Words matter. What we say to ourselves, whether about ourselves, our lives, or our situations, out loud or the continuous internal voice, matters. That’s why I flinch when I hear people talking about how hard something is, or that something is too hard.
But lately I’ve noticed I’ve been labeling some of my choices as “hard,”: this path is hard, reaching my goals is hard. And I catch myself judging. I tell myself to use a more uplifting word, like challenging.
As much as words matter, deep down I feel like saying that hard is really the best choice. I just don’t want to be one of those people who spend time complaining about how hard things are.
Silence usually brings answers. I’ve been able to build in 30-45 minutes of silence in my daily routines, by using the first 30 minutes of a walk in a no-electronics zone. That means no podcasts, Audible books, conversations, checking Fitbit steps. My mind has learned to puzzle out some of these mental tensions, pulling threads like unraveling a knot.
People react differently to challenges or hard situations. There are those situations someone will decide are hard and not worth trying or doing. This attitude makes it easy to stay in the comfort zone, aptly named because it is comfortable. There aren’t any hard things in the comfort zone.
Then there are others who routinely choose hard, who routinely choose to step outside the comfort zone. Why? That’s a bigger question and I may never have an answer. I am one of those people.
I choose hard. That’s me. I really don’t see another path.
When I started hiking, I bought the boots, backpack, and signed up for a local Meetup hiking group. Looking back, I had no clue what I was doing. How hard can it be to put one foot in front of the other on a trail? Yes, it was a lot more difficult that I expected, physically challenging, and so much depended on preparation. Enough water. Healthy snacks. Insect spray. The right company.
Not long after I started hiking, I began hiking solo, exploring trails in the area. Then I signed up for a weekend backpacking trip, depending on research versus experience, because I had no experience. The total anticipated mileage was 20 miles and ended up close to 23.
I had the gear because my son was a Scout. But nothing prepared me for setting up my tent in the dark because we arrived at night, hiking for 15 miles the first full day, getting lost, running out of water halfway, literally being in the middle of nowhere so that all I could do was keep walking. There was no turning back.
I was the last one in the group. I had an experienced backpacker nearby on the trail so she kept an eye on me, and we were lost together, both running out of water together.
I sang. I counted my steps to 100 and started over again, so many times. I sang more. Even now I can picture parts of the trail, remember the time I tripped and landed on my back like a turtle on its shell, the hills, the fatigue. We hiked 15 miles that first day.
When I think of my favorite hikes, it’s the hard ones. The hikes that could have really gone wrong. Getting lost in the middle of central Florida alone. Losing the trail in a Michigan blizzard alone.
Those are the hikes that convinced me I could do more.
My hiking definition doesn’t include paved trails. I prefer rustic, narrow trails deep in the woods where I won’t see anyone. I carry a backpack with water, first aid supplies, snacks, a headlamp, trekking poles, fire starter, a Sharpie pen.
Back to my silent time. When I’m silent, my inner voice speaks.
Yes, this is a hard time. It’s like a hike into the wilderness, a new trail, and a map that mostly tells me where I want to go and not necessarily how to get there. Maybe part of the map has been lost, or I just can’t read it. Then there’s bushwhacking. That means making your own trail through the wild. Does life care that I haven’t taken any bushwhacking training?
What am I talking about?
In April 2022 I left the land of employment, the comfort zone of regular paychecks, health benefits, a company credit card, and in my case, living in Arizona. I moved back to Michigan and decided it was finally time for me to follow a few dreams.
I’d been working on a book called Winning at Work. I had a friend who heard I left Arizona and he encouraged me to start my own company, to be a consultant doing what I loved versus an employee. I took the bait.
There’s so much that reminds me of that first backpacking trip. Research doesn’t equal experience. But experience has to start somewhere. Running out of water is similar to watching my finances fluctuate versus the comfort zone of direct deposit.
But just like the first time backpacking, I’m putting one foot in front of the other, sometimes feeling thirsty.
What’s more, I’m looking around just like when I hike. I see the beauty. I notice all the small details that add up to more than the sum of the big things. The rhythm of my days sustains me. I have time to work out, meditate, journal, spend time with my son. I’ve visited my family in Denver four times, two of which were client related.
I am grateful for this life I am creating.
Bushwhacking means that I committed to and published two books last fall. I’ve never done that before even though I’ve been writing seriously for more than fifteen years. My next book, Lessons in the Desert, will be in final draft by December 2023. The fiction manuscript I finished more than ten years ago will get some long overdue TLC, to be finalized and published next year.
Anyone who knows me knows I’m not even remotely a techie person. Yet, in the last few months I redesigned my website and created an online course. I’m proud of the time and work; I appreciate how much I learned about how programming works behind the scenes, but it’s not my sweet spot. I’m grateful to have a professional who helped me tie up all the loose ends when I was mentally spent.
So, yes. This is like a hard hike. I continue to choose hard. This journey will prepare me for something else in the future, another challenge, another hard trail. At some point this will all become part of a new comfort zone.
Taking on challenges and embracing hard situations doesn’t mean you have to reinvent your career or start your own business. Maybe it does, but only you know that. I’ve found the key is knowing what I want. If it feels scary or impossible, I need to decide if it’s in alignment with where I ultimately want to be. If that’s also a yes, then I look at different steps to take first. Take the first step and the next step. Keep going. When you’re climbing a big hill, remember to look back to measure your progress. You’ll be surprised at how much you’ve accomplished.
I will continue to put one foot in front of the other, looking back to celebrate how far I’ve come.