Al Capone

I bought my first car ever yesterday. I can hear all of you saying, “Congratulations! You’re a car owner! That’s so exciting! You have more freedom! Now you won’t get hit on while you’re riding the bus all the time!” And my roommates are simultaneously saying "Great! Now take me grocery shopping!" Don't worry, I will. And thanks guys. Really. I appreciate your support. Though I can’t say I didn’t enjoy the ample amount of attention men gave me on the bus – I’ll take what I can get. But yes, now I own a car and I have absolutely no money and I feel really…. naive.

I heard all the warnings and I vaguely understood the people who told me all car dealers get off by bargaining and overcharging. Lists and lists of advice were given to me and I took them all and forgot most of it. I wasn’t worried. Who would try to rip me off? Sweet, honest me? So I walked in alone with the mistaken confidence of a Little Leaguer playing with the Yankees. I’m an adult, guys. I can handle this myself. I mean look at me: 21 years old, fresh out of college, I have a full time job with benefits, I got a loan with no trouble even though I have no credit. Next on the list is clearly to buy a car. Put me in coach, I'm ready to play. My confidence comes from the idea that if I’m decisive, I have control. Guess what? Being confident and decisive does not guarantee good decision making.

I guess so far in life I’ve gotten by pretty well by being honest with people and I’ve learned that in relationships, being straightforward invites others to be honest as well. Apparently these rules don’t work quite as expected when you’re buying a car. I can be tough and I can say exactly what I want and not accept any other offers, but only genuinely so; not when I have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about. I’m ashamed to admit, my understanding of cars is limited to how to drive one without dying and to knowing names of things like a “timing belt” but having no clue what they do. So I walked into a deal initially thinking “This is awesome! I’m being so responsible and I’m being an adult and I did research and took care of this all by myself and now I can go grocery shopping WHENEVER I WANT and I don’t have to wake up super early to ride the bus and….” Shortly after, as I drove home from the gas station, realizing I have no more money from my first real paycheck, and realizing I forgot to screw the gas cap back on before I drove home, and as I smelt a burning rubber fume coming from the front of the car, I started to cry.  Tears of distress. Tears I’ve cried before for making out with a boy I didn’t even like. Except this boy is a car and I can’t just wake up the next morning and ignore his phone calls because I owe $4000 to drive him. I’m stuck with him for the foreseeable future and I barely learned his name…

His name is Capone by the way. Like Al Capone. Despite his potential problems and the fear I feel that he’s going to steal all my money, he has a certain amount of class. He’s a 2002 luxury Mitsubishi Diamante, with wood paneling and a smooth, powerful drive. He even looks like he has a mustache. All the reviews I read about cars like him were positive; if there ever was a loyal family car, this is it. But at what cost? And is it true? Or will I end up with a figurative horse head in my bed for taking an offer that probably should’ve been refused? Only time will tell I suppose… So far, I’ve been comforting myself by eating pretzels and cheese (my favorite combination at the moment) and by repeating to myself in the mirror “Liz, this may be a horrible mistake, but it will DEFINITELY not be the worst mistake of your life”. Oddly enough, that is comforting to me even though I have plenty more probably worse experiences than this one to go through…

I’m a firm believer that experience is the best teacher, It’s just hard to accept such a notion when I’m actually experiencing a potentially unpleasant, costly mistake. But as I told a friend about my experience, he simply said “welcome to adulthood”. I guess this is a right of passage of sorts. I can now join the, I’ve-been-hustled-by-a-car-dealer club. And I mean last night I lost my car ownership virginity which is quite a feat. Let’s just hope Capone was the guy to put out for.

I think I need to go biking.

Liz vs. Technology

It’s time for me to write about something that’s been on my mind for quite a while now. Behold, my second most greatest fear:

Yes, as it appears, I am afraid of smart phones. It is second only to my fear of being alone and it’s followed closely by my fear of the Amazon jungle (but seriously guys, the Amazon is terrifying. We don’t even know what’s in there). It’s actually not the smart phones that scare me, it’s technology. Because slowly but surely we are all going to become part of the Borg, like that poor man in the commercial. And this is a selling point for technology??? It’s supposed to be appealing to be turned into a machine like all those sci-fi movies warn against being? I just don’t quite get it

