Into the Unknown

I can’t stop staring.

Taking pictures.

The novelty is not wearing off, and being close to such magnificence makes me giddy. I’m drawn toward them. Pulled by some invisible force.

I’m sure those of you who know me well are rolling your eyes thinking, we get it Kat, you love truck stops. But that’s not what I’m taking about.

Not this time.

Every morning, I don’t even have to lift my head off the pillow.

I open my eyes, and see Mt. Whitney.

The Eastern side of the Sierra’s literally just emerge, grow thousands of feet straight up and tower over us. It’s stark, dramatic, rugged, and I love it.

Which is why, when I had a little freak out yesterday, I was caught off guard.

Since quitting my job, that “push,” whatever it was that made me show up no matter what, has not left. It’s helped me start writing freelance, get out of my comfort zone – it’s not all bad. But it’s with me. Telling me I need to do more. Telling me I have to keep going, every day and can’t stop, can’t take a day off. The last thing it wants is for me to stop because it doesn’t trust that I’ll be able to start up again.

Like I’m some old tractor or something.

And as I move into this new experience, it’s starting to ramp up.

Nature has always been a spot where I become fully relaxed, fully present. It almost feels as though I blend in with whatever environment I’m in, becoming somewhat a part of it.

Before this, I could fully immerse myself in nature. Knowing that when Monday came, I’d be back in the office. Now though, this environment is my office. I don’t know how to fuse these two together, and the anxiety part – that push to keep working and not waste time – is dominating.

Which is where I found myself yesterday.

Until I checked it.

As I write this, I see Whitney. I see boulders coming up from the sandy soil. The wind and elements have shaped many to look like butts and other body parts; I’m being mooned by three right now through the side window.

The skies are blue, and there are these teeny-tiny wildflowers that have the audacity to grow in this dry environment. They don’t care.

And I guess I’m growing here as well.

It is incredible and open, and I don’t want to miss any of this, nor do I want to taint it with anxiety about something that, given time, I will figure out.

I need to trust myself.

I need to listen to myself.

I spent a lot of my life not listening to this aspect of myself. So when I try to now, I’m not sure what I’m hearing. And (like any rational person) put my energy into freaking out about what scares me. I cater to it instead of investigating it, seeing it for what it is.

Staring at the mountains reminds me, this is so much bigger. The thick dark clouds that dramatically appear at the peaks eventually pass.

Life goes on.

I’ll have to keep checking myself. I’m a little slow sometimes, and the ‘ah hah’ moment has to be had many ways before it eventually takes hold.

I guess being aware of it is a good place to start.

If you’re ever in a similar situation remember: when trying something new, it’s going to be uncomfortable. You’ll figure it out though. Don’t give anxiety or worry undue attention.

Don’t let them tarnish this amazing life.