Where the Waters Meet

There's nothing like being buffeted by relentless winds, pummeled by swells, and dragged by invisible currents to momentarily liberate you from an existential crisis. As I cleaved through the briny water last Saturday, towing my fluorescent orange safety buoy behind me and praying that my trajectory led toward the finish line rather than the vast Atlantic, my mind detached from all political anxieties and emotional burdens. While not precisely tranquil, the exhilaration and physical ordeal honed my focus to a razor's edge, cultivating profound gratitude for life, vitality, and the privilege of sharing extraordinary experiences with kindred spirits.

Rob and I embarked for St. Kitts last Wednesday, with an interim stop in Miami. I was astonished to discover the island lay a further three hours' flight from Florida—I did not conduct thorough research after finalizing arrangements with SwimTrek to attempt the Nevis to St. Kitts ocean crossing and race. We descended onto the West Indies on an aircraft brimming with aspiring swimmers, mingling and conversing as we located the shuttle destined for our respective hotels. The atmosphere enveloped us in warmth, with tropical clouds suspended like cotton sculptures against bright blue skies, and palm fronds rustling rhythmically in the breeze (which would soon emerge as our formidable adversary).

That evening, we crossed the street to meet up with Colorado friends at the Marriott, where I unexpectedly collided with my closest friend from youth swimming (with two teammates we held the 200-yard free relay record for 13-14 year-olds in New England for nearly two decades). Shocked greetings, warm hugs and hurried introductions ensued—we hadn't encountered one another in over four years and had never been introduced to each other's husbands. What an amazing coincidence—gratitude to the universe!—she wasn't even aware of the swimming event but merely vacationing.

Our practice session the subsequent day proved illuminating, as SwimTrek guided us into the ocean where the Atlantic converges with the Caribbean Sea, acquainting us with the tumultuous waves and treacherous currents awaiting us during the 2.65-mile competition. The practice only offered 1.5 kilometers, yet as we navigated back into the placid waters of the bay, several participants decided to opt out of the next day's race. Apprehension intensified when event coordinators announced escalating winds forecast for race day and a potential alteration of the course toward a safer, coastline trajectory.

I silently prayed that we could complete the crossing—it was on my bucket list for nearly a decade to accomplish a channel crossing. The English Channel waters are too frigid, the Maui Roughwater swim appeared too remote and unforgivingly turbulent, so I settled on this challenge. Ha! The fates cackled in response.

The water radiated warmth and the sky was unblemished on race day. We rose at 5 a.m. to board transportation to the shoreline at St. Kitts, then ferry across to Nevis, the race's origin point. The bumpiness of our ferry ride amplified swimmer concerns about the swells, and our briefing regarding wind and current diverted my attention from seeking sea turtles to contemplating survival. I started the race alongside friends from Colorado but promptly lost visual contact as my safety buoy entangled in a rope in the bay, requiring de-tangling before I could proceed.

The water's salinity was so sharp I had to block the rear of my throat with my tongue to prevent inadvertent swallowing. As we emerged into the unprotected ocean, waves of two to three feet rocked us laterally, compelling me to breathe predominantly to my left to avoid waves in my face. Throughout the journey, I periodically switched to breaststroke to locate the prominent hill serving as my visual reference. I inadvertently collided with several clusters of swimmers, including one containing my friend Sue, but inevitably drifted away from them. The waves impeded our visibility of one another and obscured the finish line. A short rain storm pelted us with cool freshwater, but blew over in a hurry.

Four hundred and eighty-nine individuals registered, yet only 379 completed the course. Many withdrew prior to the start, given the intimidating conditions, and approximately 50 participants were extracted by support personnel, either at the swimmer's request or because they had swum so off-course that completion within the three-hour maximum became impossible.

Sue and I finished virtually simultaneously—she maintained a slight lead and paused for me, extending her hand to assist me as I staggered onto the beach so we could cross the finish line together. Unaccustomed to competitors waiting for me, I was overwhelmed with emotion (and exhaustion). We had both navigated remarkably efficient routes, covering 4.19 kilometers versus the absolute distance of 4.1 kilometers, which conserved our energy and minimized our distress. Some swimmers were displaced by the current and endured an additional kilometer or two (rendering their subsequent struggle against the current to finish truly heroic).

Rob supplied us with endless water as we rested, attempting to regain our mental faculties and hydration. Two of my companions placed in their age category (first and second in the 60-69 classification), an impressive achievement, while I secured fifth position in mine (50-59). This exceeded my expectations; I had intended to proceed at a more leisurely pace and appreciate the surroundings, but conditions rendered pausing impossible!