I mean… let’s think about this for a second. Or rather, let me tell you my thoughts and you laugh at me from a distance. There are cars that drive themselves. The entertainment industry can create holograms of dead people that are scarily realistic. If we can do that for entertainment, what does that mean for agencies that have entertainment as the last thing on their priority list? (e.g. the CIA). Ever heard of Google glasses? Well with those, you barely even need hands any more. Especially since your car can drive itself. And I mean has anyone even really considered touch screens??? They make no sense. Heck, computers don’t make sense. When I had a desk job sometimes I would get suddenly get hit with disbelief of the existence computer screen and would just have to stop and think about it for a few minutes. You move around this thing on a desk (called a “mouse”. What?) and a little pointer on a screen “clicks” virtual things and pulls up different images and information from ALL OVER THE WORLD. Like, I understand buttons ok? With a button I know there’s some little current of electricity traveling from one point to the other telling the electricity gods to pull up a new picture on the screen. Computers are just, like, boxes of electricity with a keyboard of buttons and somehow programmers (or electricity wizards) make the buttons mean something and turn the electricity into pictures and stuff. That makes a marginal amount of sense. But touch screens? THERE ARE NO BUTTONS! THE WHOLE DAMN THING IS BUTTON! How. Does. This. Work. I don’t know. Don’t ask me. And I mean, don’t even get me started on the internet. The internet = magic signals being sent from the earth to satellites to earth then back to space and back to earth to your smart phone. I mean….. these signals are all around us being sent back and forth FROM SPACE…. Literally. Like, stick out your hand and wave it around a bit. Guess what? You’re touching the internet! Yup that’s Google and Facebook and probably a bunch of porn websites and whole lot of other stuff at your fingertips… just floating around you and going right through your body. I mean if you could see all the stuff that’s in the air right now, it would blow your mind……

I sound like I’m on LSD.

Ok so yeah technology is pretty cool. I use it of course – I’m using it right now. Did you know the common smart phone has more computing power than the computers used to send man to the moon? Don’t completely trust that statement, I saw it on Pinterest. Technology has brought the world together (ish) and made relationships easier (maybe but not really) and made ideas more accessible (yeah). And Facebook is great to keep connected with people blah blah blah blah… I mean I can’t imagine graduating college without the interwebs. Science is cool. It’s cool that mankind creates things that make regular tasks easier. Ever heard of the cotton gin? That was pretty useful in its day right? I mean that’s all we ever talked about in middle school when the industrial revolution came up. Steam engines? Yeah ok. Cars? I sorta understand those. They have lots of wires and stuff and batteries and oil and wheels which I like. But I mean… CD’s were stretching it for me…

So I got a smart phone for Christmas. And it’s pretty cool. I’ve had a weird jealousy of people who can take a picture and instantly put it on the interwebs and now I can do it too! But I really don’t think I can handle this kind of technology. At least once a day I catch myself just touching my phone in disbelief… the whole thing is a button. A smooth button-less button that I can play Words With Friends on…. And it gets the internet everywhere. Also, does anyone know what 3G means? I think it might mean 3 Gods (because it’s a capital G) because it must take more than one internet god to make the internet organize itself from the air around me and channel through my phone so quickly. And I mean I like my phone but touch screens are hard to use… I unwittingly call someone at least once a day just because I caress or tap my phone is just the wrong way and don’t realize it till it’s too late. Have you thought about the way you touch your phone? It’s almost human like…

And that’s the next step right? I mean people go through withdrawals without their phones or computers or i-whatevers, so why not make it so you can never accidentally forget or have to leave your technology? If people have trouble not getting on a computer or putting down their phone for a whole day, the next logical step is to literally have technology made part of you so you never have to leave it. Need to make a phone call? Just use the touch pad on your arm and you’ll be connected. Need the internet? The mechanical addition to your eyes will project a screen for you and you can just touch the air like a screen to get the information you need. Or hey, want to take a picture? Just blink your eyes. Sounds convenient right? We’ll just implant that phone into your arm. And then you can’t ever escape the “convenience” of it all. And you’ll always be connected to the world and then you’ll just be an IP number and then you’ll get more implants because technology is just so dang cool and who needs nature and human contact anyway? And then the world won’t be the world any more but will be called the “collective” and the government will be the hive and we’ll live on a floating cube ship and…

Resistance is futile.

