From on High

At this point, I diverge from providing a chronological account of my journey, beginning instead to expand on central themes to what I learned and experienced in Croatia. Today, I explore the hiking part of my trip, which made up a large part of my vacation. While to some, braving the elements (whether it be the mist, the rain, or the blazing sun) to walk up steep paths often surrounded by thick vegetation and lined with slick rocks or leaves sounds like a nightmare, I found it to be just what I needed to help me relax and focus on what was truly important at this time.

Okic Castle -- the way up was a bit steep

I find the act of hiking requires a level of concentration unlike that of simple walking. Instead of getting completely lost in my own thoughts as I often do when out for my daily stroll, these hikes forced me to pay attention to the path ahead.  My mind and body had to work together--to judge where it was best to place my foot, to determine the right pace so as not to run into the person ahead of me or not to trip up the person behind me, to coerce my tired legs to go that little bit further when their strength began to flag. For some it may be easy to slip into a routine that allows their minds to wander, and at times I was able to divide my attention, looking at the glorious scenery that surrounded and absorbing the fact that yes, indeed, I was thousands of miles away from home climbing a mountain (or mountains) so unlike anything that Kansas City has to offer. But if my thoughts lingered a bit too long from the trail, all it took was a slight slip of the foot or a low-lying tree branch to jolt me back to my focus. And that is a good thing. Too often, I found my thoughts slipping back to things I had wanted to leave behind, even for a little while. So banging my head on a tree was a very physical manifestation of that figurative slap to the face we all sometimes need to remind us what we should be paying attention to. (yes, I really did run into a tree...) Hiking allows me one of the rare opportunities to live fully in the present, to enjoy the fact that I am capable of climbing those steep paths that take me onward and upward to a goal that does not have any more reward than that of personal satisfaction. 

And what a wonderful feeling it is to reach the top. My first great moment of clarity occurred on the second full day of the tour when we reached the top of a mountain (sadly, the name eludes me at this point) after a steady, extremely steep climb up. As I first glimpsed the expanse of rolling mountains and valleys, miniature houses dotting the landscape, I was breathless. (Few things elicit such a reaction from me like that anymore--I have become rather jaded as I have gotten older.) For the first few minutes, I just stood and stared, understanding that this is why I had decided that--of all the kinds of vacations I could have taken--this was the right one for me. A small bubble of giddiness worked its way up, and I swear I had the dopiest smile on my face, but I didn't really care. I was happy. Not the kind of happy that flickers away just as quickly as it appears. No, this was a feeling that would endure, resurfacing several times throughout the trip (like when reaching the peak of Mt. Risnjak after fighting gusty winds and slick rocks or when enjoying something as simple as fresh cherries and wild strawberries on the way up Mt. Učka).  It is something very personal and difficult to articulate, but it very much ran along the lines of "holy freaking cow, I am in Croatia." (I really do think in phrases like that :))

View from above

What was even more significant for me this time around were the climbs down. Any of you who have traveled with me in the past and have gone on the trails know how much I abhor winding my way back down. I hate to admit that more often than not, I spent a good deal of time sliding down mountains rather than walking down them. The memories of the bruises and the wounded ego resonated loudly each time we began a descent. I refused to say anything about my (irrational) fear most likely out of pride, but I felt that each step I took down was fraught with hesitance, and I truly appreciated the times where I dropped to the back. (I am not sure if my fellow travelers noticed this, but I usually don't do a good job masking my emotions...) Yet, I survived. And I might add, without any bruises. I still hate the idea of climbing down, but I recognize now that perhaps it isn't as scary as I make it out to be in my head. And, I shouldn't let my anxiety about what has yet to happen (or what may never happen) mitigate the enjoyment of the present moment. Initially, I dreaded the climb down so much, I forgot to take notice of what climbing up availed. (Do you see a theme developing here? Am I being too obvious in advocating a "live-in-the-moment" kind of philosophy?)

All this is easier said than done. It is simple to live life to the fullest when you are gallivanting across the countryside. Mired in the day-to-day grind of regular life, distractions obscure our focus, and we become preoccupied with what has been and what might be. (Or so it has been my experience.) Is it too idealistic of me to think that there has to be a way in which I can harness some of the peace I discovered hiking without having to travel thousands of miles to do it? Perhaps. But I have to believe that life should be filled with more of those enduring moments of giddiness than not. If so, then I definitely have to work out that balance because something is currently way off. Have you ever had an epiphany where it became crystal clear that something just wasn't right? If so, what did you do to resolve it? (I am at the recognition phase of the whole process, if you have not gathered it yet. The resolution is still very much in the works.)

The Wallflower

Can you see her? Just one woman among many, nothing outstanding or interesting about her. Average height. Average weight. Brown hair. Glasses. Looks friendly enough although she clearly has an air of reserve surrounding her. You think you might even know her when she smiles politely as your gaze flits over her, but just as quickly as you glance her way, your mind forgets all about her. She is one in a crowd. A shadow. A nobody.

