A Hike? or Therapy? You Tell Me: On Being a Beginner
Ok friends. Here’s what I know:
Learning is hard.
Growing is hard.
Being a beginner is hard.
I know you already know that. I've said it many times.
But I usually I say it from the comfort of the observer’s, no less the teacher’s, seat. Today I’m saying it from the discomfort of the beginner’s seat.
Last week I was on vacation in Tahoe, staying at a resort with a dear lifelong friend, Andrea, and my beloved partner, Mary. We were there to relax, to play, and to explore the beauty of the lake and forests.
Our first morning there we went on a hike. The weather was lovely, high sixties. Not many people around. Absolutely gorgeous scenery.
We walked right out of our hotel, around the corner, and up into Van Sickle Bi-State Park.
The hike was rated "moderate" and I—initially—felt up to the challenge. I mean…how hard could it be? I’ve been doing Pilates for a year. I ride my bike. I’ve even gone to the gym recently a couple times. Plus, I had a water bottle, sunscreen, sunglasses, sunhat, my Keens on my feet, and my two lovely companions with me.
I thought it was just a hike. I didn’t realize it was going to be a therapy session.
I suppose you could call me indoorsy. I’ve always chosen inside activities over outside. And I’m not talking about the gym. Reading a good book, making art, playing my guitar, cooking, or watching a good show always will beat exercise. (Sure I’d love to sit outside and read a book or make music or paint…but you know what I mean!) I am not a person who has that fantastic endorphin rush from exercise.
My companions? Oh yes. Both wake early--daily--to workout, ride a bike or walk. We’re different that way.
So we set out on this hike and I very quickly am struggling. I’m breathing hard, I’m feeling the strain in my back, I’m sweating. Though my companions could hear the huffing and puffing, they could not hear my struggle.
That, friend, was very "indoorsy" as well.
Inside my head was a very loud conversation between my many parts, my many inner voices, and it was not pretty.
Or motivating.
"You never should’ve agreed to this."
"You are not up to this."
"You better turn around and go back."
"Give up now."
"Why can’t you do this?"
"This is too hard."
"What’s the point?"
"Don’t let them know you’re unhappy."
"They’re going to be so disappointed in you."
"Shame! Shame! Shame!"
"It’s easy for them. What’s your problem?"
"This is horrible!"
I asked them to pause so I could rest. We did.
I asked them to pause so I could have a drink. We did.
At absolutely no point did they raise an eyebrow at me, laugh at me, scoff at me, or say anything critical or judgmental.
In fact, they kindly and compassionately encouraged me each time:
"This IS a hard hike!"
"We’re at higher elevation! It’s more tiring!"
"No problem. Of course we can stop. Whenever you want."
My inner voices, on the other hand, continued to berate me.
My inner voices were anything but kind.
At some point one voice of reason pointed out: "You know you may not be good at this but you’re really good at some other stuff. Like, for example, art."
It continued: "And you know you can’t make them do art!"
It’s true. We love each other dearly and we have very different interests, not to mention, strengths. If I said, "I have some paper and paint…let’s play with art supplies!" they’d leave the room in a hurry. Both of them.
At some point we paused and I suggested that I should turn back. I almost did. I didn’t want to hold them up. But something made me push on.
Later when Mary was farther up ahead I shared with Andrea about the voices in my head. She was completely compassionate. She understood. She cheered me on.
"Look what you’re doing! This is really hard and you’re doing it!"
Her encouragement didn’t penetrate, though. The voices just got louder.
We walked on. We saw incredible views, smelled pines and manzanita. Mary even saw a bear! (And ran down the path after it for a bit...but that's another story!)
We hiked up to a waterfall and then turned around.
Andrea and Mary continued to cheer me on.
I felt like a whiny baby. Even though, to be honest, I wasn’t whining.
On the way down they both continued to congratulate me on my accomplishments.
"864 feet in elevation!"
"Two hours!"
"Look at you!"
"You’re doing great!"
"We’re going down! So much easier!"
Finally, I stopped my companions and said:
"The voices in my head are saying: ‘You never would have to say these things if I was good at this.’ I feel more shame the more you congratulate me. It doesn’t feel good to know you think I need the encouragement. I don’t want to be encouraged!"
And here’s what happened next.
My partner turned around and faced me, put her hands on my shoulders and said: "What would you say to your students? You would say, ‘It’s not about making beautiful art.’ You would say, ‘It’s not about the outcome!’ Well, this isn’t about the outcome either. You’re doing it! That’s all that it’s about!"
She turned and went down the trail.
And then she stopped and turned and faced me again. "And you know you’re good at sooo many things. No one is good at everything. And you couldn’t get me to make art! That’s my weak spot!"
We went on. It started to rain. Downhill was definitely easier.
When we got back to the hotel, wet from the rain and sweaty from the hike, we had walked for almost three hours, 13K steps, 4 1/2 miles. We ached and we’re starving. We ate lunch and then went and soaked in the hot tub.
I can tell you now the voices of condemnation are quiet. I can tell you I’m proud of myself.
And I can say it’s not only hard to be a beginner, but when you are used to being competent at so much in your life it’snot just about opening your mind to a new experience.
It’s about allowing yourself to struggle.
And to feel the pain.
And to huff and puff and want to quit.
If you’re lucky you’ll be supported by people who are empathetic and who love you. If you’re lucky it’ll be safe for you to notice your struggle and share it out loud. And if you’re lucky you’ll be cheered on by the voices outside and inside. And you’ll be able to get to the end and look back and say, "Yep, I actually did that really hard thing!"