Self-reflection in a lazy river

Graduation. Supposedly some life-changing event. Some recognizable feat. Something to be congratulated. Something to give you that added significance to your life and your title. Why yes, I am a Bachelor of Science. At some point within the next decade of my life I’ll be a Master or a Doctor. Fancy. In truth, nothing will really change in my life except the titles. I’ll go from single-student-part-time office assistant-researcher-TA to single-unemployed-college graduate. Excuse me, single-unemployed-Bachelor of Science.

Graduating should be exciting right? I mean this is the sitcom period of life: going to clubs, dating tons of people, having a job that’s rarely portrayed on screen and goofing off the rest of the time, hanging out with strange but somehow loveable friends in some big city… all conveniently set at prime time getting the viewership of 20-30 year olds in “similar” situations… except by similar I mean quite a bit less hilarious, with little to no satisfying wrap-ups after a half hour conflict, and the added bonus of the sorrow, loneliness, and pain of real life. I mean I often find my life hilarious and fun, in an unscripted, sarcastic, exaggerated, audacious, and reckless sort of way. But it's a lot more than that. Not usually like a sitcom.

Anyway, I’ll still be in Provo, the place I was planning on leaving as soon as I could. I’ll still be in student housing, which I also planned on leaving ASAP. I’ll still be car-less, though I’m coming to the realization more and more that a bike simply won’t cut it for real employment so that will have to change. (Sorry, William. You are the most wonderful and reliable of my possessions and I’m still amazed that your non-professional grade frame has taken me hundreds of miles). People I love are still leaving. I’ll still have the same problems and worries and misunderstandings and far-off hopes that may never come to fruition. To me, graduation has been a long, drawn out settling in of disillusionment.

I meet people who have these plans and have been places, traveled the world, done things and I wonder, why isn’t that me? Why didn’t I do that? Why don’t I do that right now? I mean I’m graduating… I can do that stuff now, right? I’ve scrambled through the memories of the last few years of my life, desperately looking for something I must have missed. I mean I had plans and options before… Peace Corps, move to LA, Teach for America, etc etc etc. There was supposed to be a clear SOMETHING to do after school I thought… I mean what was the point of all that? To get a piece of paper? To get a job? To what? Did I not do something right? The only clear place I know I’ve royally screwed up and missed things is in my relationships, romantic and otherwise. That in itself has been the biggest and most influential trial I’ve been through my whole life really. But even in that realization and working hard to mend things that have been broken, I’ve found little solace. That journey at least I know is bigger and meant to fill my whole life, unlike the others meant for these few years. So where am I supposed to go?

No matter how many times I learn or realize that life is never about the outcome, I somehow always get sucked into that way of thinking. I mean I’ve been rearing at the reigns this whole time to go do something with my life and now that I’m free, nothing. I feel no pull or purpose. It's like I need something to fight or to push me in my life. The beautiful thing about school for me was working relentlessly towards a goal and loving the challenge and the things I learned. But now I’m at the end. I’m at the completion of this journey and I feel utterly lost, burnt out, and strangely stuck. The plans I make and the things I want are falling through. I’ve been desperately holding on to potential hopes and reasons for me to be here, when I should be letting go. I’m not good at letting go. It feels wrong and illogical. And so the process of disentangling me from my ideals and letting them float away has become what feels like cutting off life vests and buoys to save myself from drowning. Not seemingly practical or advisable.

The funny thing is, when really looking at the big picture, I think I’m trying to save myself from drowning in a 3 foot deep lazy river. Probably the only reason I’m not moving is because I’ve completely entrapped myself with the inner tubers and floaties of my ideals so as not to die. In consequence I have created an plastic, air-filled blockage in the vascular theme park ride that is my life. Some hypothetical life guards are probably at this moment telling me that only one inner tube is allowed per guest in the lazy river due to safety reasons. In addition, I also have this wonderful disposition where everything in life is part of some deep, existential essence and thus any ephemeral crisis is a meaningful and agonizing death. Though the richness of success is also fully experienced and profoundly beautiful, the somewhat ridiculousness of the way I feel things is always at the back of my mind. It’s not that what I feel is wrong, it’s just not lighthearted by any means. I’m pretty sure studies have suggested that this kind of feeling leads to increased risks of heart attacks and other such things that I really have no clue about. Heart attack from fighting everything has been added to the list of likely ways I will die (right after skin cancer and before reckless endangerment).

