I don’t have my life together, and that’s ok
I keep waiting for the day I will have it all together – the day I will begin to feel like I have earned the “grown-up” title. I remember moments as a kid of reclining my head back far enough to see what the adult next to me was doing. The tiny rolls in my neck met the crevices on the back of my head. I made a mental note to be just like that adult one day. I wondered what life would be like when I become that age – already having life planned and figured out.
Not much has changed. I am 22 years old, graduated from college, and I am still deciding whether I am the exception to the adults I thought had it all together or if they were acting the whole time – perhaps a combination of both. My five-foot self still strains my head back to see the other adults most times.
I keep waiting for the moment I will be wise enough. Conversations will be initiated at the correct times, advice will be given based only on the truth and never opinion, and awkward conversations will no longer become awkward. I will be prepared for every situation, and blunt truths will never slip from my tongue like new grease on sizzling bacon.
May 2021, I set out to hike Angel’s Landing in Zion National Park. It is said to be one of the most renowned hikes, and I had nothing but determination, protein bars and a backpack full of snacks. Of course, this attempt was before the trail required permits – my craving for a peanut butter sandwich helped me cling tightly to the chains we pulled our way up on the unrailed cliff. My legs were still recovering from miles of walking the day before.
Climbing stairsteps at the gym and running miles on the treadmill were my ways of preparing during the months leading up to this trip. I cast a vision and set a goal to make it to the top no matter how hard it was to get there. Only now, I was standing in front of the trailhead with high expectations and a “Welcome” sign that had the death toll posted. My confidence slightly wavered, but I mustered enough to make the executive decision to tell my mom about these tragedies later.
Sometimes I feel like I am unqualified. An unspoken expectation to perfectly perform and creatively design hovers over me. I hear an internal battle arguing to comfortably stay where I am instead of taking a risk to gain new experience. I keep waiting for the day of bold confidence to tackle what is in front of me instead of questioning everything before me. I want to seize the moment and not be afraid of the opportunity.
Gravel fell, and dust diffused like stuffy perfume. Red clay smeared a deep brown against the dusty blue of my Columbia hiking boots. The original color no longer showed, though I had only owned them since August. I twisted my torso left and right, straining to stay balanced as I shifted my weight from one rock to the other. I prayed I could grasp the rock tight enough and sustain the same energy for the rest of the trail. My snacks were coming in handy.
Peeking over the edge to see the other small mountain tops below was a warning that one wrong step would send me tumbling down like the pieces of dirt slipping beneath me.
Sometimes I feel I need to know every step I will take. I must have a detailed process with perfect wisdom and intellectual knowledge. If I know every step I will take, I can determine an insightful strategy matched with incomparable performance. Sometimes I am fearful to pursue something because I don’t want to fall. If you are going to do something, do it right- but sometimes I feel like I don’t do it or right or good. The plan turned out different, and I think I missed a step. Missed steps mean falling, and I get embarrassed quickly.
The sun beat down on my shoulders, giving them a pink tint, which blended nicely with the red cheeks I got from running halfway up the incline. My grip tightened on the metal chain beside my waist, and I braced my legs for the narrow path. Tight muscles in my leg cramped. I pulled an apple from my North Face backpack to sustain the energy I expended.
The chain I clung to ran out, so I dug my hands into the side of the mountain to hold me up. The ground in front of me slanted up while the mountain beside me went straight down. Crevices in the rocks were small places I could grasp to pull myself up.
I wanted so badly to reach the top.
Sometimes I expect to reach high goals, not because someone else tells me I should, but because I feel like I should. I should always be better, know better, do better, and have all knowledge of these things to execute them flawlessly. I’ve had 22 years to figure it out – why wait until age 40 to know everything?
Reaching the top is important. If I can accomplish a physical goal, I can also conquer my mental goals. I question if I’ll make it. Why haven’t I gotten there yet?! If I could see that I was close, I could know if I would make it!!! Take another small step.
What I learned: When I look at the mountain in front of me, I only focus on the ground beneath me. I only see the urgency of what I need to do rather than celebrating the victory of the steps I have already made. I grow weak, and I forget the source of my strength.
When I focus on the small steps, I see that it is with the climbing, pulling and trekking that I am here now. So, with these small steps, I continue to reach big heights to accomplish big goals.
Small steps seem slow, but they get us to our destination.
What feels like a lack of efficiency is pressure for patience. Panic makes me feel stuck rather than moving forward. I wait for the day I reach where I want to be until I realize all I ever want to be is present, soaking in the view and enjoying the climb. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never reach where I want to be, but then I do; I see why the small steps were necessary. The small steps brought me here.
The sun is warm as it touches your skin; bright green leaves on trees in the distance have a vibrant contrast to the dark red clay that lines the mountain walls. The rivers below are bright blue and streaming with unending water that twists and turns with the crevices of the river.
We won’t always arrive at the top when we think we should or how we should. People rushing up will pass you, and others will linger behind, choosing to go at a slower pace. Different paces give us different experiences, and we get there with our complications- growling stomachs, bloody heels, dirty boots, and blistered ankles.
We may lose our footing, and our strategy won’t always be perfect, but we reach the top. The small steps got me to the view, and the climb gave me the perspective I needed when I got there. I’m going to keep soaking in every ounce of it.