But let's look at her a little more closely. She is shy, perhaps. And, most likely she is an introvert completely out of her element. Literally in this case, a wallflower, clinging to the edges in hopes that no one will notice. Yet, she is not detached. She isn't purposely isolating herself, just unsure how to break into a world in which she feels the outsider. She observes all that she is going on around her, picking up minutiae of other people's lives in hope that knowing more about these people will finally give her entrance into a world to which she doesn't really belong. She likes the people around her, thinks they are fun, interesting, good-hearted people. But, for reasons she herself does not understand, she is scared to join in conversations, thinking it better to be invisible than to be rejected. Self-conscious, she is afraid she will be found lacking in humor, charm, intelligence. Better to never be acknowledged than to be found wanting.

A skill honed from childhood, being invisible has its uses. If no one thinks you are listening, you learn some interesting if not random stuff. Sometimes, she wonders if she could make it as a spy considering how much information she has gathered over the years. Unfortunately, there isn't much use for intelligence about the day-to-day lives of modern Midwesterners who fall in the 23-40 age bracket, at least at this time. And it isn't like she is going to share what she hears. Doing so would violate her sense of loyalty, broaching an unspoken trust between her and the others. Still, people reveal more about themselves when they do not realize others are observing them, not only in what they say but in what they do. When you are invisible, you see what others are too distracted to see. 

Will she ever change? Intellectually, she recognizes what she does to "protect" herself from being hurt only serves to further isolate herself.  Yet, she cannot take that next step to make herself visible in this new world, to speak up and acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, people may be interested in what she has to say. Having spent so many years believing otherwise makes it difficult to change one's perspective. But, to be honest, she has made great strides over the years. There has been the rare occasion where silence became too quiet, the loneliness too isolating, and she rose above her shyness and was all the better for it, so there is hope. Still, those times were definitely the exception. She does hope that one day she will finally be able to reconcile what she knows rationally with what she feels--that she doesn't have to resign herself to a life in the shadows because she is somehow unworthy of any kind of attention. That sometimes, it isn't a bad thing to be in the spotlight.

It's Only Rain

As I type, I cannot help but listen to the sound of the rain falling on the carport outside my window. Occasionally, the steady stream is punctuated with a flash of lightning and a crash of thunder, just in case I had any doubts about the what the weather was like outside. No matter how hard the rain falls or how loudly the thunder roars, I feel no anxiety. This is a far cry from the feelings nighttime storms evoked in me as a child.

It may help to know that much of my childhood was spent living in a tiny mobile home in South Texas. Sitting several feet above the ground, tied down by what seemed to be tenuous threads of wire, this little trailer was all that separated me from the raging Texas storms and complete devastation. Needless to say, as the winds buffeted the trailer like a ship on a raging sea, the cacophony of pounding rain amplified ten-fold on the aluminum roof, I lay in my bed, wide awake, afraid that the next gust would blow the house away, that my parents and sister and my beloved pets who somehow managed to sleep through it all would not wake up in time, and that I would fail them by not saving them from destruction.  I was a bit of a worrier as a child, I admit, and my mind jumped to the worst-case scenario. Despite the indulgence in melodrama, my fears were real, acting far better than any caffeinated drink in keeping me alert. If a storm raged on, I maintained my lonely vigil in my self-assumed role as family protector until I was certain danger had passed. Even then, I slept lightly, unconsciously keeping an ear out for a sign that the worst had not moved on. Funny how something that can be so fascinating and even exciting during the day transforms into something so frightening and unrecognizable, and funny how I assumed the responsibility (needlessly, I realize now) for everyone in the house.

Storms no longer faze me. I can appreciate their power and respect what they can do, but I do not live in dread of what they can do. No, I have moved onto more insidious fears to tackle during the night, the kind that are not so tangible, those that are worse because they originate from within. As a storm seemed a million times worse during the night, my anxieties, insecurities, and worries are magnified to the point that I have a hard time keeping them in control. Even though a small part of my mind tries to keep everything in perspective, it is drowned out by the more persistent nagging from the day. I know that everyone has periods of time that they think back on the day or reflect on how there life is going, but I have the horrible habit of taking those small, normal things and adding layer upon layer of 'significance' upon it. I fret over my job (what if one day someone...myself included...discovered I have no clue what I am doing some days?), over interactions with my co-workers (should I have asked how they are doing? Should I have been more supportive? Did I offend them in some way by one of my off-hand comments?), over how I acted during my commute (I should've let that person merge instead of blocking them), and even over what I write in this blog (seriously, some of my phrasing in an earlier post seemed potentially offensive to the point I woke up at 3:00 to remove it from the entry).  

I am not sure when my fears changed. There is little outside of myself that I actively fear. I have come to accept that many of the things I used to fear are beyond my control. I can take certain measures to prevent them from happening, but in the end, there is only so much I can do. However, when it comes to dealing with everyday life, I am afraid of screwing it up. I am not really sure what that means except that maybe I am human (which, to be honest, some people have questioned in the past--me included). I want to be the best person I can be, but, typical of my perfectionist personality, anything less than that is unacceptable. Even more, who I am tends to limit my solicitation of support or perspective from others.  Just as I took on the vigil to keep my family safe at night as a child, I feel it is my responsibility to fix all my fears. (Kind of like somehow I got myself into this mess, whatever it is, so I must get myself out.) But unlike storms that eventually dissipate, these fears multiply. While the light of day does much to quiet them, once the shadows begin to creep in, it is hard to dispel them. In all honesty, I wish I could vanquish these shadows, at least long enough to quiet my mind for one good night's sleep.