Earlier today I was engaged in conversation with an acquaintance who knows little about climbing. By lack of knowledge regarding climbing, I mean not only the act of physical ascent up rock, ice, what have you, but also the process of gallantly running into those unknown chasms and darkened caves that exist within us all. She knows little about the intention of learning and bettering one's self through such process. In this regard, she is novice, with nary an inkling as to why one would ever seek out moments which afford the possibility to dip those metaphorical toes into the wild waters of life. She would say she is content with her life; I would postulate she actually means 'complacent.' But it is fallacy to assume I am any better or wiser than her.
Our conversation was triggered upon her happening upon my reading this month's edition of Climbing Magazine, wherein the deaths of Charlie Fowler (1954-2006) and Christine Boskoff (1967-2006) made the cover and headline story within. My friend's query to me was why anyone would needlessly undertake such risky behaviors such as climbing in order to feed what she might as well of called an insatiable appetite for adrenaline. Her main premise revolved around the suffering of those family members and friends left behind by 'two selfish people' who cared more about their quest for glory than about the preciousness of and value of life. To this, I kindly engaged, and we danced and walked all possible paths two people can venture over an hour's worth of coffee.
I'll spare the details of the conversation -- though not for lack of respect that much is gained in the details. Details see us through, step by step like some elaborate algorithm designed for all life's problems and how best to conclude them. The bigness though, the overall magnitude and overwhelming drive is what we ponder each and every day: where best is our place in life? If our lives are such that the best place for us happens to be enveloped in adventure, does one need to risk it all in order to achieve fulfillment? The simple answer to this is, of course, an emphatic "yes!"
Adventure is a remarkable thing! --It need not have a precise location; nor does it entail some requisite labeling of one's place in geography or one's purpose for being there at all. Adventure lives as much within the body and mind as it does in the external capacity of reality. This is the beauty and uniqueness of adventure: that it lives in the armchair traveler as much as it does in those actively roaming the wilds.
Unbidden reality beckons us all to join the dance of life. Connection with reality is the simplest action a person can aspire to: it takes only awareness of one's situation, and the capacity to understand how integral they are to the whole of it all. Wondrous adventures abound daily, whether through some vivid and untamed passionate exchange with others, or through the introspective ascent towards understanding whom it is we call ourselves. And as we either grasp fully or even suspect, life truly is most captivating when engaged completely.
As climbers, both in respects to those tangible surfaces we ascend and those ethereal moments we grapple within our minds, no matter how we chose to ascend we confront reality on reality's terms. This is how we learn who we are and what it is which moves us. We learn that it is something extraordinary, running towards our greatest fears and not away from them. We understand it is all too easy and common to perform those latter motions; that it is all too refreshing and clean to accomplish the former. Impeccable style in life arises from consciousness of one's position and place, and a willingness to accept complete responsibility for occupying such a space. There exists no excuses or failures in life. The construct of failure is measured only by the fallacy of success. If success were to be something tangible, it would be so only in this fleeting moment, and exist only as ever-changing awareness. Success is the knowledge that we are in the perfect place, with perfect company, and that we are here by our own design, not through haphazard chance. Travesty is success by any other measure
... By conversation's end, the recurring theme within was no further advanced, and the question remained disputable -- which is in itself beautiful: How does one define life? If by life we mean the simple act of breathing in and breathing out, day in and day out, then life would be suitable as to see us planted in the ground: no movement, no growth, no change of perspective and no questions arising throughout the process of living. But we are not stagnant, nor are any aspects of life. And as conscious beings, we have perhaps the greatest thing imaginable at our disposal: we have dreams. We all have dreams. Remember what it is to dream?
While I concluded the prodding and poking at my friend's apparent lack of motivation towards change in her life, and then applied the finishing strokes of thought by articulating what climbing means to me, I realized how much I had grown from simply having such conversation with her. Through conversing, I had also been climbing; through our connection, I attained a certain level of growth within myself. And though we never agreed, save to disagree, I felt enormous concurrence with life itself.
Perhaps the most striking thing about the article in Climbing was a thought that swelled within my heart as I read, a thought that grew until my heart nearly burst with joy. Although no one will ever know the exact details of their deaths, one thing is as certain as certainty itself: last December, while most everyone else on the planet went about their day in typical ho-hum fashion, Charlie Fowler and Christine Boskoff trekked on together in a place of unimaginable beauty: beautiful not only in the tangible aesthetics of their surroundings, but beautiful in that they chose to embrace a life void of fear, and fully aware of their choice to do so. They climbed in body and in mind. They embraced a deep and moving love for life, for one another, and possessed the clarity on how best to allow this love to continue to grow. They followed their hearts to those wild realms, creating a reality most befitting their desires, yes, but more importantly, one perfectly in harmony with their hearts' desires. And they never looked back. Charlie and Christine lived clean; but perhaps best of all, they died immaculate. We all should strive to create such harmony in our lives! I, for one, would rather live a single day spent chasing dreams than live a thousand years completely devoid of passion and the courage to chase those halcyon, wild moments.
Post Script: If you would like to read more about the extraordinary lives of Charlie Fowler and Christine Boskoff... CLICK HERE to get started.
