Kiss it Better

Check it out- my first guest post on one of my favorite blogs:  Kiss it Better: Canffirmations

Gut feelings, compasses, and course corrections just in the nick of time

When I was a teenager, I worked summers at a Boy Scouts of America camp nestled right between Teton and Yellowstone National Parks.  I have always loved the outdoors, so the nine weeks I spent each summer living in pristine forests were heaven.  One of my favorite jobs at the camp was as a back country guide to groups of scouts and their leaders.  We had to be well versed in a lot of skills- group management and motivation, first aid, survival skills, and winging it.  We offered a unique hike that started in our camp and ended 5 miles away on a peak that offered a vantage of the Grand Teton Mountain Range and surrounding areas.  This was one of my favorite hikes.  In the early summer there was enough snow left on Survey Peak to slide on; later in the summer the meadow at the base of the mountain was full of wildflowers. The hike itself was mystical- we hiked through evergreen forests that appeared untouched- trees towering overhead, shafts of light shining through, and pristine mountain streams were to be found everywhere.  It remains one of my favorite hikes, except. . .

. . . it terrified me every time.  There is no trail that leads to Survey Peak from camp.  We got to the peak by taking a compass bearing and trying to stay true to that bearing while hiking through deep forest with no distinguishable landmarks to reference.  If you aren't careful, hiking by compass bearing can get you lost quickly without you realizing it.  When I guided hikes on trails, we would occasionally venture off trail to explore and getting back on course was easy- you just headed back in the direction you came till you found the trail again.  On the trip to Survey Peak, if you got lost, you likely wouldn't know you were lost till hours had passed and you hadn't reached the destination.  We were constantly scanning for landscape features that would indicate our position relative to the camp or the peak, but it was an inexact science to say the least.

On one trip to Survey, I was with a group of other experience staff members.  On our return trip, we got the feeling that we were off a bit in our bearing, but because of the thick canopy of trees we couldn't really verify the feeling by observing the surrounding landscape.  We started paying attention to every clue the landscape could offer- the slope and grade of the ground, clearings in the canopy we could use to get a view of the landscape- anything, but in the end, all we had was a gut feeling that we were significantly off course.  We had guessed that we had been drifting to the east as we traveled from the peak back to camp, but we couldn't be sure- without knowing if we had drifted or by how much we had drifted, we couldn't determine how to correct our course.

Going off the group-gut-feeling-consensus we determined that we would adjust our bearing to compensate for an eastward drift over an estimated distance of 3 miles.  If we were correct, after about 30 minutes of travel we would run into the valley the camp was in, or we would be horribly lost.  Fortune was on our side and we soon emerged on the far end of the valley from camp and were able to get back safely.  Without the course correction- we would have overshot the camp and gone approximately 4 extra miles before we hit the road that would have told us we were off course.

This story comes to mind when I am confronted with the realization that life has been off course, out of whack, unbalanced, chaotic, overwhelming, or otherwise less than ideal.  I frequently see people (myself included) come to this realization and determine: "That was a wasted trip- time to start over from the beginning so I can get it right this time."  If we had taken that logic on the hike, we would have been able to find where to start from again, but there would have been no guarantee of a different outcome.  It's easy to get hung up on the "right", "easiest", or "best" way to do things.  When I am focused on whether or not I am making the journey the "right" way, I tend to discount the value in the ground I have already covered.  A course correction- no matter where it happens in the journey- is a sign that I am paying attention, open to feedback, and in tune with my best self.

Surrender. . . to the River

In working with addicts of all kinds, the question frequently comes up: "What does it mean to 'surrender'?"  The concept of surrender is integral to 12 step programs and when understood and applied can be an extremely potent skill for riding out cravings, managing painful emotions, gaining perspective in relationships, and approaching healing.

When I was about 14, my family, immediate and extended, took a day trip down the Green River near Moab, Utah.  At this point in my life, a half day trip on a river was the coolest thing I had ever been invited to be a part of so naturally, I was going to be on the coolest, most adventurous boat in the group.  As I remember, my boat was filled with my teenage siblings and cousins and my newly-wed uncle and his wife- our guide was also young. . . and inexperienced- it was her first run on that stretch of river.

Near the end of the day, we approached the biggest rapid of our trip.  I don't know how rapids are rated, but I had the distinct impression this would be a pretty intense stretch- there may have even been some mention of people who had died on this rapid earlier in the season because they didn't listen to their guide.  I know now that whether or not that was true it was to serve as a warning- to a boat of young adventure seekers, it served as an invitation to be even more adventurous and wild than we had been.

As we neared the rapid, our guide reminded us again of how important it would be to follow her instructions- we even practiced digging, holding water, and turning in the final moments before we hit the turbulent water.  I noticed as we started into the rapid, we were not going where the other boats were going, instead of riding to one side of a particularly big swell, we went right over the top of it.  There must have been a sink hole on the other side of the crest in the river because I recall suddenly being pulled into the middle of the raft and almost as immediately being flung from the center out.  I had water in my face and was trying to stay on the pontoon. It was beginning to get scared as I saw most of my fellow passengers fly past me into the water.  I later found out that the guide had been thrown from the boat as well.  I don't remember a lot about what I was thinking in the moment, only that as I was struggling to stay in the boat I knew that it was going to be a losing battle- I was eventually going to end up in the water whether I liked it or not.  I tightened my grip on my oar, took a deep breath and leaned back letting myself fall into the river.

That night in the hotel, my siblings and I were re-telling the adventure of the day and when it got to the part about our boat losing all of its passengers, my sister asked, "Jonny, where did you go?  I looked back once and you were there, and when I looked back again, you were gone."  I told her about leaning back and falling into the water and was met with justified laughter all around.  "You mean you just SURRENDERED. . . TO THE RIVER?"

Yes, I surrendered in the truest sense of the word - surrender is not a defeated dive into uncertainty- it is a conscious choice.  In the 12 step tradition, surrender is recommended when triggers are overwhelming, emotions are high, and the future is uncertain.  Surrender does not mean that one gives into unhealthy coping, it is not an invitation to stop fighting for recovery, health, sanity, etc., but it does mean that one stops fighting to keep pain at bay- one surrenders control over the situation and trusts in themselves, their higher power, and their support system and decides to enter the chaos willingly rather than wait to be thrown into it unexpectedly.

Surrendering to the river had some distinct advantages for me.  First, I didn't become disoriented, I knew that for a second or two, my head would be under water but that it would surface again- so often when we fight what we can't control, we are forced to be immersed in it for longer periods of time and to greater intensity than we otherwise would have.  Second, I was able to remember what I had been taught about falling into the river and I did my part in staying safe.  When I surfaced, I didn't try to swim, I leaned back in my life preserver, pointed my feet down stream and watched for rocks.  When we enter into environmental chaos in a personally chaotic state- we are often unable to act according to what we know, instead we act impulsively, recklessly, and regretfully further complicating the impact of the situation.  As I have reflected on this experience and its application to the principle of surrender, I learn that willingly entering chaos that we cannot control allows us to remain authentic- entering chaos because we simply can't fight it anymore leads us to be reactionary and rash in decision making.

The trick to surrender is more than intellectually understanding the concept- comfort and competence with such a core healing skill only comes with practice.  As I have observed in countless individuals and myself- practicing surrender is terrifying.  Perhaps another lesson is taken from the river experience- embrace the journey, expect to get wet, and tell and re-tell the story of the adventure.