Ascent

This is a part of something that's become very important to me. I'm going to Wiamoase, Ghana in about 80 days, and I'm doing everything I can to prepare for the field work, volunteering, and learning I will be doing there. This post pretty much sums up how I'm feeling right about now. If you like what you read, check out ghanaspeakss.blogspot.com

You won't regret it. Also, feedback is especially welcome.

The inadequacy is setting in again, which reminds me of something that Ashley ended class with on Wednesday. Critical Unhappiness. A really fantastic term for something that I otherwise would not have recognized as a definitive dilemma in my life. Well, I'll describe it first, then I'll decide if it's really so terrifying.

It's the point someone needs to reach during extreme distress, discomfort, or trauma, before experiencing growth, gaining knowledge, or losing his or her pride. It's the mountain top of turmoil, the rock-bottom of hardship. And it sucks getting there. But once you're there, either you've got great perspective, or you understand that the only way to make your journey worth it is to dig a well, and let others benefit from your struggles. And hopefully, if I've done this right, I'll have accomplished both.

There are a million ways that I could relate this to my life. God does it to me continually. And no, I still haven't learned my lesson. One prime example of this in my life, however, is one of the highest cliffs I've ever had to scale. That's right: a straight vertical, no gradual slope, no warning, and a ravenous pack of wolves close behind. I had two choices. I could start climbing or resist the challenge and resign to eventual defeat via White Fang. I know, I'm on a roll with analogies today, but bear with me.

August of 2009. I was preparing to move to Provo for school. I was excited, I was dating the love of my life (so I thought), and everything was headed in the right direction. I had never been so happy, and I was ready to get out on my own and experience "the world." One week after relocating, things headed downhill. College wasn't easy, I didn't have friends, my roommates hated me, and God wasn't giving me the things that I thought I deserved. I missed home, I missed family, and I missed AJ.

All I wanted was to crawl back into my shell and roll home. But I was better than that. There was no way that I could face my parents with such defeat. I scrambled up the face of the cliff, hanging on for dear life, abandoning my spiritual and physical needs--the carabiners, lines, and anchors that were there to keep me safe--free-climbing until I couldn't lift another limb. I was so close to deliverance, just a foot or two more and I could survive. But I didn't have the footholds, or the energy and endurance I needed. I refused to look down; I was afraid of what my parents would say, what people would think, what I would think if I could see where was, what I was doing, and where I was headed, should I fail and fall. On a side-note, I'm conveniently terrified of heights, which really emphasizes my predicament here.

And so I hung there, barely keeping my finger-holds as the weight of coursework, homesickness, the loss of a best friend, and depression did everything it could to fight against my grip. If only I had used my clips, if only I had secured my anchors, if only I had been just a little stronger. Why was I even here? Why haven't I let go? Endless hypotheticals entertained my daily thoughts, until one day something said to me, word for word.

Stop. Listen. Your eyes are only as good as your ears.

And I, being the cynic I was, came to the conclusion that it made no sense, and that even if it did, I didn't have time for riddles, because I was busy preparing to give up.

I've decided that you never really know that you've hit critical unhappiness until you're past it. Because as I sat there contemplating my epic failure, I started to listen. And at first all I could hear was the noisy howling of my predators below--everything that I was running from. But then I heard something different. Footsteps. The rough, gravelly scrape of rubber against the sandy ledge above me shook me out of my stupor. And, for the first time since beginning my climb, I did something I had not thought to do. I was so busy focusing on not looking down that I never bothered to look up. And as I did, my eyes beheld the extended arm of a long-forgotten friend. How long had He been there? I knew the answer, but I was too ashamed to admit it.

And only then, as I was pulled from the precipice of misery, was I able to fully comprehend my plight. I looked out over that view, side-by-side with my constant Companion, with new perspective. I was stronger than before, and I was stronger than I thought I was. I had learned lessons: never climb without your lead, always rely on your anchors, and listen with your ears, ifyour eyes can't see.

So here I am, almost two years later, approaching a comparable ascent. I won't bother lying to myself--I can't avoid culture shock, which has surprisingly familiar symptoms. So the question is, now that I know what's coming, how does that change my approach?

I don't know if any of you know anything about rock-climbing, but the approach to a technical climb is the journey required to get there. It lacks the physical demand, but is often almost as dangerous as the climb itself. It requires complex forethought and preparation, as well as consideration of where along the base of the wall one will need to commence his or her climb in order to ensure the best, and safest, path to the crown of the rock.

In order to do that, I need to know my rock. I need to know it up and down, side to side, and then I need to break it down. The best approach is one that's done with confidence, but without recklessness. One that's observant, but keeps a focused gaze on the obstacle ahead. There's a lot that I can learn from my past, and I've only just realized how much that is in writing this. I want to quote my good friend Heather, and my future commrade in Ghana. She inspires me.

"I just had to document that I'm feeling overwhelmed right now. That way...when I've sorted things out, I can remember that [insert challenge] is hard, and that I can do hard things. The end."

I've done hard things. And I've had the time to sort it out. I can do more hard things, even the things that I think are too hard. The end.