This is the third blog I’ve written for March 16, 2020. I wrote my planned blog and the events of the week convinced me I needed to provide something more useful. Then, I wrote a blog about productively working from home. Last night, when I awoke at three am, I changed my mind. Today, I’m going to tell you a story.
Today I’m going to tell you a story. Back in late 1990s, I quit smoking. To celebrate my accomplishment, I decided to return to the White Mountains of New Hampshire and retrace a hike I’d done with my stepfather long before.
I was out of shape, every mile was a challenge and my gear? Let’s just say it lacked sophistication. Let’s just say most of my clothes were made of cotton.
I stayed a hut the first night. After dinner, I took out my maps and decided to reroute my descent. I didn’t think I could go down the way I came up. I found a trail that had elevation lines broadly spaced most of the way to the valley. It was long but it promised an easier descent. Seeking advice from the most experienced hiker I could find, I received confirmation that, yes, this would be an easier way down.
What I didn’t factor in was that this hiker was fit, well equipped and to him, any trail in these mountains was a cakewalk. He’d hiked all over the planet.
Another thing I didn’t consider was that the trail, long and lacking in dramatic views, was unpopular. I was hiking down on a Monday. By the end of the grueling and devastating day, I would understand how important that was.
Here’s what happened. I set off and summitted Mt. Washington. Then I turned and headed down the Osgood trail. I descended gradually, gaining the treeline quickly. Looking ahead, I noticed a change. Next to me were tree trunks. Ahead of me were treetops. Tops. As in, the trail dropped sharply, by the height of the trees.
Approaching the drop, I realized I was alone, I couldn’t navigate the descent ahead with my pack on, and the drop was substantial. I removed my pack and dropped it down the short cliff, turned and clambered down.
All that long, frightening day, I repeated this, each time becoming more aware that if I were injured in a fall, I might not be found for several days. Each time I tossed my pack ahead of me, each time my boot slipped on the rocks, each time I missed a handhold, my armpits prickled, my heart rate jumped and my focus narrowed.
Any backpacker can tell you, it’s the descent that kills you.
By the time I reached the bottom and turned onto a sandy, flat trail back to my car, my legs were so sore I could barely walk. I’d spent hours alone, in sheer terror. I stood at the top of a shallow ditch and realized that walking the four steps down and back up was almost beyond me. I burst into tears. Since I was only a few yards from the car, you can imagine the looks I got.
I usually get a laugh when I tell it. Picture me, an overweight woman with a world war two backpack standing in her floral cotton pants, crying because she can’t bear the thought of navigating a drainage ditch. Frankly, at the time, I was chuckling and crying. After all, I was safe.
What I learned that day was that my mind could become an anchor, a weight that made every step harder. I understood that with a different mindset, that same trail would be a much easier go. I also understood that if I wanted to try it again, I’d need a hella betta plan.
Backpacking is a sport of isolation, collaboration, and most of all, mitigation planning. You have only so much you can carry, so every item counts. Once you’re out into the wild, you’ll only have what you’ve brought. You learn pretty quickly to plan for every eventuality and you go out into the wilderness anyway.
Thursday, I went grocery shopping. Grim-faced people silently pushed their carts through the aisles. Apples were in great supply. Bananas were gone. I had my choice of every potato chip known to man, but if I wanted rice or beans, I was going to have to act fast. Overnight, people had changed their basic behavior. I noticed my mindset shift with each passing aisle. By the end, I felt a strong urge to buy enough for a month, to put back my normal food and stock up on high-calorie proteins, I wondered if I’d regret paying for a luxury item. I was planning on how to ration my two week supply so it would last two months. I bought yeast in case I had to bake our own bread. I mourned the lack of powdered milk. I paid eight dollars for a pack of bathroom wipes. I’d been here before. This was the Osgood trail again. I had a mindset problem.
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This week, our children will be home from school. Corporate America is reviewing and modifying their business continuity planning to respond to the unprecedented challenge of Covid19. Teams are moving to a work-from-home model, while others are stepping into the breach. Our elderly neighbors are frightened and need supplies. Others are unable to care for children and work; their paychecks at risk. Small businesses, which rely heavily on steady cash flows, will reel from the blow to their income and many will not recover. Performance artists have watched their industry vanish. Families are separated from their members in long term care. It’s pretty grim stuff. We’re all taking off our backpacks and dropping them over a cliff, praying we can navigate safely to the next challenge.
In backpacking, when faced with risky terrain, it’s key not to go it alone. Hiking in pairs, turning to help those behind you on the trail, pointing out unsteady rocks, is how you mitigate the risk of the trail. Supplying yourself sufficiently so you have a good chance at sustainability but not overpacking is critical. Hikers understand there’s no such thing as one-hundred percent safe. It’s not viable. Thinking out your next step but not being paralyzed with fear is a skill wilderness adventurers build step by step.
The good news is – all of this is available to us, right now, in this current situation.
We all have so much control, right now, at this moment. You can plan. Plan how you think you’ll work from home today. What’s most important? How can you get that work done for sure?
You can predict – something will go wrong, kids will interrupt, things will get hectic. Decide now how you want to respond to the mental challenges you’ll face.
You can contribute – each of us can act as if we’re asymptomatic carriers – washing our hands, being mindful our how our actions impact those around us, the health care system and our emergency responders. There are so many things we can do to make sure we don’t add to the burdens of the people who step forward in times of trouble.
We can behave well. We can be kind and patient with each other. We can offer to grab some supplies for an elderly neighbor or friend, we can call people how are isolated. We can spend fifteen minutes listing all the useful ways we can contribute, and then we can act. Is there something you can do to help a person who works in healthcare? Can you feed their dog? What can you do to ease their burden?
Right now, you can take steps to make sure you stay healthy. Get enough sleep. Don’t beat yourself up for not being perfect in the face of challenge and don’t turn away from a hand offered. Turn off the twenty-four-hour news cycle and consciously decide when you’ll check-in for more information.
Most of all, you can be kind to yourself. Manage your mind.
When I woke up last night at three am, this is what happened that made me change my blog –
Worries about the future flooded in. Supply chains, business continuity, what would I do next? I drew on my mindfulness skills, the same ones I’ve honed over and over since that day on the Osgood trail.
I asked myself – Where is the future?
Not what are the possible futures but where is the future, right now.
My mind, used to this question, went searching for it. In a very literal sense, the future doesn’t exist. It’s not here. Hitting that wall, the wall of the present moment, beyond which nothing exists yet, my mind relaxed.
Oh, yes, I thought. That’s right.
The future is not to be found here within this moment. It’s built moment by moment, with each breath and action we take. The future is malleable and it’s all under construction.
And that? Is just good to remember.