you want THAT version of me – and not this one.  I just need a minute.