Little Adventures in a Big World: Reflections on Fear

This is where I grew up:

Specifically, in this house, which my dad built before I was born:

(House-proud, I feel compelled to mention we had quite a bit more shrubbery when we lived there.)

My hometown, Lorain, is situated near the shores of Lake Erie in northern Ohio. And, while there may be adventure to be had in Lorain, it is not easy to find. Before the age of twenty, I had never seen a mountain. Or been on an airplane. I had visited my cousins in Florida when I was twelve, so I may have seen the ocean around that time. But when I was little, my idea of adventure involved pedaling furiously on my Huffy ten-speed to make it home before the streetlights came on … completely. (Of course, I didn't even mount up until they'd at least started to flicker on. A rebel, even way back then.)

When I graduated college, I moved -- alone -- to my new job in Indiana. My family thought that was adventurous enough. -- Indiana. Adventurous. Hmm. --  I did, admittedly, find ways to find adventure in the flats of what has got to be one of the least perilous states of the nation.

Wolves notwithstanding, Indiana soon bored me, and so I made my way north to Wisconsin, which made up for what it lacked in adventure by providing six years of solid graduate and professional education. In my senior year, I contemplated a move to Alaska, where a good friend was living. So, yes, it's adventurous to move, but at least I knew someone once I got there, right? Nevertheless, my family was dismayed. "Alaska?!?" By the end of the year, the decision was made, and within ten days of graduation, I had made my way -- a solo 3000-mile drive with my two dogs as my only companions -- to my new home state.

I've now been in Alaska for seventeen years, and there's no shortage of opportunity here to have, find or make as many adventures as your heart desires. Pretty much any land that isn't claimed by private residence or the military is free and open to explore, play or lose yourself in. These are just a few of the adventures I've had while here:

Learning to scuba dive... in January:

Even the instructor looks grumpy.

Kayaking Prince William Sound's Harriman glacier:

Hiking Crow Pass, a 26-mile mountain pass, replete with hornets, moose and bears:

Skiing across a frozen lake to the foot of Portage Glacier:

Cycling through Denali National Park overnight on Summer Solstice:

Cold at 3am on June 21? You bet.

Running the Klondike Road Relay, a 120-mile relay about half of which legs are run in total darkness:

Learning to ski the backcountry (for the uninitiated, that means hiking up a mountain just to ski back down it):

Hiking Kesugi Ridge, along the majestic Denali (the mountain -- not the dog, whose name was Spook):

Participating in a spay/neuter clinic in "bush" (remote) Alaska, with no gas anesthetic:

Finishing a Marathon:

Skiing the twelve miles to Tolovana Hot Springs, which is north of (i.e., colder than) Fairbanks:

Yeah, the little white line in the distance is the trail.

The shelter at the top of the wind-whipped dome (note the poor scrawny tree)

And there are, of course, the everyday adventures. Here are just a few:

Weekly autumn run (fewer bears in autumn)

Wolverine Peak, once a summer, at least

Mountain Yoga

The locals, in my side yard

And travels abroad have provided their own adventures, as well:

The Costa Rican jungle -- snakes, heat stroke, no water… what's not to love?

Taranaki, New Zealand

The trail is on the side of that cliff face somewhere -- Oh, I see it!

Hiking the French countryside -- FYI, they do not chain up their guard dogs.

Cappadoccia, Central Turkish steppes

Taksim Square, Istanbul, a mere four months after the city riots

Toto, I don't think we're in Lorain anymore.

Lest you think this is starting to read too much like a "Look How Awesome I Am!" post, allow me to get to the point: It's not enough.

Not that *I* feel dissatisfied with what I've accomplished in my life, but … Let's just say that the yardstick in Alaska can be a bugger.

No matter how bad-ass you think you are, here in Alaska, there's someone who's doing it higher or deeper or longer than you. As an example, the kayak picture above, with the glacier? This is the picture  I took when I felt like I was close enough to that big wall of ice, thank you very much, … and yet my friends went on ahead, to get closer:

See the tiny black dots mid-photo? That's them.

After a while, I couldn't even see them anymore:

Similarly, the marathon I ran was flat. Meanwhile, my friend John in Fairbanks runs the Equinox Marathon every year -- every year. The course profile (elevation gain at the left):

And the Klondike Road Relay? As if it isn't tough enough that it's a run through a mountain pass at night (one year a black bear ran along with the runners for a stretch -- not joking), some guys gotta show off by dressing up to run their sixteen-mile leg, in feathers no less:

Closer to home, this was my own personal challenge: whenever my ex-husband said he wanted to go for a hike, he usually meant either straight up a mountain, or, to compromise & go flat, maybe something like this:

What trail?

Or, in Dominica, heaven forbid we should stagger off the cruise ship to go lie on a beach somewhere. No, no, let's rent Vespas from a sketchy guy who takes us to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere and go drive around until we find a trail no one's ever been on before:

Met some nice locals, though. Very friendly.

The discrepancy between what I considered an adventure and what constituted "adventure" for my ex-husband was a chasm of epic proportions. 

Which brings me to Fear. 

I am a very fearful person. My mother was strong but timid in her own way. Bees, traffic, crowded places… these were all valid reasons why she might might be busying her hands nervously shredding a Kleenex or even making an excuse not to go out on any given day. Her youngest daughter, I made her fears my own, even while I could sense my father's displeasure in creating a fearful child. He did his best to inspire confidence in risk-taking, and lack of shame in what others might consider failure. And so I was -- and, to some degree, remain -- trapped between these two viewpoints, forcing myself to do things I fear, but remaining fearful all the while.

Of course, some of the extreme adventures listed above have more to do with strength and stamina than with fear, but, underlying it all is a fear of shame or social embarrassment if a feat is attempted and not successfully accomplished. Perhaps this is especially true if the valuation of a loved one is perceived dependent on performance or outcome. And maybe this valuation is real -- and maybe it is imaginary, its own fear.

It holds us back, Fear does. We sometimes live our lives less fully because of it. But all of the photos above are from my own albums, my own experiences, and so I am determined not to allow my life to be limited, by anything, if I can help it. And certainly not by fear. 

And so, in spite of my fear -- and sometimes even because of it -- I forge ahead, into unknown territories. And sometimes, I have discovered an embarrassment… of riches.