Switchbacks

Fear, Wisdom, and Croissants

Dear Friends —

Thanks to so many of you who have checked in to see how my spring climb is progressing. I continue to be surrounded by all kinds of the most remarkable souls who are keeping me close, even as distance and a pandemic keep most of us still separated.

I’ve had three rounds of Moxie, and the short headline here is that I’m in decent shape. Like before, my rounds are every other week and span Wednesday-Friday. Those 48 hours are grueling — a mix of terrible fatigue, low grade queasy, a sense of continuous unease. Think of it like crossing the English Channel, except the boat you’re on somehow loses its engine mid-way. You know the shore isn’t all that far off, but for the love of all things holy, all you can think of is getting to dry land. And then Friday comes, you step off the boat, and spend the weekend finding your footing. If you’re especially fortunate, you’ll find your way to a little cafe where they serve soft French croissants and celebrate another adventurous crossing.

Said another way, my steps are a bit of a grind, but all good climbs come with steep switchbacks, and these rounds happen to be mine.

Emotionally, this is a swirly chapter. Some days I’m filled with exuberant hope knowing that Ms Moxie is on the move, and hopefully holding this disease at bay. Other days, the fatigue and weight of it all is a backpack that feels simply too heavy to carry another step. Most days are a mysterious combination of both: stubborn hope mixed with a small dash of dread.

A few years ago Lucy and I read A Wrinkle in Time together. There’s a scene when Mrs Whatsit is imploring Meg, Calvin, and Charles — who are rightly terrified — to continue on their mission. She says: “Only a fool is not afraid. Now go.”

And so I keep going, as we all do. Fear is real, but it’s also a remarkable reminder about the sacredness of it all. My steps are an affirmation of life, all its messiness, swirl, surprise, and grandeur. Mostly any fear I carry is a quiet whisper about how uncommon and important these days are; only a fool would squander a chapter like this by not paying attention.

Zora Neale Hurston wrote this: “There are years that ask questions, and years that answer.” Perhaps our shared treks are a miraculous and forever conversation about what our questions and answers are teaching us, step by step, year by year.

Those of us moving through a chapter of uncertainty have the special chance to draw near to others who have trudged through similar switchbacks, and listen closely to their wisdom gained from those years that answered — grand adventures cleverly disguised as a boat bopping about on the English Channel.

There are many more Moxie rounds ahead. I’ll be paying attention throughout. I’ll also be finding spots to bivouac, and listen to as many courageous stories as I can find. Perhaps you’ll send some my way. I’ll bring the croissants and invite you to tell me the long version. We have all kinds of time.

xoxo