Others have learned the art of living freely, without fighting, and I guess, really, that’s what I’m probably supposed to get out of this. That nothing is ever really in my hands, yet it all is. It’s mine to act WITH but not ON. It’s mine to be with but not mine to control. I think that might be freedom. Finding the balance of accepting the world for what it is and relinquishing my ever-futile hold on it, while existing purposefully and honestly. Because, though there is a potential of really getting hurt and dying and tons of horrible things happening, those things are going to happen whether or not I'm desperately trying to control them. I'm too busy trying to not drown that I forget I can swim.

Now to find a job I suppose. That’s what single-unemployed-Bachelors of Science adults do, right?

Life isn't fair

Life isn’t fair.

I remember my dad saying this to me in the middle of a fight. I don’t remember what we were fighting about, I just remember screaming “it’s not fair!” thinking maybe if I said it loud enough, whoever was in control of such things would magically make it fair.  At my father’s retort, I cleverly suggested “well shouldn’t we be trying to make it as fair as possible?”

My answer is no, 15 year old Liz. Sorry I betrayed you.

I’ve always considered myself a hard worker. If I want something, I will put everything I have on the line for it. I believe in a good, honest day’s work. I believe in working for what I want. At first glance, it seems I hold the traditional American values: work hard and climb to top, because, by golly, if you work hard, you deserve the top, you will achieve your dreams, and you will be successful. But I think this mindset is precisely the problem. The problem with capitalism, socialism, and all the other isms you can think of. The problem with our generation. The problem with me.

Working hard isn’t the problem. Doing what you want isn’t the problem. The problem is the step taken after. The idea that after all the hard work, the world owes me.  I deserve the outcome that I’ve worked for. Hard work becomes a means to an end. I will get A’s in all my classes to get a degree to get a job to go to grad school to get a PhD to publish papers to… I will do whatever it takes to get what I want because it’s the end result that matters, not the in-between.

But what happens when the outcome isn’t delivered? When, even after all the hard work and the grade-A effort, you fail. What if after putting it all on the line, the result isn’t what you intended. Truth be told, this happens the all the time. People fail. I fail. People fail me. The system fails me. It all together doesn’t work, despite my best efforts. The world still owes me, damn it! I don’t deserve this result! Where is what I’m looking for and where are you, God?

Here are some common themes in the answers that run through my head:

“Just trying a couple times isn’t going to cut it, you need to persevere! It’ll come eventually”

“God knows best. It just isn’t time for you to get what you want yet”

“You must have done something wrong. The system works, you just don’t work correctly in it”

“Outcome X probably isn’t good for you anyway. It’s not your fate. Your failure is a sign.”

The replies are plenty, but they never really cut at the heart of reality. The fact of the matter is, the outcome was NEVER the point. Because the truth, at least the truth as I’ve come to realize, is that all the important things in life can never be earned. They have to be given.

Because how, ever, could I earn my life? How could I ever earn someone’s love? How could I ever earn the feeling of someone wrapping their arms around me? How can new parents earn the feeling of holding a newborn child? How could any of us earn forgiveness, especially after terribly hurting someone? How can we earn those moments that stick with us because they’re simply too big to forget? They all have to be given. There is no system, or formula, or rule book, or whatever, for these things, no matter how hard we try to reduce it.

For the entitled, the “given” is an easy escape from trying. Because if it doesn’t matter what work I do or don’t if I’m given everything, why should I work? To them I say the same thing: the point is NEVER the outcome. The point was never to “get”, whether or not you work for it.

The point is to be. Here and now, regardless of what happens tomorrow, we are alive. And while receiving those important things - those things we want so badly - is completely out of our hands, we have every opportunity to put them in someone else’s. We have the opportunity to give to someone else. Working hard does not have to be some cost-benefit analysis focused on the end result. Instead, it can be an expression of love. Because that work means something. Because it is something you believe in. Because that work signifies that even though the result may not be the desired, you were genuine in your effort. It is an expression of love for all that has been given you.

Has it not been said “…Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body more than raiment?...For [it is known] that ye have need of all these things… take no thought for the morrow, for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself”. Applied here, regardless of tomorrow, we can live today. We are more than the things we want or even what we need.

