The Year that See Grew Up
First, I must acknowledge that thinking that the growing is done is a trap I've fallen into before, and that the belief that I have reached some static place of adulthood and maturity was a sign that I had not, in fact, achieved maturity.
I no longer think this way. I acknowledge and accept my ever-changing nature, the space from year to year where I can bring more of my habits, patterns, unconscious thought models, and self-knowledge to light. I can understand how experience deepens intellectual understanding, and that control over myself in every domain is not a destination but a process.
Nevertheless, sometimes a young person, through choice or fate, experiences a catalyst that forces them to mature in a short period of time. I think of water when I consider this idea. In a river, water flows over rocks, through the eons grinding them down into smooth, polished, perfect stone. Water also trickles down inside the tiny cracks of a cliff face, and when it freezes as the temperature drops, sometimes the cliff explodes of a sudden into huge chunks that go flying off into space without warning, leaving behind a new rock face to glitter in the harsh light of day for the first time. At the end of this year, I am the rock face--raw, exposed, vulnerable, young--but supported by the rest of the cliff that still stands buried under the surface.
In the last 14 months, I left the military. Entered therapy with an actual goal of engaging with the process instead of placating others. Got off anti-depressant medication. Completed the nine-month long wilderness immersion program that this blog is all about. Left my relationship of seven years. Terminated other relationships with people who weren't healthy for me, in some cases permanently and in some cases, perhaps, temporarily--and in some cases not of my own volition. Moved a significant chunk of my stuff four times, winnowing down what I cared about each time. Applied for a job and didn't get what I wanted. Re-engaged with a hobby that, through its very nature, does a good job of providing me constant, uncompromising mirrors of my self.
I squeezed the me of 14 months ago through a tiny rock crevice. I left a lot of my toxic black goop behind, smeared on the rocks in the passageway as I forced myself through and out, again, into the light of day. I can't really be sure that I'm even in the light of day, to be honest, but I feel much closer to a place of clarity and awareness that also leaves room for self-compassion and my inherent youth. Maybe I haven't lifted the veil of self-delusion, but I know now that it's there. I know, for example, that my emotions are temporary creatures. That the pain and fear and sadness (and joy and happiness!) I experience on occasion will fade, given enough time and acknowledgement that it's there for a reason, but has done its job for now. I know, too, that I tend to act and speak impulsively, and that my task is in part to develop a gap between action and reaction. More importantly, I can listen to some people, some of the time, who I have allowed to reflect these aspects of myself back at me. I can listen and accept their feedback without defensiveness, without blaming them or doubting their motives. I can understand that they are trying to help me, and then I can accept the help.
The broad diversity of environments we've been to, the skills we've learned, the weather, the animals, the plants--all have been my teachers. But most of all, the men of my class have been my teachers.
Two of them model boundaries, self-containment like they are living inside Fort Knox. The amount of self-disclosure that comes from these folks is minimal, always relevant, and offered only after significant trust has been established. They do not talk about themselves without some reason to do so.
I leak all over the place at the beginning of the year. The dramas of my life bleed into other places, the interpersonal struggles, the traumas I'm recovering from. I desperately need attention that I'm not able to get in healthy ways. Everybody in my class knows everything about me.
Over the course of the year, I tighten up a little bit as I heal, as I learn and practice self-control and boundaries in different contexts. Still, there's a long way to go--but. But I can see how what I offer, how I behave, is also a model. One of the men appreciates how open I am. He thinks he's too closed off, too self-contained, and that it makes it hard for him to connect with people. There is value in seeking, building, and gathering community when we need to, in offering a piece of ourselves to others without reservation or hesitation or fear. I am better at this process than some people, and my openness helps me find others who are also willing to share their lives or support me in my own. The trick is in control of when to let the boundaries down, and that's what I learn from him.
From someone else I learn that, even when provoked, I have a responsibility to offer my attacker respect and patience. Aggrandizement does not excuse the requirement to behave ethically towards others. He models this behavior when I tell him to "Go F--- himself" over nothing. He models this respect when I poke him while he's suffering, when I'm needlessly and carelessly rude. He could have gotten angry each time--his anger would have been just, though I likely would not have responded well to it. Anger does not teach people very well.
Each time, he comes to me calmly, controlled. A soft voice, eye contact--like he's approaching a frightened, wounded animal--which is basically what I am. One does not become an asshole without trauma, I think, and he is one of the few people I have ever met who seems to have that understanding and the ability to offer it to me when I've lashed out at him.
He can even wait a week or two to address something with me, or wait, patiently, for me to come to the realization on my own that I owe him a sincere and heartfelt apology. He accepts gracefully, respectfully, without any trace of lingering resentment over my ongoing violations and lack of success at controlling myself despite my best efforts.
From another man I learn self-compassion and respect for the journey. He walks out of the woods after our 36-hour fast and explains that he's had a realization about himself and that he's going to change a major part of his life because of that realization. This realization is not the moment I take away for my own education, as amazing and joyful as it is to witness and share in his self-growth. What I take away is that, upon making this cognitive and emotional leap, he's willing to accept the leap for what it is. He does not appear to judge himself or experience regret for not making the leap before now. He does not immediately turn around and self-flagellate that he has not grown fast enough--he does not discount the tremendous power of the moment of realization he has just experienced. He just experiences it for what it is, and moves on with his life.
And lastly, I learn from someone that uncertainty in a leadership role is okay. Owning my own edge in public, acknowledging my lack of experience in a particular task, asking for support and flexibility from the group--these are not signs of weakness. Rather, they are signs of strength and self-knowledge. Leadership does not rely solely on expertise and competence (or the appearance thereof) , but also on confidence in uncertainty.
From him I also learn what "support" really looks like, and that it's acceptable to need support from someone, not just the facsimile of support, and that I don't have to do everything alone. I learn that I can have expectations of people, and that I can choose the kinds of interactions I want to continue based on whether or not people are able and willing to meet my expectations.
Grey told us at the beginning of the year that he structured the program as if it was a rite of passage. We got rid of more and more gear over the year, stretched ourselves physically and mentally. I feel comfortable now in a range of environments and temperatures and camping set-ups, from sleeping on the couch in the armory to car camping to wiki-ups to pack-in/pack-out snow-shelters. I can navigate what is appropriate gear for each context, and I also have a good idea where I need to seek out more experience. I learned a lot about how to live and work and play outside during this year. I learned more about myself.
Thank you to Grey. Thank you to my class. Thank you, to all of you, for being there to witness and support as all of us grew up.