I was recently asked to tell a story at a community story telling event. The theme was "turning points" and it got me thinking about all the many instances of these that I have experienced in my young life thus far, and as I cultivated a story for the event I decided I could best describe my own turning points by telling 3 little "mini stories" connected through a conclusion at the end. I also decided I would share it here as well, because reflecting on these points is powerful, and why the heck not? So here goes.
Part 1:
The south side of the canyon was still snowed in, but the north side sat blanketed in only a couple inches. Indeed, there were even bare patches intermittently throughout. Despite the snow, the sun shone down hot - waves of heat pulsing from the rock surfaces. Despite the place’s rising popularity, we hiked in solitude to the crag.
Just prior to our road trip, our climbing gym had hosted its annual “Spring Fling” climbing competition. I had been the only female competitor in my age bracket to redpoint a climb across the ceiling, which was a big accomplishment for me.
So there I stood - at the base of my first lead climb on a 5.11 for this trip. “Climbing?” I offer and hear “Climb on” in return. It took only a few moves before I found myself in the meditative state of mind that, for me, was the essence of climbing itself. My body and mind worked in perfect synchronization and as I reached what must be the crux, I lucidly shifted my hips - ever so slightly - to the right, realizing that, if my body is aligned in that way, the tiny protrusion from the wall that I had pinched between my thumb and forefinger would be just enough to guide me to pocket up and to the left. I made the move seamlessly and found myself thinking “I was made to do this. This wall was built that it might be climbed.”
Part 2:
It was spring break and we had ventured to the exotic city of Helena, Montana. We walked across the dam and I couldn’t help but feel slightly haunted at the eerie building’s presence. We found a juicy bend in the wide river to set up shop, and I surveyed the water briefly before pulling out my fly box. “What are you going to put on?” I asked my friend, a fishing guide, in order to determine my own selection. “You know this by now” he responded, “Choose what you think best.” And with that, he turned back toward the river and tied on his selections before moving to a fish a riff slightly downstream. I looked down at the fly box in my hands. Two sided, it was crammed with beaded-headed-this and rubber-legged-that. My eye landed (optimistically to say the least) on a small yellow and white pattern I had tied recently. I tied this along with a more generic nymph onto the line of my 5 weight and waded waist deep in the river.
"My eye landed (optimistically to say the least) on a small yellow and white pattern I had tied recently."
We fished an area referred to by locals as the “land of the giants” and it took work - persistence in this single area and the t-snap cast that landed my fly just perfectly on the seam in front of me - but I eventually learned exactly how it came to be named this way. My rod tugged deliciously in my hand and I jerked up and back reflexively; “Fish on!” I yelled. I saw my giddy smile reflected on my friend’s face as he hurriedly reeled in his line and grabbed the net on shore to bring it out to me. The fish put up a good fight and only persistent side pressure (and moments of “oh god I hope these knots hold”) brought him in close enough that I might net him. I hefted up his heavy, slimy body and pulled the familiar yellow-white pattern from his mouth. My breath expanded joyfully inside my chest.
Part 3:
It was our first ride of the summer - a trail called “Grizzly Ridge” that was chossy and steap. “How do you go downhill on this thing?” I asked, shifting hips and shoulders and feet until I found a position that seemed like it would keep me on the horse’s back with moderate security. My partner, a woman 4 years my senior who had not only done this job for 3 years but who grew up on horses, looked over her shoulder at me, letting out an audible sigh. In her eyes I saw the dread of our summer, in which we would ride 25 miles a day on horseback, spending 4 or 5 days at a time in the wilderness with only our horses and each other. Fast forward a few weeks and we sat across a downed tree from one another running a crosscut saw. Our horses were tied to trees a few yards behind us on the trail, and we giggled about my newfound crush on our boss *cough, my now husband*. And after the log was bucked, we counted to 3 and hefted its pieces off the trail before mounting our horses once more.
We ended up riding around 1500 miles that summer, and by the end of it I sat my horse...at least half decently. But more than that, I felt.. Competent. I loved backpacking and had spent so many nights in the mountains with only the most basic of accommodations, but horsepacking was a whole different world. Especially for a girl who had ridden a horse exactly once before. I lived in a little house with 2 badass chicks who also loved being outside and as we didn’t have cell service or internet, we spent our time off hitch fishing or hiking or laying in bed eating peanut m&m’s talking about boys and life in general. We watched the herd of bighorn sheep across the river as the babies took their first leaps and playfully butted heads. We tracked the grizzly bear activity in the surrounding drainages. We cut over a hundred trees from an avalanche-d trail in only 2 days. We found a sheep skull coated in the most aesthetic of mosses ---- and we left it to grow back into the earth.
Conclusion:
So what do all these things have in common? I think back on these moments now; these memorable and impactful turning points in my life; these experiences that so definitively shaped me and I see...that they are not absolute. I climbed for the first time in years the other day and on the last route my partner yelled encouragingly “Come on, Brooke, you are so close; you got this!” and I yelled back, “Dude, let me down. I’m just numbly heaving myself around up here..” and honestly, that kind of hurt.
I went fishing maybe a dozen times last year, making no special trips to do so, but rather fishing only what I had convenient access to. I caught (maybe) 10 fish. I spent a total of 3 nights in the wilderness this past summer -- none of which were horse-supported trips.
What I have realized - only recently.. Like.. a couple months ago (I’m only 24, so that’s okay, right?) - is that a person’s identity is not what they do or what symbol they have stitched onto the front of their hat. I’m not a “climber” or a “fisher” or a “horsewoman”. And not because I haven’t done those things recently, but because what you are is what exists when you are standing buck naked in a vacuum. Who are you then?
"A person’s identity is not what they do or what symbol they have stitched onto the front of their hat...What you are is what exists when you are standing buck naked in a vacuum. Who are you then?"
Sometimes I’m a little bit snarky. Sometimes I’m skeptical and hesitant, but other times I’m passionate and strong. I know that I question nearly everything in my surroundings and throw myself headlong into anything that captures my interest, but there is a lot I still don’t yet know about myself. I think I finally understand what Dr. Sexton (my most mystical of college professors) meant when he said I am one who “dances...for the sake of dancing”, but the other day a student said I was sweet and I found myself thinking, “Really?”. What I have realized, though, is that the point isn’t to find all these labels to paste on yourself. I mean, we always talk about “finding” ourselves - as though once we have found something it is there and concrete. But maybe it’s more about being willing to search in the first place. Maybe, it is more about looking into the mirror and - no matter what version of yourself you see staring back you - being able to smile.
"But maybe it’s more about being willing to search in the first place. Maybe, it is more about looking into the mirror and - no matter what version of yourself you see staring back you - being able to smile."
I have to say that the community event was an awesome deal. It was cool to hear other people's stories, but it was incredibly powerful to be able to share my own, too, and to feel the connection as people nodded knowingly, laughed, simply listened throughout. Who are you? What are the turning points you have encountered (..thus far)? And how can you share your own story?
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