I discovered this spot a few years back. I had ran by the trail to the top – lightly traveled; hidden – many times until I realized there was, indeed, a trail to the top.
Perfect – a trail that heads upward. Nothing makes me happier than a chance to get to the very top.
Since then, I’ve come back many times, and each trip here brings something magical.
This trip – well, it was something else. To understand it, though, we have to take a few steps back.
As I write this, I find myself nearing the end of a long and difficult series of challenges, all that fall under the umbrella of the year 2020.
By this, I don’t mean to imply that all these challenges are almost over. Unfortunately, many of them have demonstrated clearly that they are firmly rooted and will only be overcome by serious efforts – and those, as much as we wish to think otherwise, take time.
What I do mean to say is that this year is coming to a close, which to me, involves the following:
- A deep hope that next year will be better
- Exhaustion from working through all that has already come my way this year
- Opportunity to enjoy the rest of this year, especially with the upcoming holidays
So much darkness. That’s been this year’s theme – with a series of horrific events turning our lives upside down, threatening the lives and livelihoods of many.
But also, so much light – because in the mix of all this chaos, I’ve found that the space created has brought forth many blessings I never thought I would experience.
So much bad. But also, so much good.
To which, I find myself consistently returning to this series of questions:
How do we navigate through all of it? When the darkness threatens to steal our attention at every moment, and yet we still have opportunity to embrace so much light in our world – how do we decide where to put our attention?
Do we turn on the news again tonight? Do we read through the numbers again? Do we keep looking at all that is burning in our world?
Or, do we turn it all off tonight? Do we instead look towards the light in our lives? Do we choose to sink into those feelings of love and joy? Do we choose laughter?
Of course, our immediate thought is that we’d all love to be able to turn away from the darkness and embrace the light.
But is turning away from the dark to hold tight to the light really always the best path forward?
We’d all love to live out the full lengths of our lives in the light. Joy and happines; laughter. That’s what we’re all after.
But the darkness exists for a reason, and if we can’t take in the information that is provided from it, then it becomes impossible to move forward.
Moving forward – that’s our goal here, and if we want to move forward into brighter days, we need to be able to understand how to navigate through both the light and the dark that is present in our lives.
Living this life in 2020 – a year I began by turning my own personal world upside down to start anew, only to enter into a world that decided to turn itself upside down – well, I’ve had a lot of experience trying to figure out how to balance the good and the bad.
Along the way, I’ve regularly found myself with this internal debate:
- With so many terrible things playing out (both to me and around me), how could I possibly focus on the bright spots – that which is still so full of life and light?
- On the flip side, I hear or read or think up this idea that we’re all familiar with (thank you self-help books): that joy is an internal process. It’s not that which happens to you that really matters – it’s how you respond. You always have the ability to choose joy.
This second one sounds great. Often, I try to follow it. Sometimes it works.
Most of the time, though, I find that it’s a load of b.s.
Because of this, I’ve been working on my own process. I didn’t develop it from scratch – I borrowed tidbits from ancient philosophy and current experts in dealing with tough challenges.*
This past weekend, this trip to my backyard wilderness helped me refine this process – to see it clearly play out right before my very eyes.
But first, a little context.
This summer I watched online as footage showed smoke rising from Weaver’s Needle, a rather glorious spire rising 1,000 feet off the ground below it. Weaver’s Needle stands as a beacon in the middle of the Superstition Wilderness. It welcomes me from a distance each time I drive into the valley. As I go out into the mountains surrounding the valley, I’m always joyed to see it peaking out in this distance.
This summer though, I watched, tears streaming down my face, as I saw this wondrous beacon burn.
I cried for the needle. I cried for the surrounding landscape. I’ve seen what happens when the desert burns. The site is hard to witness.
Mostly, though, I cried for the saguaros. The desert is robust. It comes back quickly. These hillsides will be green again soon. These giants, though – it takes over a century for nature to craft these. Seeing the carcass of a saguaro – knowing that what once stood in front of me has stood for generations before me. That it will take a minimum of decades for these hillsides to hold a scattering of saguaros again… That pain goes deep.
I’m no stranger to fire. When I was 6 years old, my home town forest burned down, along with a good portion of town. At the same time that I was learning to spell basic words, I learned the devastation of fire.
During evacuation, the grown ups gathered around the t.v., watching as the fire moved through town, creeping closer and closer to my grandma’s house (stopping, thankfully, at her back gate).
When we returned, we drove through the town. Images of the ruins that days before had been people’s homes are burned into my mind to this day. We drove down a street that both my parents had, strangely, grown up on (not at the same time). I got to see both of these houses – now heaps of ashes.
Returning for the final week of school that year, I learned my newlywed kindergarten teacher and her new husband had lost their brand new home. Later on, many of the kids I would grow up with had lost all belongings.
And the forest – the green and gold that gave our town our school colors… that was gone for the duration of my time in school back home, and has never fully returned.
A decade after this first fire, I watched 150,000 acres – what was seemingly the rest of our forest – go up in flames. The mountains around me continued their metamorphosis from thick ponderosa to an openness filled with small aspens and shrubs.
Now, this year, I’ve witnessed as more land than I could possibly imagine has gone up in flames. Some of it, large and significant pieces of my favorite outdoors. Some, like much of the west coast, I’ve never visited, but it hurts just the same. I know the cost of this destruction.
