My Rock and Hard Place
It’s hard to say that the Anchorage airport has ever seen me in a moment of stability. Whether coming in or out, it is almost a guarantee that I’ll be running through the most intense highs and lows, overflowing with bliss and excitement to be heading to Denali’s backcountry, or drained by grief and sadness to leave a piece of myself in only the most beautifully humbling place on the planet. But for the first time since arriving here two years ago, I am overwhelmed with a new feeling: I am experiencing both this high and low at the same time.
I’ve experienced death and loss, I’ve experienced break ups. I’ve lost a childhood dog or two even. But there is something so intense about feeling as though you’ve lost a part of yourself, as though you’ve left a piece behind. This is a whole other type of low. To know your potential, to know what your highest high feels like, to time and time again find something in yourself you didn’t even know you were looking for, but then to willingly put it behind you… it feels like it goes against every remaining instinct in my body. There’s something about Denali National Park that sucks you in, mirrored in the dwarf birch untying your shoelaces, the sphagnum moss welcoming you in for a rest, the breath of the Labrador tea drawing your worries away, the low bush cranberry and bog blueberry and crowberry and bear berry kissing your pant legs, and the white-crowned sparrow singing you a sweet tundra lullaby. But maybe, just maybe, it is the unreasonable starkness in the powerful Alaska Range, carved by a chisel so daring and unforgiving that it defies all humanness. Maybe it is the graceful grandeur and infinite depth of the High One that humbles me so deeply, leaving me no choice but to feel unequivocally small and worthless. I have never been able to place exactly the feeling, nor have I ever been able to describe Denali in a way that does it any justice, but I believe I owe what I feel to some of the aforementioned attributes. I’ll probably spend the rest of my life chasing those feelings, but for now, I am in mourning.
In the same breath, I really am beyond excited for what’s to come. There’s something extremely exciting to be said about the unknown of an adventure and to not really know what you’re getting yourself into, but, God, is it nerve-wracking to be facing it in its entirety. I’m not even sure what I’m excited most for, for now it’s to get to spend the time with two of the loveliest women in my life. How many times in your life do you get the opportunity to take on a cross-country cycling trip with two of your best friends from college, and how many times in your life will you actually take that chance?! I am about to pop from the excitement of even seeing those two chickadees, never mind spending the next three or four months with them. I’m excited for the sweet spontaneity, moments of strength, and the sound of their giggles gracing my ears. I’m equally excited for the long days, moments of weakness, and extreme exhaustion.
At the same time, I haven’t truly let myself lean into these emotions, as the past few days (months, really) have been jam packed and busy beyond belief. The past forty eight hours have been a complete whirlwind, leaving sweet Kantishna behind (along with my best friend Quinlan and a slightly codependent friendship with Owen) and running around Anchorage like a ptarmigan with my head cut off. But now, with a belly full of spinach-tomato-pesto omelette and moka pot coffee (thanks to sweet Ellie who nourished me to health and re-grounded my nervous system over and over the past two days (“thanks” doesn’t even begin to cover it)), I am facing a trip I’ve been looking forward to (and maybe regretting a little) for over a year and a half. That, and I am facing it with a busted wrist I gifted to myself from a sweet spill I took on the Denali Park Road. However, I am facing it with two badass women whom I am privileged to call my friends, seemingly the strongest support system known to womankind.
As a prideful ex-Catholic that wreaks of religious guilt, waiting at this gate feels like I am awaiting judgment day, wondering if I’ve done enough to prepare for this moment on top of mourning a life I may be leaving behind forever. Truly, how are you supposed to feel embarking on something that you are so sure will change your life?
