Day 26: Finding potential inside of disappointment

02/02/2018

Day 26

Task—Write about disappointment.

I stood alone in the middle of the mountain trail, blisters the size of half dollars bubbled on each of my heels, and my parched throat burned for water. I scanned the side of the trail for a spot to sit. When I finally found a fallen log where I could rest my bones, I sat and scowled at the dusty path. If this is hiking, I thought, count me out! Going for a quick walk in my neighborhood would have been just as beneficial to my body and could have saved some gas money. It was Wes and my first hike in the Rocky Mountains after we had moved to Colorado from Kansas, so Wes could start his grad school program. As a born-and-raised Kansas girl, I had been eager to see what it would be like to live in Colorado—to camp, to get a dog, and to hike! As I sat on that hot, rocky trail consumed with the pain of my throbbing heels, I felt I was in the wrong place; Colorado and its mountain hikes were just not for me. I would have gladly ranted about this to Wes, but he was gliding up the trail, an extra, mountain-inspired bounce in his step.

When Wes turned around and made his way back down the path, he found me sitting and stewing. I hardly even had the energy to get into any of it with him. I stood to meet him, and we started to make our way down the rest of the mountain, Wes a few feet ahead of me, as I lumbered along trying to keep pressure off of my blisters. I hadn’t reached the peak, and I couldn’t have cared less. I wanted to get back into our car, blast the air conditioner, and finish the rest of the snacks I’d left in the glove box. Give me the red vines and no one will get hurt, I thought to myself. In a daydreamy daze of licorice and trail mix, I lost my focus on walking. My foot caught a rock, my ankle turned, and I fell to the ground in an awkward heap.

“I HATE THIS!” I cried out, tears trickling down my angry cheeks.

Wes, a man passionate about all things mountain, looked at me in disbelief. “Don’t you think you can ever learn to at least like hiking?” he asked. We both knew it was the one mountain activity we had any hope in sharing. If I couldn’t walk down a mountain, Lord knows I had no business riding a bike, skiing, or snowboarding down one.

“Why on earth would I like to walk alone up a mountain while blisters burn on my heels?” I asked.

He looked at me incredulously. “We’re doing this together,” he said.

“Hardly,” I pointed out. “You’re a mile ahead of me. I mean, I’ve hardly seen you this whole time. If you want me to enjoy this, you are going to have to do this with me,” I said.

He seemed to have an aha moment. “I can see that,” he said, and he put out his hand to help me to my feet. On the way down, we found ourselves talking about improvements we needed to make before we conquered this trail again.

“You’re going to need to get a decent pair of shoes,” Wes suggested.

“You’re probably right,” I agreed.

The next weekend, Wes and I drove through Taco Bell to charge up for our hike. This time we would be prepared. We both had good shoes, plenty of water, and a commitment that we would stay beside each other as we made our way up the mountain. Our second attempt was so much better. We stayed together the entire time, and we truly enjoyed the journey.

As I look back at this story, it’s easy to see why our first attempt was so disappointing.

1. I wasn’t prepared. I am not a huge believer in preparing or studying details before any given life experience. I often feel a situation out and then roll with the punches as I assess the terrain. However, this experience taught me that a gal must at least have the right pair of shoes for the hike she’s climbing.

2. When I rely on the people around me, I feel encouraged and inspired. Because I had Wes to hike with me the second time, it went so much better. We could chat, laugh and pass the time, and it made everything more enjoyable. If I reach out when I'm struggling, someone will reach back, and it will make the whole experience more rich than it was to begin with.

I hated hiking on that first try. I wanted nothing to do with it, and I would have gladly given up on it, but Wes stood with me, and we problem-solved a way that we could like hiking together. It worked for us. We’ve hiked so much since that first terrible try, and we love it—the mountain air, the aching bones that signal you worked for your views, and the time spent enjoying one another’s company. We were able to take a disappointing experience and make it something we love. Perhaps that is the beauty of disappointment. Feeling disappointed about something can clue us into the fact that we are in the presence of something we care about, and if we care about something, there is great potential for us to make that something into a cup-filling experience.