January 2, 2009

success within failure

Posted by Amy C under climbing | Tags: , |
[2] Comments 


I went bouldering this afternoon. January 2, 2009 in Boulder, CO. It’s over 60º and sunny (with a few pretty strong, gusty winds). One of the things I have been struggling with lately is a feeling of floating without focus; a sense of being untethered and unmoored in many aspects of my life. And I know that a great way to deal with those feelings is to take action. To simply do something.


However, knowing something in your head and understanding the concept on an intellectual level is very different than feeling it in your bones and (there it is again) actually taking action. 

So as Bracken and I were talking about our afternoon, the work we each had to do; what we’d hoped to have completed that morning (and hadn’t); and when we could fit a workout in, I realized that our discussion, in that moment, was a microcosm of my struggles. We were doing a lot of talking and discussing. And guess what? Were weren’t working, or climbing, or running. 

So I got up and simply said, “Let’s go. Now.” I began to gather my shoes and fill my new chalk bag up with chalk. I got the book out and picked a spot I’d wanted to try for a while, but hadn’t gotten around to it.

We set a return time (to assure we still got some work done) and set out. We drove the few miles up Flagstaff Road to the Monkey Traverse crag. I didn’t send any of the routes I’d targeted (or any others, for that matter). I didn’t even get off the ground on a few of them. But we finally found a route to work on. I was comfortable (it was a traverse, so low to the ground) and had a few moves I could do (good for the ego) and the opportunity for me to work out the rest.

I felt great. I didn’t send anything. I didn’t top out. I didn’t get off the ground on any of the V0′s I attempted. Yet I was outside. I was there. I showed up and tried. And I’m stoked to go back. I have a project. And I don’t care if I ever get it (well, maybe a little). It’s well above my current level of ability, yet I enjoyed the process. I’m excited to keep going back and trying.

I want to remember this moment. To revel in it and know that it’s not just a climbing experience. It’s so much more. It’s become my metaphor for living right now. It’s a physical reminder of what my brain knows so well, but has trouble translating to the rest of me (heart and body) to help take that much-needed action to move forward with everything else. The rough texture of my fingers and the ache in my arms are welcome right now.

My to-do list is waiting. I am ready to get going.

 

December 31, 2008

2009 goals for amelia carolyn

Posted by Amy C under setting goals | Tags: , |
1 Comment 

I have struggled this month writing for amelia carolyn. My process for writing generally happens “as the mood strikes.” In other words, I write when I feel like it and not on any type of schedule or with any kind of organization or intent. 


I write what I’m feeling and what I’m thinking at the moment. I write to get things off my mind or to help me clarify my thoughts for myself. I journal a lot, and although it helps me tremendously on a personal level, I wanted to begin this blog to learn to write for an outside audience. I believe I have something to say. I think my observations and thoughts can help others see things from an alternative perspective or through a new lens.

I know that one of my life goals is to help others. And I firmly believe writing will be an integral part of bringing that dream to life. I want to share my vision and experience in a way that resonates with others.

As 2008 comes to an end, I have been thinking about 2009 and what the future holds for me. I have more contemplation to do on this topic before I feel I can state what I’ve learned from 2008 and what I want to focus on for 2009, but I do know this: I want to write. I want to increase my structure and focus. I want to learn discipline and work to form habits that will continue to grow and refine as my writing evolves.

I anticipate the process will feel quite strange and awkward as I begin (as most things do when one is a beginner). I know it will be hard to stick with and there will be discouraging and disappointing moments. Yet I also know, deep in my heart, that this needs to be an experience for me. This leap into the world of writing creatively and with intent.

So in 2009, I plan to learn how to pull my thoughts, ideas and perceptions onto paper. I am always thinking, yet seldom do my stories make it outside of the firing synapses within my head.

I am excited to see what is revealed as my fingers type my thoughts. I hope to have at least one post a week, if not more. And my hope (and goal) is that they’ll be meaningful and relevant. Quirky, deep, short or extended, I plan to explore all facets of my creative mind. I plan to push my boundaries, challenge my motivation and bear witness to the possibilities that are revealed.