So when it comes to days like this one, when I feel deeply the pain of the destruction around me, well, what am I to do?
Coming here today might’ve been a bad idea. I wasn’t sure what I would expect.
The burn scar hit me hard. It started even before I hit the trailhead. Since the beginning of my run 2.5 hours ago, it’s been hard to look away from.
Sitting here, now, staring off at the needle – the diagonal line that cuts through, defining a charred landscape on one side – it is impossible to ignore.
And yet, all around me, life still stands. The magic of the superstitions still surrounds me – the green mossy faces of the orange walls still glow in the sunlight. Tadpoles are turning into frogs in a clear and flowing pond. Many saguaros still stand – some arising from a ground filled with greenery; others – survivors – still arise out of a black and dead earth beneath them.
So much life remains.
And then, I turn my head just a bit further, and there it is again. Another burn scar. This one, cut across the entire mountainside. I’ve had plans to run that ridgeline for years now. Should’ve gotten that done last year.
2020 has been a lot of things, but one defining feature is that we are witnessing the world around us burn down at a rate that is far from normal.
So, what are we to do? Do we do our best to get outside and enjoy what’s left while it’s still here? Do we keep our attention away from the ashes and focus on what’s still green?
I’m still working on that answer, and I’m sure I always will be.
But, on the day I sat at one of my favorite spots and looked out on this view, here’s what is crystal clear to me:
You can’t ignore the burn scar. It’s there, right in front of you. You have to look directly at it, and as you do, all the emotions that go with it – you have to feel those fully.
You can try to skip that step. You can do what those self help books do – the power of attention and positive thinking. Recognize the darkness, but choose to look away at the light that is always within you.
But, I’ve found that’s a load of b.s.
If you don’t take a good look at what’s burning in front of you, it doesn’t just go away. And often, what happens instead, is it grows, and as it does the pain and destruction multiplies and intensifies. Whatever forces are at play are going to remain at play until you take a good enough look.
Along the same lines, if you don’t feel those feelings that arise when you look at it – if you choose to ignore those – numb them our or tuck them away for another time – they’re not going to go away. Instead, they sit. They fester. Then, they pop up when you least want them to.
So, we begin by taking a good look and feeling everything that comes up – fully.
Got it? That’s the first piece.
Once you’ve done the shitty part – you’ve looked at the charred ruin in front of you, and you’ve felt through what it awakens inside you – well, now here’s where the magic happens.
Now, my friend, you’re free to choose.
Here, you can now choose to turn away. Now, you can choose to look at the spots that are full of life. There’s so much good here. You can now take time to experience it completely. Want to feel joy? Go find it. Embrace it.
Alternatively, you can choose to keep looking right at the dark spots.
I know, why the hell would you want to do that? It’s painful. It feels terrible.
There’s a good reason.
Because, the thing is – those dark spots – they tell us something. Often, there’s a story behind them that needs deeper understanding – an understanding that only comes with a greater unfolding. Often, there’s a problem that needs to be solved – and, will only be solved, if we keep giving it the attention it needs.
Where your attention goes each time there’s a fire burning in front of you – that’s your choice. Those self-help books are correct to an extent: we do always have the power to look away from the darkness and embrace the light.
But, as you choose, just remember, that we also have to live through what follows. Sometimes, the path to a greater future is to turn away and take care of our own hearts. Sometimes, what we need is more light in our lives right now.
Often times though, this isn’t the path forward. Often, the path forward is to take a good look at that darkness. To see it clearly. To feel it fully – for all that it is, and will continue to be, until we understand it and take the right course of action to address it.
To me, 2020 has been a series of cycles of darkness and light… the best of times, the worst of times.
And, unfortunately, the darkness that has arisen – it has shown to be darkness that stems from problems that run deep. These challenges – they are not just going away. They need our strong attention.
Because of this, these days, I make sure I take a good, long look at the darkness. Later on, when I want to be done and get on with the good, I see if I have enough left inside me to go back and take another good look.
I don’t do this because I want to feel these hard feelings. It’s not enjoyable nor pleasant nor anything that resembles light. I do this because that’s the only way I see these tough challenges being addressed. It’s not exactly fun. But, it’s the reality I’ve found myself in, in this year that is 2020.
So many burn scars. So many fires still blazing.
And yet, still so much light just waiting to shine through. Which means, when the time is right, I sure as hell make sure to take a good long bath in the light of this life.
Because that’s what we’re really all after. Life and light and joy. It’s here. It’s always surrounding us.
Will we do the hard work – look directly at it and feel those hard feelings – that will enable us to reach it?
I describe this process in my free guide. Get it here.
Note*
This process I’ve been working on is a compilation and refinement of the wisdom that others have brought into this world. Two particular categories come together to helo me craft it.
On the one side, is ancient wisdom that comes to us as yoga philosophy – chiefly, the idea that the path through life begins by recognizing that which is true, being mindful to separate this from the stories we create about it. From there, a long road can continue, but it begins, simply, by recognizing the truth of what is right in front of you.
On the other, is modern wisdom that has arisen from modern day thinkers and even well-done science. I’ve read and heard interviews from many amazing authors who have created their own processes. Brene Brown and Glennon Doyle have been my compass this year (2020), and if you’re looking for stories of those navigating light and dark, they are a great place to begin. If you’d love to learn some fantastic strategies that arise from strong data, I recommend checking out Brene’s Brown’s work.