More than a good Belay.

“In climbing, every step, all day you are with your partner and not infrequently you have their life in your hands or vice versa. And there’s not much in life that’s more powerful than that.” Don Serl

I never really thought I would understand marriage, I have never even really admitted to being a 'relationship' person but I think I get it now.  When I say that, I am not referring to having someone to come home to, or make dinner with or even shag. I don't regret the fact that I am single. At all. I miss having a climbing partner though.

Its funny, and perhaps underrated, but the one thing that holds me back in climbing seems to be my brain. In the last year I have spent a significant amount of time climbing with a select few individuals, and it has made all the difference.To have someone who knows your breathing, your bad habit of stepping behind your rope and most importantly, your mental cruxes is invaluable. To have enough trust in another human being that you can step beyond your intuitive fears and really push yourself is tres exhilarating. It is not just a belay, it is someone who can stoke you for your send, and when you belay them, you really feel like you are there with them.

I remember the first time I belayed a good friend on one of his projects, we had been climbing together for a few weeks and I had always been on belay when he was working his project. He was seconds away from the send, when a visiting friend didn't feel him his necessary arm full of slack for a crux dynamic move and he nearly fell, yelling down to his fumbly partner. He cut a few moves later, pumped out in a mental and physical disconnection.
From then on, he discretely asked me to be available for the catch.

It was on that same trip that I took my first real whippers on a project. With my friend belaying, I still very tentatively took many times at the crux. It was only after I really fell, and almost landed at the first bolt that I turned around to see him smiling "what? I get to have some fun with this too..." I realized I finally had someone who knew exactly what I needed behind me. My next try I sent it without even a pump. Full focus on the moves, and that's because I had full trust in my catcher.

What would Johnny Copp have been without Micah Dash? where would Dean have been without Steph? Don't even get me started on Sharma. A climbing partner is someone who you can share your wildest dreams with. You have no fear when you are with them and you trust that they, undoubtedly, will catch you when you fall.

Now here I am, In Toronto, surrounded by keen climbers and I can't seem to find a project outside. Maybe its just that I need to find that special someone to stand behind me.

The devil at play.

Whenever my mother needs to re align herself, she plays piano.
Nothing complicated, but she keeps in time without a metronome, plays slowly and eloquently, following along to notes on paper.

We all do it. For some people it is running, for others it is driving and for many it is an expression of art.
Usually, my mother plays piano after our conversations.


I feel bad sometimes, as I think she envisioned something different.  She was carrying me in her belly for nearly 9 months and dreamt up all the wonderful ways her daughter would bring her joy. I think she saw her best friend, my confidante, and our feminine unbreakable bond forming like she has with her own mother. As it goes, I have filled none of these roles to her imagination. Instead i have taken on one, by nature more so than by choice, which challenges her on all fronts possible, testing her unto tears in some less proud moments. Clashing our opinions and platforms until forcing the other to stare through a different looking glass. I never mean to hurt my mother with our debates, but I strongly believe that it is through these discussions that we can open eachother's eyes.

I came home from the weekend bursting through the door, eating hummus and bread on arrival and dropping bags around me. I was deshevled and tired, ready to unwind from a weekend of travel, climbing and adventuring into another world; the world of a family fighting cancer.

I ran it down to my mum who had hovered into the kitchen to greet me. I knewthat the subject matter is something she is always interested in, always empathetizing with.  For a few minutes we discussed how hard it must be, to be waiting on someone you love which knowledge they could be taken from you at any moment and have been compensated for so long.

My mom brought up a similar story, one of her brothers wife, my aunt.  My aunt recently found out that she will be embarking on her own fight with cancer. She mentioned a phone conversation they had shared that morning, she mentioned she didn't understand how my aunt could talk about theoretically refusing chemo if it seemed right. I jumped on this opportunity. I feel it is an opinion which has formed very strongly on my side, so I shared it.

I can understand my aunt.

I just came back from a weekend of witnessing an entire family who has been on hold for a year. one grateful year. Around the end of summer last year, my friends mom was given one month to live. Her daughters took time from work and school, they went home, the cancelled trips, they waited, gracious for thier time.
Chemo granted them more time, and has continued to do so, although she still needs daily treatment and must sleep on a hospital bed in the living room for monitoring. I have never met such a strong family.

Of course, they would never want it any other way. But I can see that it wears on them, makes them guilty of working, planning and living... It is an extreme situation of balance, and also a sad one of almost " waiting" for the inevitable, which once again, summons guilt.

My aunt is a reasonable woman. She thinks things through and I think that overall she has seen many people undergo chemo and the pain of treatment. She doesnt want to drag on her passing, she wants it to be quicker, so her husband and family can move forward. She is selfless.

I proceeded to explain that if i felt the end was imenement then I would not accept treatment for myself. I would want to let my  family see me off without the thought of hospital beds and long term helplessness.

I think I broke her heart. The woman who spends her life waiting on others, listens to her daughter deny her the theoretical long slow goodbye. She told me it would be different if I was really sick. I told her i hope it wouldn't.

As she quietly stared at the floor i could sense a sadness and helplessness fill the room. I excused myself for a much needed shower, aware that i had once again hit a fence of understanding. As I showered i reviewed our points. I empathized with my friend's situation and with my aunt. and I wondered how in the world a daughter like me could be born with such a challenging disposition from her mother.

As I was drying off I heard the sound floating up the stairs. Long slow notes played and disappeared in time with thoughts, my mothers, her imagination so obviously caught in their expirations. The song was beautiful and mournful, of a fairy tale she had, once, 24 years ago.

Turn the wind to gravel roads...

 

Josh Ritter, telling me about animal years.Here.

The only light was coming from a farmhouse down the way.

It took me almost a month. But I am finally alone.

Its funny. Mostly because it took me so long, but also its ridiculous to crave such a place. I stopped the car. Crawled into the back and pulled the keys out of the ignition. It took 1 minute for the interior lights to turn off. It took another minute for me to exhale.

I am outside an abandon farm house, off Grey road 10 in Grey County Ontario.  All I can see is the dim lights off neighboring farm houses. All I can hear is, well I cannot hear anything. The drive here slowly tore down my barriers, leaving me with only a loneliness at the end. The anger, the excitement and the frustration of my recent experiences totally evaporated and now here I am. Outside a farmhouse, alone.

 I look around, and do my best not to stir up any images of zombie attacks or axe murderers.

In all my time sleeping in cars, I never imagined how frightening sleeping alone could be. New paper clippings about the "city Girl" who just bought her freedom only to have her life taken away, or something heartbreaking like that.... And I manage. I swallow them. And I sit there.

This is necessary. I had been safe for too long. Too safe to really feel the repercussions of my emotions. Too active to really notice I was in Ontario. Too prideful to really notice I didn’t have a partner.

With each breath, reality sinks in a little more. I become aware of how many things have changed in the last year. I become more aware of what I have been doing, how I have been behaving.

Lying down on my truck mattress I can see the stars peaking in from both sides. I can feel the car rock as I adjust, squeaking in protest.

For the first time in a while my mind is blank. I am comfortable. But not tired. Just breathing. Becoming aware of the uncoiling my mind is about to endure.

So here I am.