So, no. Life isn’t fair. It wasn’t ever meant to be. 

I swam in this lake

I swam in this lake. On top of a mountain. 

Life is damn good. Life is so damn good.

Do you ever have those moments where you just feel so alive, you can’t quite be contained? Like the air is filled with electricity and every breathe is just this call to go and do and belong to something? Like nothing can stop you, like anything you want is at your fingertips, like where you are is exactly where you need to be? Like even though things aren’t exactly what you thought they would be, they are perfect and beautiful and vibrant and fill your whole being with purpose and acceptance…

I know I write about a lot of more difficult topics and maybe it seems that I focus on the negative too much, but there is a reason for that focus. I believe that finding those truly pure, beautiful moments in life requires an acceptance of it’s exact opposite. Not only an acceptance, but a willingness to throw oneself into the possibility that the situation might turn out either way and there’s no way to control the outcome. Difficult situations are important. And wonderful, pleasing moments are important too. But you can’t have one without the possibility of the other..

I don’t want to run away from painful things because I don’t want to run away from wonderful things. I don’t want a dichotomy in my life that isn’t real. Because it all can be beautiful and I don’t ever want to limit myself or deny myself the possibility of feeling and experiencing what life throws at me. Or what I throw myself into. Life is too short for me to live like that.

The two times I’ve climbed Mount Timpanogos, this concept has been very clear to me. And it was clear to me as I crossed the finish line of my first 100 mile bike ride. And after I finished biking up Squaw Peak. And as I’ve sat in silence with people I love. After I’ve spoken my mind even though I could lose everything. After I’ve sincerely been with another person as they’ve shared some of the toughest things they’ve been through. After I’ve asked for forgiveness. After I’ve granted forgiveness. After I’ve said I love you. After I’ve lost and after I’ve won… I just feel so… full. So vibrant. So confident. So at one with everything around me, to the point where it’s not about me at all, yet I am completely me. Like I am exactly where I want to be and it’s perfectly ok to be where I am. Part of the innermost magnificence of our existence. Part of the ultimate heart of hearts.

And in those times, and other times as I’ve allowed myself to feel, life is so damn good. Life is so perfect in it’s incomplete, messy, inconsistency. Life is glorious. Though everything seems to be out of place to my rational mind, I’ve come to realize, I’ve never known what it means for things to be in place. And that very thought, the fact that I think I know the why’s and how’s of what my life is supposed to be, is the one that stops me from seeing how truly exquisite life is. But it’s there. It’s all there. Just there waiting to be seen and felt and heard. Just waiting to let you in on its secrets.

Life is so damn good. 

Some thoughts on hunger

Hi my name is Liz and I want things. I want a lot of things that I often don’t get. I feel like wanting is bad for me. Every time I don’t get what I want I get sad and I just want more. It’s a never ending cycle of want. I’ve tried to stop wanting multiple times. I just think that if I could stop wanting or stop caring then I’d be happier. I’d live a better life maybe. If I could just figure out how to stop it, it would all be better. Or if I could just satisfy this unending want maybe it would stop. Forever. The things I want control me.

Hunger. When I’m hungry I should eat, then I won’t be hungry. Right? That’s how it works right? But sometimes I’m not allowed to eat. Like when I’m at work. Or when I forget my wallet and can’t buy lunch. Or sometimes I really just want a chocolate cake but I simply do not have the means to get it. So I think about chocolate cake. And I keep thinking about it. And I try eating chocolate chips in the hopes that they satisfy me and they do for a while but inevitably, the chocolate cake comes back. I still want it, till finally I bike to Smith’s and I peruse the cakes, or the donuts or whatever I want so badly, and I buy one. And I take it home and I eat that damn cake that vexed me for all that time. And it’s satisfying.

And then a week or a month or even a year later, I want chocolate cake. Again.

Is it wrong to want chocolate cake? No. Chocolate cake is delicious. It can be a really beautiful thing. Is it wrong to eat chocolate cake? Not inherently so, no. I mean people will tell you not to eat in excess because you’ll get fat and die or something. It’s ok in moderation. That’s the word we use right? Moderation. Or it’s ok on special occasions like birthday parties or other cake eating events. It’s ok at the right time and it’s ok as long as you don’t get carried away. But what if I want to eat that whole chocolate cake? What if I want to eat 12 chocolate cakes? And just eat them one after the other. Just stuff them in my mouth. Even if I puke. Even if it makes me terribly ill. Even if I get fat and die. What if I want those cakes so badly I buy one everyday and just relish eating it? And get frosting all over my face and hands just gouging out handfuls of this cake….cake everywhere….