In summation—nothing quite compares to an adventure punctuated by acute moments of perceived mortality to reinvigorate one's zest for existence and temporarily banish life's mundane concerns.

Canadian Rockies - A Northern Attitude

 "If I get too close / And I'm not how you hoped / Forgive my northern attitude / Oh, I was raised out in the cold. / If the sun don't rise / 'Til the summertime / Forgive my northern attitude / Oh, I was raised on little light."

- Lyrics to "Northern Attitude," song by Noah Kahan

We belted the chorus along with Noah Kahan as our rented black Honda Civic swept to the right and around the curve of Canada's Highway 93, the Icefields Parkway. Rain squalls swept through the valleys carved between peaks by enormous glaciers and tall mountains gathered clouds before their faces as if shy. As we climbed and descended, mountain lakes of pale aqua and deep turquoise dotted the left side of the road and healthy pine forests rolled to either side - a green quilt thrown over rock shoulders.

This was our third day in Alberta, Canada, visiting the Banff National Park, Lake Louise and the mountain town of Banff.  Accustomed to the dryer Rockies of Colorado, with forests dented by the pine beetle and undergrowth turned pale brown by intense sun and lack of rain, the Canadian Rockies were like Rocky Mountain National Park on steroids. Not the height of the mountains - Colorado has taller peaks - but the intensity of the colors, the size of the glaciers remaining, the health of the forests and the relative lack of people all combined to give us a particularly Canadian Rocky Mountain high. 

In our hike to the top of Parker Ridge that third afternoon, we walked through a forest of young pines throwing off a wet, evergreen scent redolent of Christmas, of the best pine air freshener ever created. Our boots beat a regular rhythm on the wet ground, stepping around tree roots and over rocks, ascending via switchback and staircase to the top of the ridge where we could look right and see the massive Saskatchewan glacier feeding into the glacial plain below. We captured photos before a snow flurry descended, tiny pellets slapping us in the face despite our raincoats and hoods.

Later that day we had hot drinks at the Columbia Ice Fields information area, sitting on a porch absorbing sunshine while the glacier-generated katabatic winds flowed over and around us, bringing the chill of the glacier to our seats. We didn't spend much time motionless, but jumped up again to explore the "Toe" of the glacier and retrace our steps back along the canyons and lakes of the park.

The natural splendor of the mountains, the shocking cold of sudden fall (from highs of 52 we returned to 85 - degree temps in Denver) and the joy of hiking with my daughter relieved the stress of recent weeks and provided perspective to the routine cares and worries of our "real life." Just to know that such beauty exists, that adventures await, and that our bodies can carry us on amazing hikes over and among mountains - provided a shift in attitude that can't be replicated. There's a popular saying here - and in Banff- "the mountains are calling and I must go." True for me and my family, and how lucky we are to seek them.

Adventure as Therapy

 "Movement is medicine. Adventure is therapy."

- Rebecca Rusch, American endurance professional athlete

When my stomach is in knots, I need to move - to swim, bike or walk using both sides of my body, uniting both halves of my brain. When my outlook on life loops around on itself, I look for adventure, a shot of newness and a tangent pointing the way forward out of circular thinking. In October, as heavy news of the world added to a layer of dread-filled sentiment on the daily, we scheduled bouts of adventure to lift mind and spirit.

First, Rob and D. and I went back to New England. Having lived there for seven years, I find the beautiful forests, older buildings, and winding roads to be therapeutic on a normal day, but in the fall New England is magic on steroids. We flew in to Boston, drove up to Vermont virtually hanging out the window to soak in the beauty from the variegated explosion of color from trees on the side of the road and on nearby hills.

The boys ate maple syrup Cremees while I drank coffee infused with a healthy dose of the same syrup and we walked through a sap-harvesting operation near Montpelier. My cousin and his beautiful family hosted us for dinner and a hike at their home near Burlington, and we walked Lake Champlain and speculated how we could someday buy a lake house in the area.

Back to Boston the next day, we rallied with my college roommate at her place in Wellesley, then gathered with my brother and his lovely family out near the coast in Marshfield. We took in a wet soccer game for Mae (in which she scored three goals!!) and Michael and I took a very wet walk in the woods. Many football games were viewed, games played, and a family dinner delivered.

Back up to Boston / Cambridge the next morning where we gathered with two of my roommates on the Anderson Bridge over the Charles River to watch the Head of the Charles regatta. My friends and I walked that bridge every day of morning practice for swimming and diving, and it was fabulously surreal and wonderful to stand at the apex and watch my friend's older son row past us on his high school boat. It was a glorious sunny day and perfect for reminiscing as we waited in Harvard Square for an old favorite brunch place to open up.

