The only way out is through

Although I am not a risk taker, I have rarely shied away from a challenge. And for me, one of the surprising things I’ve found in grief is, it has made me feel like there’s nothing to lose and everything to gain. It’s an odd sense of invincibility. How can I be hurt? What could go wrong? I’ve been through enough. I have survived. And now all I want to do is live.

So I booked a vacation that I knew would push me near, to, or past an edge. Everything to gain. Four days of backpacking in Yellowstone National Park in the Bechler River region. Rated as vigorous. Includes hiking. Check. Includes backpacking. I can manage. I’ve done it twice in the past two years. Check. Includes river crossings. Well, I like to look at water. I’ll be uncomfortable. But I’m invincible. Just book it.

So, I knew this trip was going to include water. But, no one signs up for a vacation backpacking in the rain, do they? Certainly not me, and I wondered about the other 11 people I was sharing four days with.

The journey began with nine guests and two guides who were all strangers to me, and with a few exceptions, to each other. We started with an early morning gear review in Bozeman and a two-hour van ride to Yellowstone. At this point, most of us knew the four-day forecast did not look good. Rain was predicted consistently. And on queue, it started early in the drive and it accompanied us all day on our 12-mile trek to our first campsite.

My pack was heavy. My shoes and socks were soaked and muddy. We set up camp in the rain. We huddled, seated on our bear cannisters, under a tarp roof expertly fashioned by our guides. There we watched them magically prepare a meal of chicken pesto pasta with sun dried tomatoes. As we began getting to know each other, we swatted at thousands of mosquitoes who also signed on for the journey. I was aware that I was quiet that evening. I honestly didn’t feel great. It had been a tiring day. And I was in my head silently convincing myself everything was going to be fine.

If you have never backpacked and camped in the back country and in the rain, which I had not, it is hard to understand the complexities of it all. Nothing is simple. I will skip all the little details here. But trust me, there are a lot. After the meal clean up and securing our food and toiletries in our bear cannisters, I crawled into my tent for the night. I attempted to wipe my feet and put on dry socks, leaving my shoes in the rain, and cursing the bloodsuckers as I quickly zipped my tent closed. I sat, feeling dry for the first time in 10 hours, cuddling into my sleeping bag, and wondering if I would feel better if I just let myself cry for a bit. I wondered if my tent was going to handle the rain through the night. I wondered how I would manage going back out, bear spray wielding, for a dark, wet, muddy, mosquito infested call to nature. I wondered how I would do it all again tomorrow. I wondered how the other 11 people with me seemed so comfortable with the circumstances.

The next morning after a few hours of restless sleep, I started to organize my gear and my thoughts. It was still raining. I knew I couldn’t leave my tent without a self-pep talk. You are here and the only way out is through. So keep walking. But, I also reminded myself how important it was to be okay with all the feelings. They are not either or. They are mixed. You can feel grateful and disappointed. You can feel determined and discouraged. You can laugh when you are hurt or sad. Be true to what you feel. I always try to find the light in the dark, and I do like to surround myself with people who have the ability to find joy. But we all have struggles. And when we feel like we are the only ones experiencing problems, disappointments, or pain, it can feel isolating. So I had to break the ice.

I was the last one out of my tent to gather under the soaking tarp. Everyone was waiting for the hot water to boil for coffee. After the good morning pleasantries, I said to the group with humor and sarcasm – okay, I am sick of these positive attitudes, let’s say how we really feel, then get on with it! For me it was the truth that I needed. We laughed, we shared pain points, and we even started scheming the fantasy of being airlifted out! This misery-loves-company moment made me feel like I could get on with the day.

So there we were, and on we went. We had the promise of Mr. Bubble’s awaiting us five miles down the trail. Our guide, Seth, was obsessed with it. The sparkle in his eye when he said Mr. Bubbles made us laugh and his feeling became contagious. After a three-hour hike, we were rewarded with a three-hour soak in this natural hot tub in a light rain. It was spectacular and it was a game changer. There is so much more that happened over the next three days including beautiful sunny weather, river fording’s, waterfalls, log and rock bridge crossings, wildflowers, and rainbows. And, the mosquito population kept pace which had us begging for the Deet. Yes, spray me now even if it ruins my clothes or shortens my lifespan! We laughed, we shared, we confessed, we bonded. And as far as I know, there were no tears. But, that would have been just fine too.

There are many life experiences that remind us about highs and lows. Maybe all we need to do to learn how to cope well is to observe the natural order around us. There is light and dark. There is awakening and sleeping. There is sunshine and rain.

Every single day, we observe nightfall. And in this darkness, we still allow ourselves to feel awe toward the stars and even relief for the opportunity to rest under their distant watch. We confidently believe that light will come again as dawn breaks. We trust in this cycle of day and night guiding all living forms to rest and revive again all in twenty-four hours.

If we honor these rhythms and cycles, perhaps, we are better prepared for a rainy vacation. Perhaps we are better prepared when we are personally stricken by a profound change. One that feels too heavy to bear, like a 35 pound pack. Perhaps every day, we are learning about the ultimate challenge and we haven’t even noticed. Perhaps we are practicing for change, sickness, loss, and how to grieve well.

On our last night surrounding a long awaited campfire, we chatted about the idea of perseverance. Though not easy, we know intellectually that there are rewards for forging on through difficulties. I knew this adventure would challenge me. I told the group this when introducing myself before we even set foot on the trail the first day. What I didn’t realize then is how many times I would have to talk myself into putting forth just a little more. To remain open to all of it. And to remember there would be light after the dark.

I have said this grief journey has cracked me wide open. And in this vulnerable state, I have become an explorer. It is impossible to explore when you are closed. Closing is contracting. Pulling in. Wrapping your own arms around yourself so tight that there is no chance to be hurt. But in that form, there is also no chance to seek, to grow, to love. Not everyone will find this in a 4-day backpacking trip. It’s simply a medium. But I wish for those reading my thoughts today, that on this soul ride, you will remain open, find your own way to explore, to live, to embrace the dark knowing there is also light. And realizing, like in grief, there are many times when the only way out is through.