Hindsight is Always 20/20

 

As the engine of my 4Runner hummed, I cruised along the stretch of road dividing open ranchland south of town between Leadville and Buena Vista. The red sun hazed by the wildfire smoke that had taken residence in our valley the past few weeks captured my attention beyond the high peaks of the Sawatch Range over the vast fields of scrub brush and sage. I remember nearly everything about the moment, including the faint hum of Led Zeppelin playing in the background through the janky bluetooth system I had jury-rigged to my SUV’s aging radio. The clarity of the memory is off-color for me, as I have trouble admittedly remembering specific insignificant details on most occasions unless specifically warranted, but the gravity of the thoughts that occurred in my mind I believe concreted everything in the moment. I was reflecting on the weeks prior to where I was then. A month ago seemed like years before, although the time between passed indiscriminately. A moment to me at that point could have been a second or nearly a lifetime. It was poignant to note the specificity of each passing second, but for some reason time didn’t really stand to have any power over the previous weeks. Like an odyssey lumped into a solidified memory. In the dying red-stained light of the sunset I went back to the weeks before in my mind.

Since the times of when I was a young teen, I had always had trouble with bouts of despair. They would come and go, at times without reason, but usually brought about by the high amounts of stress that would manifest through the different pursuits of my life. In the times of when I was young, they would be caused by difficulties with friends, or the troubles that I had in the way that I perceived myself. In the current, they were caused by more serious matters than that of the latter. Either way, the feelings of hopelessness and sadness would sweep over me like an uncontrollable tsunami of emotion, one that I had little chance of being able to healthfully cope with, even from my wealth of experience dealing with them for years. I had always handled these times personally, they were of no concern to other people as it was simply my own issue. It wasn’t that I didn’t want help, it was that I did not want to concern others with feelings that were truly so arbitrary. Sadness is a human emotion, everyone experiences it, but the responsible thing to me has always been the importance of not needlessly sharing it with everyone. What right did I have to make others sad on only the account of my own sadness?

I was swept up in a cloud of self-loathing. I felt like I wasn’t doing anything to help anyone and that I was useless. I felt helpless to the needs of others, so many others especially in our current times. I looked at myself with the same disdain that I would normally reserve for those who were cognizant of their callousness towards the human race. I have always firmly believed that regardless of the mass ignorance we perpetuate as people, every single person is still deserving of love and help. I felt like I was contributing neither. The wildfires were raging to the north, west, and south of us in our home in Colorado and I was not deployed to be fighting them, I was not performing to the best of what I knew my abilities were in the mountains, and I felt as though I was not giving my all to any of the relationships that I hold so dearly in my life. I live out in the open country of middle-western colorado, but it felt like the claustrophobic emotions of my mind were closing me into a space that I could not escape from. At about two to three days of nearly no sleep, I sat in the driver’s seat of my 4Runner contemplating actions that would be permanent. I normally do not cry nearly whatsoever, but I could not resist the need to in that moment. I felt so alone, with no power to do anything. My heart physically hurt. I could feel it weakly pumping inside my chest, my mortal being trying very hard to remind me the way that life has a tendency to hold on.

Through tears I pulled up Jared’s contact information on my phone. I needed a voice to pull me back into the present and remind me the importance of the gift of life. I firmly believe that Jared kept something much worse from occurring in that moment than what either of us had fully realized. This is not to make it seem like I was going through something as horrible as what others had experienced before. I was not in war, I had not lost someone or some people. I was not on the cusp of an uncontrollable early death. I was simply caught up in my own emotions. Everything that I was experiencing was a choice on my part, whether I had acknowledged that or not. It was up to my own volition to decide whether I would continue loathing the things that I believed I could not do, or decide to work towards them so someday I would accomplish them. I was given individual control over myself by God, a free will that I am able to take advantage of in each moment that I spend on this terrestrial plain. I am the captain of my ship and the defining factor of my destiny. It is up to me to decide whether I allow the aide of the Lord or whomever else to guide me in my path. I had believed that I knew that before that moment, but looking back on it now, I do not believe that I fully knew the implications of that power until right then. Jared’s calm voice on the other side of the phone reminded me of the gift of life that I was given. The blessings by God of the things that I have been allowed to do and am continued to be allowed to do. He gave me reason to remember each person that I held so close and what it would do to them if I were to leave. I stopped crying.

In the present, I am nearly in Leadville now. The sun has almost set over the horizon. The sky is dyed an orange-red hue in the crisp air of fall. The nights were continually getting cooler and more snow would be coming soon. This time not just to dust the mountaintops above us. I sat there and finished my memory of my call with Jared in that parking lot. If only I were able to be there now to tell myself then how it wasn’t really all that bad. If I were able to show myself the two week trip that I would go on from Leadville, through Utah and Southern California. Of the places that I loved so much. The cool and calm nights among the towering featured rocks of Joshua Tree National Park, of the beaches south of Orange County. Of the cracks and sloped edges on the many routes that I would uncontrollably smile on in Moab, where I was able to climb them more confidently everytime that I would come back there. This isn’t to say that I solved my happiness by going on some big trip with my girlfriend, Sarah. This isn’t to say that I had some life changing moments. This is simply to show the clarity of hindsight.

In the hindsight that I exhibited on that short drive home to Leadville that evening from climbing with my dear Sarah in our home crags of Buena Vista, I realized that things really aren’t and weren’t all that bad. I was simply exhausted and overtaken by my emotions. We each have a choice to make in the way that we respond to things, and I believe that every single person, regardless of where they are can do a better job continually of responding positively. As a whole, people nowadays seem to be becoming more and more pessimistic. I don’t blame them. There certainly isn’t anything wrong whatsoever with being a realist, and usably pessimistic at times. However, I believe that we all, of course including myself, can respond in a more positive manner for a better experience overall. Time is in fact, what we make it to be in response to the things that we cannot control. If only we were able to go back as our current selves and have a conversation with yourself in those horrible moments. To remind ourselves that life is beautiful, and open to wonderful things that we cannot even comprehend at times. Without the hard moments, the breathtaking summits would have a dulled flavor. Without the breathtaking summits, the hard moments would overcome us. We have been given a gift to be able to live. Sitting there in my car that evening I finished reflecting on a memory of the weeks before reminding me of that. I took a deep contented sigh and pulled into the driveway of the loft that I called home. I felt happy. If I were to tell you the simple beauty of the month that I had, you probably wouldn’t believe me.