Looming Mountains

Climb those mountains when they appear, and seek shelter when they don't.

Mt. Rainer and Night Sky

Mt. Rainer, the highest peak in Washington State, is visible from my neighborhood.

When we first moved here about a year ago, we had no idea the view was there. This is because when it's cloudy, the entire mountain is covered and completely hidden from sight. Note: it's cloudy a LOT in the Pacific Northwest.

Then one clear day, BAM! All of the sudden, there was this larger-than-life, majestic mountain appearing on the horizon. We were shocked that we hadn't noticed it until then. I'm still stunned by it every time we drive by when the sun is shining.

One of my favorite things about taking an intuitive approach to art is having little expectation of the end picture. Instead, the focus is simply observing where the process leads and then going with it. It's such a fascinating, cathartic experience. There's no pressure to replicate or recreate; no specific tool or technique needed; no set of rules to follow. It's all about the experience: observing what forms in front of you and then playing with it until it feels complete. Often when a piece is finished, I see something that I would not have been able to pull off creating if I'd been trying to. It's almost like watching the clouds part to discover a mountain behind them.

Fittingly enough, mountains have been appearing in my artwork lately. I haven't been making them intentionally. After stepping away from a completed piece for a time, I come back, and amazingly, there they are. They were there the whole time.

I don't know what Freud would say about my mountain sightings (actually I'd probably rather not know--frankly his theories seem a little whack). My own, uneducated self-analysis instead has me thinking about the goals and ambitions in my life that seem out of reach. My mountains. These are giant, looming dreams that are breathtakingly beautiful when viewed from afar, while also being horribly daunting. The distance to get there alone is far, the climb difficult and treacherous. So many unknowns, So many hazards. Oh, and there's the risk of not making it to the top at all.

Naturally, it would be easier just to observe from afar, wondering what it would be like to scale the heights instead of actually taking the first step. But the peaks call to come closer. The whispered invitation is to resign from being a distant observer and become a climber instead; to plant your feet on its soil to experience pain and risk and growth instead of comfort, stagnancy, and regret.

Today I'm feeling pretty discouraged about how big these mountains are. Defaulting to the "stay put" setting is easy. Maybe right now it doesn't make sense to run off climbing mountains. Simply put, I'm tired. I was up for half the night with my kindergartener, who was puking on the hour. My toddler has a cold but is full of energy, leaving a coat of slimy snot on top of his usual trails of destruction. (He's also just figured out how to open doors, heaven help us all.) My second grader is defiant and sassy and probably needs more of my attention. My to-do list of household projects gets longer instead of shorter, some of my "good" ideas are more complicated than I'd anticipated, projects I've been working on aren't turning out, and I doubt my talent and abilities. I also went from feeling successful as a parent last week to feeling like I'm failing my kids.

Generally, since starting on this journey, I've been positive and focused on the joy of the journey. It's truly been wonderful. Today though, I'm being rained on by my inadequacies, and my focus is on the mud. I'm overwhelmed enough without lofty dreams, how can I climb a freaking mountain? Is it really worth trying?

Deep down, I know it's just one of those dreary days that are a part of being a human being. Life experience has taught me that the clouds always part and the sun shines again, eventually. So, I've taken some time as I've been typing this up to reflect on how far I've come in the past three months in order to get my mind off the uncomfortable dampness.

I've made progress on this climb! It might not seem like all that much to some, but I'm proud of it. Even the idea of my previously taken steps once felt overwhelming and daunting. But I took them, and I learned, and I grew. My pace is slow, but I'm still moving forward. I know in hindsight it won't matter that some days I covered a lot of ground and other days were backtracking. In reality, making it to the top won't even matter as much if I haven't enjoyed the process. It won't matter as much if I don't make it to the top, either, if I enjoy the trying. Nothing has to be in vain.

Phew. I'm glad we've had this little pep talk. I feel a lot better. Now go take a step toward that mountain of yours. Writing this post was one step to mine. Time will tell whether or not it was worth it to give the toddling slimer a box of crackers, a full box of tissues, and full access to the pantry in order to type this up. If instead of mountain climbing you just need to hunker down and find shelter from the rain today, that's okay too. I totally understand. I'll cross my fingers that the sun will shine on you again soon, making your path upwards clear again.

Update: Jury's still out--