Lastly, we stopped back in Wellesley to gather with Rob's brother and his family. It was a long-awaited reunion and perfect afternoon to catch up (watch more football) and play favorite games. So much fun and so perfect the execution, I wondered why I hadn't planned this much more often!

Adventure continues into November as Aden has just landed in Barcelona for a whirlwind five days with her college roommates - one of whom is taking a semester abroad there. Aden planned her days and pre-purchased tickets, composing a great walkable itinerary that follows in our family's travel footsteps. But this journey is all her own and more magnificent for being so.

Alas, the remaining adventure is an uplanned and unlooked-for tangent for William, who re-tore his ACL and newly tore his meniscus in an intramural pickup game last week. After being so diligent with his PT and rest after the last surgery (18 months ago), it's a hard blow to re-up for the process a second time. But who knows what silver lining might emerge from this cloud, what personal connections will be made stronger, what extra time might yield for him. We are always moving forward, always finding something new in life, and even unexpected "adventures" can yield new outlooks and opportunities.

Finding your Self Again (and again)

"Don't ask yourself what the world needs; ask yourself what makes you come alive. And then go and do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive."

Howard Thurman

Several nights ago we dined with a group of friends on an outdoor patio overlooking the mountains. The view was beautiful and the temperature warm; it was the kind of night where you risk sliding off your chair if you stand up suddenly, and have to glance behind at your pants/skirt/shorts to ensure that the sweat stains don’t reveal too much. During dinner two friends regaled us with stories of their week-long cruise to Bermuda without husbands or children. I laughed at their funny quotes and people-watching experiences but their account was moving on a much deeper level. Both of these women, who are passionate, beautiful, artistic and funny, felt that they were seen and appreciated as individuals for the first time in years. As a result, they could see and appreciate their own selves for the first time in a long time. We discussed how we all lose ourselves in the roles of ‘mom’, ‘dad’, ‘wife’, ‘husband’, ‘professional’ and forget to listen to the rhythms of our own desires. The main question being: how do we find our “selves” again, and keep them?

The topic has been on a lot of minds lately; I opened the Raising Happiness July newsletter by Christine Carter (http://greatergood.berkeley.edu/raising_happiness/) and saw “Are You a Miserable Parent? I love my kid. I hate my life.” In her email Carter refers to the article “All Joy and No Fun: Why Parents Hate Parenting” (New York Magazine, http://nymag.com/news/features/67024/). The article is fascinating, though a bit depressing. In brief, children take more than they give, and when you have children later in life you know what you are missing. Every parent has to give up most of their external sources of joy when they have kids, particularly between the kids’ ages of 0 and 6 (I hear adolescence is no picnic, either). I’ve read a lot of advice on how to capture your Self again, and not just for one week every five years. Anne Lamott recently wrote:

“I’ve heard it said that every day you need half an hour of quiet time for yourself, or your Self, unless you’re incredibly busy and stressed, in which case you need an hour. I promise you, it is there. Fight tooth and nail to find time, to make it. It is our true wealth, this moment, this hour, this day.” (Sunset Magazine, http://www.sunset.com/travel/anne-lamott-how-to-find-time-00418000067331/).

I agree with Lamott that quiet time for reflection reinforces our self-awareness, but if you are stuck in the hamster wheel of your habitual worries, grocery lists, and calendar planning, quiet time does not help. (I understand – from a number of sources – that I am laughably bad at being quiet, so perhaps this issue lies mainly with me.) For me, satisfaction and renewal most often come from new challenges, new people, and adventure. I reflected on this for the past two days and realized that in the last five years I felt most alive when I volunteered in the Arizona desert with unique individuals (who did not know me as a mom or a wife); when I rafted the Royal Gorge with my husband and a few close friends; when I went downtown to take Spanish classes from amazing immigrant women at El Centro Humanitario; and when I aspired to athletic competition normally beyond my grasp.

I think that to recapture ourselves (or our Selves) we have to break out of our routines and get outside our comfort zones. Regularly we need to meet new people who challenge us and who look at us in new ways. We need to leave our children behind occasionally (though a welcome reprieve this is always so difficult to do) and complete a physically, or emotionally, or mentally challenging task. Daniel H. Pink write in Drive that people most often found satisfaction when challenged, not in mere relaxation. Don’t get me wrong, parenting and maintaining relationships remain two of my biggest challenges, but they are habitual challenges and as such they lose their power to jolt my awareness.

I welcome any thoughts or input on how to keep growing, keep redefining oneself. It takes time and energy to put ourselves in those situations, but the energy and passion that we receive make the investment more than worthwhile.