I was at the airport looking for something to read on the plane and found a beautifully written book called Wild, by Cheryl Strayed. The book is about the author's solo hike over 1,000 miles of the Pacific Crest Trail from the Mojave Desert to Washington State when she was 26 years old. I thought it would be an interesting book because it is about an outdoor adventure, but also because it describes the author's search for healing after the loss of her mother. I was right.
Last year, I watched the documentary The Runner about David Horton, a hardcore runner who did a 2,700 mile run of the PCT in 66 days so I had some idea of what the trail would be like from the perspective of a competitive ultra-runner. The film showed Horton crossing desert, snow and gushing rivers and dealing with the blisters and pain of running long distances every day. Horton is an extreme athlete who trains to run long distances so he was well prepared and also had a support team to supply provisions along the way. Strayed, on the other hand, didn't train for her 1,000 mile journey and did not anticipate how difficult it would be to hike long distances every day for weeks at a time. A friend mailed provisions and cash to post offices along her route but she was woefully unprepared in many ways.
Early in the book, Strayed described her preparations to embark on her journey. She had purchased backpacking supplies from REI but had not pre-filled her backpack to check its weight prior to starting her hike. The water she carried weighed about 24 pounds alone. I don't know how much the loaded pack weighed, but I would guess maybe 70 pounds because she said it was more than half her body weight. She hilariously describes being unable to even lift the backpack off the ground once she stuffed it with all the things she thought she needed for her adventure (a change of clothes, a thick fleece anorak, gloves, a couple of hats, rain pants, a two week supply of food, sleeping bag, camp chair, water purifier, collapsible stove, books and more). She finally sat in front of the backpack, strapped it on, rocked herself up onto her hands and knees and did a sort of dead lift to stand up "hunching in a remotely upright position."
The overloaded back pack, which Strayed eventually named "Monster," made it extremely tough for her to go the distance she intended to go every day. She carried more weight than her body was capable of handling without a lot of pain. Even the men she met on the trail were astounded that she was carrying such a heavy pack. Eventually, a more experienced hiker on the trail offered to go through her pack and help her eliminate the stuff she could really do without.
While I couldn't relate to many of the personal choices the author made while living on the Wild side, I can relate to her struggle to figure out her relationship with her mother. Like Strayed, I spent my childhood planning not to become my mother. When my mom would say to me and my sisters, "Wait till you have six (or seven or eight) kids," I would say to myself, No way! That's not the life I want. I'm going to make smart choices about money. I'm going to have a career, not a series of low-paying jobs. I'm going to have a loving, respectful marriage. I'm not going to make the mistakes you made!
On the day that would have been her mother's 50th birthday, Strayed was finally able to see her mother as a complete person, as "an intricately painted mural," with perfect and imperfect aspects. It took me many years to come to that realization about my own mother. And while I chose a completely different path in life than my own mom, in some ways, I did become her after all. I became gentle and kind and generous and learned to accept people for who they are, even if it is not who I want them to be.
Cheryl Strayed's journey in the wilderness was a life changing adventure. I can't imagine being brave enough or foolish enough to backpack alone. Fortunately, I live close enough to the Rocky mountains that I can do day hikes and not spend the night listening to coyotes howl. It's a great way to clear your head.
Early in the book, Strayed described her preparations to embark on her journey. She had purchased backpacking supplies from REI but had not pre-filled her backpack to check its weight prior to starting her hike. The water she carried weighed about 24 pounds alone. I don't know how much the loaded pack weighed, but I would guess maybe 70 pounds because she said it was more than half her body weight. She hilariously describes being unable to even lift the backpack off the ground once she stuffed it with all the things she thought she needed for her adventure (a change of clothes, a thick fleece anorak, gloves, a couple of hats, rain pants, a two week supply of food, sleeping bag, camp chair, water purifier, collapsible stove, books and more). She finally sat in front of the backpack, strapped it on, rocked herself up onto her hands and knees and did a sort of dead lift to stand up "hunching in a remotely upright position."
The overloaded back pack, which Strayed eventually named "Monster," made it extremely tough for her to go the distance she intended to go every day. She carried more weight than her body was capable of handling without a lot of pain. Even the men she met on the trail were astounded that she was carrying such a heavy pack. Eventually, a more experienced hiker on the trail offered to go through her pack and help her eliminate the stuff she could really do without.
On the day that would have been her mother's 50th birthday, Strayed was finally able to see her mother as a complete person, as "an intricately painted mural," with perfect and imperfect aspects. It took me many years to come to that realization about my own mother. And while I chose a completely different path in life than my own mom, in some ways, I did become her after all. I became gentle and kind and generous and learned to accept people for who they are, even if it is not who I want them to be.
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| One of my early Non-Mom "role models" |
- The first rule above is also known as the big rocks of life allegory.
- As far as I know, there is no mothernature.com and if it existed on the web, I would look for it at .org anyway!
- Through all of life's journeys and struggles, I am never really alone for the Lord is my Shepherd. He restores my soul!
If we were to strip away the ways in which we emulate our parents, and then the ways in which we reject them, I wonder what would be left of ourselves? I like to think that my worst has never been as bad as Mom and Dad, but at my best I haven't been as good either. You know, we'll never know what our parents went through growing up. I'm sure Mom was traumatized as much or perhaps more by her upbringing as we were by ours. Poverty has a way of leaving scars that never heal.
ReplyDeleteThe author actually described her mother's life as "an intricately painted mural" rather than an intricate portrait so I updated my post - her wording is better because a mural can have a lot of things in the background.
ReplyDeleteDavid - I think there is a lot about Mom's childhood that I/we don't know anything about. I think Grandpa was a lot tougher as a father than our Dad was. I also think personality has a lot to do with it. Two people can go through similar childhood experiences like poverty but react completely differently as adults. In any case, it is good when you finally figure out as an adult that your parents did the best they could and that they did the most important thing, which is letting you know that you were loved.
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