So here’s to 2009 and new beginnings and new experiences. I hope you enjoy my explorations as much as I think I’m going to. 

Cheers!


 

October 22, 2008

moving forward

Posted by Amy C under setting goals, transitions | Tags: , , |
[6] Comments 

I’m fond of quotes. Of reading new information and finding that nugget that feels like home. The words express a thought you’ve had before, but could never articulate. Or, in my most recent experience, a thought or concept that has you saying, “ah-ha! that’s me!” 

 

 

I’m currently reading a book about finding your ideal career (when you’re feeling stuck). It centers around common fears people have of committing to, and doing, what they love. It’s called I Could Do Anything if I Only Knew What it Was, by Barbara Sher and in one of the chapters, she discusses how some people avoid making a commitment to pursuing a skill or interest, because they’ve never learned how to learn. They’ll start something, catch on quickly, but then as soon as it gets hard, get frustrated, convince themselves they’re no good at it, and quit. Reading this intrigued me. I have quit many things that interest me: swimming, ballet, geometry, advanced math classes (never even attempted physics or calculus in high school since I figured it’d be way over my head), speed training on a track, biking up Olde Stage Road, writing, painting, singing, playing the violin, learning a foreign language… my list goes on. And on. She writes:

“Always feeling like amateurs, but sensing their considerable talent, these people are caught in a nightmare of self-evaluation: Am I a genius or am I a fool? That seesaw thinking is a painful mistake people make when they haven’t worked enough.” 

This line of thinking is achingly familiar to me. There are so many things I believe I might be good at, or could be good at, but I’m petrified to even contemplate trying even one thing. I haven’t pursued anything very seriously. I haven’t mastered anything. Writing is a perfect example and one of the reasons I’m so elated that I’ve begun this blog. It’s a beginning for me. It’s an gentle step forward into the unknown… into a realm of living that I’ve dreamed of, but have yet to realize. I am petrified of finding out that I’m a fraud. I have to be honest with myself and, regardless of how rational or irrational it may be, admit that I’m afraid people will find out I’m not smart, or talented, or very creative at all.

I learned about 8 years ago how perseverance works in the physical realm. Running a continuous mile for the first time in my life at the age of 26 was a defining moment in my life. I could do it! But then it got hard, and I thought to myself, “I don’t even really enjoy running.” But alas, I’d already signed up for a 5K race with a friend, so I was stuck. I had promised to run with her and I wasn’t about to back out. Something told me to keep moving forward. So I set up a schedule and I trained. 

And I learned something that year. I loved it. Deep, emotional, ecstatic love for the training. Not the race. Not the running. (It was actually a few more years before I fell in love with the running itself.) It was the training I loved. The hard work. The sweat. The challenge. I thrived. And you know what? I was average. My time was average. And I felt strong. And there it was. My life had begun to shift. And it continued to shift in ways I never imagined, or had even perceived at the time I completed that first mile.

It was a valuable lesson. But one that, apparently, didn’t translate very well to my mental ability to learn and persevere. Reading the chapter today felt like a hammer hitting the top of my head. A big sledgehammer. Just yesterday I was in tears because I was feeling stupid for not being able to do one task on my ‘to-do’ list that involved learning something new. I’d procrastinated for over a month doing it. And just couldn’t ‘get it’ when my deadline was approaching and I finally sat down to figure it out. I didn’t know how to approach it and learn about it. And I didn’t know how to be patient with myself. 

So what does this mean? Where do I go from here? It means that I need to learn how to learn. It means I will be patient with myself and have compassion for myself when my frustration and fears overwhelm me. It means I will set a few goals and stick to them–regardless of the pain and suffering and defeat I might feel at the time. I will persevere through the beginning stages and have faith (and trust) that I’ll move into a new realm of mastery and confidence with time. 

This blog is my first commitment (of hopefully many) to that goal. To keep writing. To keep learning. To weather the struggles and temptations to quit I know I will experience. To see the struggles as a sign of progress and validation that I am getting better.

I am inspired by one of my favorite lines from Walt Whitman: “A foot and lighthearted, I take to the open road.” The road is ahead of me, full of wonder and experience and moments of discovery. I take another step. 


 

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