Some Days the Only Answer Is . . . Climb

I’ve been in a mental wrestling match with myself all week, my will to shape the future going head-to-head with my utter lack of control. I’ve tried meditation. I’ve tried yoga class. I’ve tried talking it out with those who know me best. And in the end, I find myself right back on the wrestling mat.

Some days, for me, the only answer to this kind of tension is to hike up the nearest steep hill.

Today was one of those days.

So I strapped on my hiking shoes, kissed the kids goodbye, and headed for the Lafayette Reservoir Rim Trail, gunning for my favorite incline.

The first time I encountered this incline, it scared me. It looked more wall than trail. Standing at the base, staring up at it brought on a serious vertigo spin. Steadying myself with a swig of water, I questioned not “Can I do this?” but “Is this even possible? I mean, physics-wise, how does this even work?”

And then I started walking, one sometimes shaky, sometimes slippery step after the next.

Three years later, I crave this hill. Not just because I enjoy the view from the top or the sense of accomplishment when I reach it, but because I love the process.

I love the anticipation of approaching the hill.

I love how, halfway up, no matter what mental stressors I have carried to the trail, there’s no longer any room for them. In order to make it to the crest, I need to lose all thought and drop down into my body, fully present with every beat, breath, and step.

I love feeling the strength — how my core muscles engage, my posture rights itself, how hiking becomes not an activity of the legs but of the unified body, mind, and soul.

I love how the hill used to scare me but now it doesn’t.

I love how I used to wonder if it was possible, and now I know not only that it’s possible but that I’m going to find value in every step.

When I reach the top, I’ve blown out any residual tension or anxiety, and I find myself at peace. Every time. Which is probably why, in the middle of a stressful week, my legs start to get itchy for the hill, longing for the burn of it.

Starting a writing practice, or re-starting a writing practice, can be like this:

The idea of sitting down to write can feel scary at first. You might experience some resistance or a tendency to get distracted.

When you finally do commit to sitting down, you might meet some doubts. “Is this even possible?”

But if stick with it, push through the resistance and dedicate yourself to the task, eventually you get to the flow.

The more you do this — sit down, push through the resistance, power through the doubt, get to the flow — the easier the practice gets.

Then, before you know it, you’re no longer fearing or resisting or doubting or avoiding your writing time, you’re starting to crave it.

And just like hiking up a hill, when it comes to starting, re-starting, or deepening a writing practice, you either do it or you don’t. It’s that simple. If you start today, you’ll be one step closer to your goal. If you don’t, you’ll stay right where you are.

Cheryl Dumesnil is a poet, memoirist, editor and creativity coach. Her books include two poetry collections Showtime at the Ministry of Lost Causes and In Praise of Falling; a memoir, Love Song for Baby X; and the anthologies We Got This: Solo Mom Stories of Grit, Heart, and Humor and Dorothy Parker’s Elbow: Tattoos on Writers, Writers on Tattoos. To learn more about her work, visit cheryldumesnil.com.