Right now, I’m feeling pretty great. After a couple of rough weeks trying to get back into city life, I feel like I have found my (reggae) rhythm. Every mountaineer knows the post-expedition haze, a several week depression feeling like life is meaningless. I mean, I was just climbing in this incredible place… And now I have to go to math class? It was hard at first, but between lots of text conversations with Melissa, regular trips to the climbing gym, and planning more expeditions, I am starting to feel a bit more at home.
Okay, now I will get on to the topic of what this post is really about. For those of you who are climbers, you probably cracked a smile at the title and read on, hoping to figure out the backstory. For those of you who don’t climb, thank you for giving me the benefit of the doubt and clicking on that seemingly non-sensical title. Here is the explanation: technical rock climbs are graded on a scale, from 5.1-5.15, but the climb I embarked on was something outside the realm of conventional. Now, on to the real story.
Much to my excitement, my house was scaffolded on Friday. It is getting repainted, which requires a ground-top exterior skeleton comprised of wood and metal. I invited my friend (and absolutely crusher climber) Sam to come put up a “first ascent” with me. So on Saturday night, when the majority of high schoolers were at prom, we climbed to the top of my house, over the chimney, down, around, across, and up again, time after time. The wood planks were not the sturdiest, so it took a certain measure of agility and finesse to not take the express route down. With the cool San Francisco air gently prickling my arms, and the steady sway of the trees beside me, I felt so confident. Confident that I would climb again in Nepal, yes. Confident that I would follow my passion, yes. But more importantly, confident that I could figure out how to keep myself happy, wherever I was. Even if that meant using “up” as commonly a direction as left and right.