Climbing and Life
Hi Steph–
Thanks again for this site.
Some of the recent posts here–the ones about fear and generalizing climbing experience to general experience–have been really interesting, good conversation. So I began reflecting on what I was reading and, eventually, decided to respond. Here’s where that led me:)
When I started climbing 22 years ago I had a t-shirt that read “Climbing May Be Hard, But it’s Easier Than Growing Up”. It’s true, too. Now, in the last year, I’ve climbed more than in the last ten and that has conicided with a year whose pace of life increased to a pitch far outside my comfort zone. And maybe beyond what was natural and useful. This year saw relationships grow and then change and fall apart in ways which—though not unexpected–were both sweet and disappointing. And somehow there was this continued insane pace. And the more time I spent climbing the more I remembered how much I loved it and how one of the really important things about climbing is how much is there to be learned.
Some of those lessons are zennish and beautiful and some them more concrete. Many deal with dependence and communication and others are about negotiating emotions, decisions and life. Nothing new here.
The ones found on a rope and near (a little beyond, a little below or just about at) my limits tend to be about deciding to push through a limit and believing it’s safe to do that. There’s a sort of—almost absolute—dependance on one’s belay(belayer)here. Yes, yes, I know you can get fancy about exactly where you are and what can be done with ropes and gear and stuff, but basically it’s an aboslute dependance and trust. That trust thing usually works out, but—as we all know—can be really scary. Never mind worrying about how many chances you get to try some move before trying a friend’s patience instead 🙂
Pushing through a limit and staying with it(whatever it is)long enough to understand that limit and the strength it contains often comes across as very powerful. Though I hate to admit it—sometimes at least—the way I communicate with a partner changes my ability as a climber. If the communication is solid, then I’m more solid. Nothing new here, either. One of the things that’s been different in my recent climbing from before is over the course of a day, I’ll belay many different folks and be belayed by many different folks. The means and style of communication changes my abilities—and I’m sure—theirs. The communication on the rope and the verbal communication are related, but not the same. I like a calm, solid, reassured voice and the same things along the rope. Sometmes traditional dialogue helps. Other times, maybe it’s not necessary.
Ready when you are. Ready. Go. That works, too.
As a belayer, I know the way I communicate on belays works for me, but maybe not as well for someone else. Everyone is different. Duh! Sometimes my slow, reassured(according to me)style might make someone think I’m not paying attention. A faster, more staccato style has that effect on me. And we’re all after the same thing, more or less.
Different things to learn become more present off a rope. Knowing—and honoring—one’s limits becomes important and from that relaxing with the situation as it is. Maybe going a certain distance and turning around. And doing that without question or self doubt. Or accepting that doubt. Or maybe deciding to stay with it and keep going and choosing to be okay with that decision. Those are some of the nuts and bolts, and then there’s that sweet, zennish movement. So very beautiful—and so very intoxicating—but not to be taken too lightly(I might get hurt), or too heavily(it’s not all that). One strong lesson is the knowledge that I can keep my world in stronger perspective. It’s all small stuff, etc.. But then, I care about people and some of them care about me. All important stuff. And it can be freeing—reassuring even—to see those perspectives in one frame.
It’s all small stuff. But, always there’s the question, what is one willing to risk for that deeper and stronger sense of perspective?
And then, with all of it—climbing and life—there’s the bus thing. The idea that we might be crushed by a bus on our way to work, or our friend’s house, or the grocery store, or our favorite cliff and there’s no way to know. Yes—I’m aware—lot’s of people say that. But it’s really more or less true, and so what? Does not knowing change how we live our lives?
Thanks again
Dave
