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There are moments that define us- moments which mark the
boundary between phases. Moments that give us direction. Like finding a tree
with two painted blazes, indicating a sharp turn in the trail.
…
It’s been nearly a year since I last updated this blog.
Truly, it is because I have been so bewildered by the sudden and constant
change in my life that I’ve been unable to put it all into words. This time
last year I was sitting behind the desk at a gallery, curating an award show, building
props for a feature film, partnered, and living in the city. Today I am a full
time environmental scientist, hiking nearly nonstop to asses and protect
natural resources, single, and living in countryside solitude. I cannot express
the gravity of these changes, though I am certain that the conscious decisions I
have made are absolutely right. But, there was that moment- that pervasively deciding
moment when I chose to veer off my path and search for another.
I had signed up for the graduate open house at the Maryland
College Institute of Art- I was enrolled for a portfolio review which I was
stressing over, and would be introduced to the entrepreneurial business in arts
program that just started there. I had ideas for my own company- my own name
and everything picked out. Products sketched and tested. I was ready. Grad school.
Continuing my education would make me a full time student for 20 straight
years. Eerie.
At the same time, I had accepted a job offer at an
environmental science firm, falling back on my strong history in earth science
and biology, for lack of other stable income options. And I was hurting. Bad.
Because I felt like a sell-out, and because I had completely stopped making
work. For a variety of reasons. I got anxious, I got depressed, I deteriorated.
And then a friend from work invited me rock climbing. Rock climbing. That thing I used to do
six days a week. That thing that kept me grounded, and calm, and clambering
forward. That love that broke my body, then my heart, and stopped me in my
tracks. I was suddenly flooded with memories of my time spent on the vertical
plain. Of old problems worked through to redpoint (that one little purple crimp
after the roof heel hook crux move), of friendships forged in sweat and blood, of
fear and triumph and pain and defeat, and of partners in whose hands my very life rested. That part of my life had
been filled with the truest love and trust. I can’t believe I let all that slip
away from me. Yes. It was time to get back into the harness.
The only issue was that this climbing trip happened to fall
on the day of my graduate school open house. And so, I had to decide. Go to the
open house, get evaluated for graduate potential, look at financing and
refinancing of loans, figure out hours of work versus sleep, try to claw my
small way into the art world. Or, go climb.
…
I took me a minute to remember the double-backed figure
eight. I was tying into a toprope route, a medium grade 5.9, “Breakaway.” It was long and overhanging all
the way up the 100 foot face dihedral, a real muscle pumper. When I chalked up
and slid my fingers to lock in the crack, my body remembered what to do. I
eased my way up to the crux- a box shaped boulder that juts 4 feet out from the
corner. By the time I looked up to see it, I had gotten myself wedged way off
course beneath its ceiling. If I fell here, I’d swing back into the trees.
Though there was no real danger besides a little bit of whiplash,
the perceived danger was staggering.
My legs were shaking, my arms on fire, my head bent awkwardly sideways to accommodate
my helmet beneath the roof. I hadn’t been climbing in a few years. I hadn’t
been climbing on real rock in a few years more. I wasn’t in any kind of
physical or mental shape. I freaked
out. Choked by fear, losing my breath, heart pounding in my ears- all the
anxiety over lost art and school and love and mistakes came flooding into my
mind, spinning a million words a second. All the while my legs were threatening
to shake me off my ledge by their tremors, my hands cramped so badly that I
couldn’t open them to grasp the next hold. I shook my head to free it of its
own riot, but it didn’t help. Instead I lost my balance and dangerously
barn-doored backwards before clinging even tighter to my tiny ledge, extra
scared now. That next hold was just out of reach.
I took a deep breath and told myself to get it together. I
spoke out loud to my body, unable to hear my own thoughts. “Ok. It’s ok. Move
your left hand along the crack- there- crimp. Ok. Now inch right leg forward-
got it. Now right leg highstep, now turn-“
…somehow, that worked. I pulled myself out of the corner, having
finished the sequence clean. My friends below were cheering. My entire body was
shaking.
Breakaway. An apt
name for a milestone route. Not that it’s a particularly hard route- I’ve done
it clean many times since- but that day, something shifted in me. I remembered
how to calm myself down. I remembered what’s important, and what I need to
focus on. All my priorities turned on their heels. I threw myself full force
into my scientific job, breezing through trainings and problems and reports. I’ve
been reveling in my time spent outside, remembering how once I was a little
girl who found God in the beauty of nature. And who thought she was Davey
Crockett (where still my mind sometimes wanders..) exploring the forest. I’m
letting my heart heal and grow. I’m fostering these new friendships with new
partners- climbing partners- that are deep and true and bright. I’m spending
every free moment I can on that familiar vertical surface. And I’m freaking
loving it. I’m making art work, writing songs, taking pictures, reading,
loving, and living. I’m trail running and backpacking and bike commuting. I’m
reconciling with my past in my home town. I’m working my ass off so I can play
even harder. Next month, I camp in the high mountains of California. From
there, I fly to South Korea to visit one of my dearest friends. There I’ll
climb Mount Hallasan solo. My travelling art show just wrapped up, and in
August, I’m the featured artist at a major exhibition. September leads me to
the Telluride Film Festival. Next year, I’m planning on the Cascades, then
Alaska.
…
The nature of this new lifestyle lends itself to a different
format in blogging. Catch my daily updates now at www.savannaleigh.tumblr.com
breakaway
