I climbed a mountain last Saturday. And I don’t mean metaphorically.
I stood on the summit of Mt. Hood at 11,249 feet. Give or take a few feet.
There’s nothing like getting yourself to the top of a mountain to experience a visceral feeling of grandeur and accomplishment.
Not long after I’m off the summit, something starts to happen.
I start talking myself out of the awesomeness of it. Thinking that it doesn’t count. Enumerating the reasons why:
Lots of other people did it too. (So it can’t be that big of a deal.)
I’ve done it before. (So it wasn’t as impressive as climbing it the first time.)
I got really freaked out at one point, and had flashbacks to the last time I did this climb. (So I’m a wimp and should be over it.)
Blah, blah, blah. (So clearly, it doesn’t really count.)
I’ve noticed this pattern in other areas of my life too.
We’re old friends.
It’s cousins of But What Have You Done For Me Lately and Don’t Rest on Your Laurels. It’s part of the inspiration for my feedback sandwiches.
I’m not yet sure what to do with this pattern, other than to say Hi, I see you! I do know that now that I’m paying attention, it can’t quite happen in the same way again. And that’s a start.
Photo Credit: Mountain Shadow by Shannon Wilkinson