Realisation and Moving Forward - the gold in acceptance
In this moment there’s nothing much you can do but sit here and accept the fact you’re not going anywhere. “Knew you’d do something stupid like this, twat!” You hear the voice think - as the cold temperature of the sludgy wet snow seeps through your waterproof salopettes. It’s all you can focus on, the numbing sharpness, you know you can’t get a wet arse straight away but the longer you sit here the more you realise it’s all downhill from here. Thing is, you wish you were heading down this hill as planned but the only way you’re getting down is via a rescue. The situation is pretty hopeless.
It’s easy to be harsh on yourself right now. The narrative is bleak because the outlook is bleak. You’re not even thinking about the physical pain you’re experiencing because you’re too busy telling yourself you ‘should’ have done things better. It’s really easy to hear that disparaging voice - the part of the brain that consistently cries out “told you” and “why didn’t you listen to everyone when they said be careful.” You never really understand why that warning always comes because being careful feels like being boring or worse yet bored. What does “be careful” actually mean? You’ve always felt like it’s more for the people saying it to you than something for you to consider. It reminds you of your mate's father technique, he won’t have anyone tell his twin boys to “be careful” - it’s like poison to their 2 year old growing brains. He would much rather inform them of the potential pitfalls, consequences and joys and let them weigh up the pros and cons themselves. Then you realise how much you’ve also learned from his father techniques way before he was a dad. A nice little wave of gratitude flows over you as you join yourself back in the moment and notice your arse is fully numb.
This is a personal experience of acceptance. Your arse may well be numb, your collarbone or any other bone may well be broken - everything is shite right now, not one person is going to deny you that - but, everything is shit except you and you can accept that. With practice.
There’s many situations where you’ve been on the receiving end of what feels like shit luck, bad turns and dealt terrible hands. It almost feels like it’s in your nature, it’s part of who you are. It’s why the question “is this it?” Is always present in almost everything you do and achieve. This moment is obviously one of those. As birthdays go, “you won’t forget this one in a while”, your dad messages you - you know he means well - “well, yeah, more than any spent with you, cock” you think. You’re allowed to be a bit aggy right now sitting in a French hospital surrounded by bodies donning wheelchairs, crutches and beds. Floppy bodies that have also been victim to the mountains ability to fuck you up.
Shakespeare beautifully used the metaphor “All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players.” These limp sorry faces in here showing pure melancholy are looking like the mountain stormed the stage and kicked all the cunts into the band pit. It did, you included, and the morphine pen you were given while your arse was going numb is making you think some mad shit. Right now you feel sorry for yourself because the mountain doesn’t give a fuck about your skills on a pair of carbon fibre sticks or whether it’s ruined your holiday. All the metaphors, similes and cliches for life wash and rinse in your mind - morphine high - as the dr returns and delivers the final blow to your sorry state, “yeah, you’ve broken your clavicle in 3 places… unlucky pal”, he obviously didn’t say that last bit but you feel like he wanted to. That’s your brain adding bits because right now it’s pouring out from the negative narrative tap without a care for a water bill. The physical numbness of your arse on the sludgy snow and now your whole body of the glorious effects of the morphine pen are mimicked in your brain as an emotion as you just stare into space while the doctor reels off the options, “you should have been more careful…” is the only bit you manage to catch.
To be careful is to not be bold. Being careful is an excuse to yourself. “You should be more careful” may as well be “you should be falling in line”. It’s going with the grain because almost everyone else does. It’s why people see solo climbing and free diving as a selfish thing to do. It’s not ‘the norm’ and the world’s players don’t like that. Your brain doesn’t like that - it’s not in the comfortable state it relishes. No one goes around trying to fuck themselves up. The choices you make are designed to push yourself not purposely harm yourself. The irony is that although the brain desires its most comfortable setting for you it thrives in the uncomfortable, it’s where all the good stuff happens. It’s that runners high when your body’s in a dark place, that feeling of flow in a pressurised situation and that adrenaline rush skiing to the bottom of the mountain in rough conditions. Until you don’t and break your collarbone which is when everyone and your brain pile in with “..should have been more careful.”
Not all choices are good ones, you can grant yourself that, but if your brain is in a decent place and not pouring from the negative narrative tap on full blast you will notice you have acceptance as a powerful tool.
You somehow manage to get back to the apartment carrying all the ski kit that was dumped outside with you once you paid the bill. You’re feeling at your worst right now. Morphine’s wearing off, your arm is fuming at you because it’s stuck to your rib cage for the foreseeable and your holiday and birthday is ruined. You’re on your own and the negative narrative tap turns from metaphor to physical tears. Flooding, because right now that’s all you can do. At this point it’s hard to accept anything other than how dog shit life is right now. But that’s the point, start right there, of course everything’s shit it wasn’t supposed to be like this and everyone’s ready to let you know that. You are sitting on the fancy balcony with the French alps in front of you and you realise how tiny you actually are and how insignificant you are to those beautiful mountains. You roll a joint, cry and sit staring at the paragliders dancing between the distant peaks because there’s nothing much you can do but sit here and accept the fact that you aren’t going anywhere.