But that’s just crazy. And disgusting. I mean, who really eats 12 cakes right? Pffft ridiculous. Even if I wanted to, the consequences are just too dire. I mean, I don’t want to get fat and die. And I don’t want everyone to think I’m a fatty or obsessed with cake. I mean jeez Liz. Control yourself. You’re better than that. You’re better than that chocolate cake. And you’re only going to buy healthy foods and eat those instead of cake. And avoid the bakery section of Smith’s and avoid birthday parties lest you fall to temptation. I mean one bite of that cake and it’s all over… deliciously over… everything you’ve worked for gone down the drain. You will get fat and die…. Just don’t think about the cake… Don’t think about how the creamy frosting lingers in your mouth…. How the rich almost brownie-like pieces almost melt at contact with your lips… pure flavor… that you absolutely CANNOT have. Ever. Don’t eat the cake… no cake. No more cake. Never. Don’t think about the cake. The cake the cake thecakethecakecakecakecakecakecakecake….

CAKE. I still always want it. No matter what I do, the cake is always there, just bringing me misery. If I could just get rid of this hunger, my life would be better. Or if people would just effing stop making cakes  I wouldn’t be plagued by the cake. It wouldn’t even matter!! How I wish it wouldn’t matter. Cakecakecakecakecake.

But what if I buy the cake. And I eat it slowly, savoring every bite. What if I consider every crumb and ask it, “are you what I really want?” What if I was open to the idea that maybe that cake is just a cake. Or that maybe, the cake isn’t what I really want. Or maybe it is. But am I open to it being either? Am I open to throwing the cake in the trash if it’s not really what I want/ Am I open to really considering that I’m filling a void for something else?

What if I do really just want cake and that’s all there is to it… What then? Well… do I have to eat the cake? Is it forcing me to eat it? Will I die? Will I die if I don’t get what I want? What if it was ok to be hungry. Do I have to eat when I’m hungry? Do I have to play this game? What if I could look square at that cake say and say “I want you” and know that if I don’t buy it, I will be ok. Because I’m a cake loving monster and I don’t care who knows it! I love chocolate cake! But I can leave that cake behind and save it for when I truly want it. And even if I never get even the smallest piece of cake ever again, my life will not be over. Because it was never about the cake at all.

It is ok to be hungry.

And it’s ok to eat cake.

Squaw Peak

I love biking.

About a month and a half ago I decided to bike up Squaw Peak. I figured it would be a good ride,   I’d never done it before, and I love exploring up in Provo canyon. And I mean maybe I’d meet some hot biker guy and we’d race to the top and then make out and then we’d get married after biking across America together and then...

It’s probably bad that I am frequently boarding this train of thought.

Annnnnyway. I thought it would be a good ride. I had no idea what I was getting into. So I packed up my camelback, donned my shortest spandex in hopes of getting a tan and left. After the 8 miles of steady incline to get to Squaw Peak road, I started the climb. I learned later that the climb consisted of 4 miles of switch-backs and unrelenting hills with literally no flat sections. I also learned later that at 2 in the afternoon when I attempted the climb it was about 95 degrees outside. I’m not sure what I expected to be honest with you. I mean, I was attempting to bike up a mountain in the middle of June. And I didn’t even have my cool clip-in pedals so I didn’t have nearly enough power as I do now.

The first 2 switch-backs were bad, I was already in my lowest gears and I realized I needed to adjust my seat. So I pulled over and watched as several muscular men with calves as big as their thighs passed me, asking if I was ok. I just nodded, slightly ashamed. I had no idea.

It was good I didn’t ask them how much farther it would be to the top of the mountain because I probably would have given up right then. But I decided as I mounted again that I didn’t care what I had to do to get to the top – I would get there even if I had to crawl.

I couldn’t handle more than one switch-back at a time biking so I alternated walking and riding. Several times I broke down and cried and every time I wiped my tears away quickly as another biker passed me. I wasn’t even sure what were tears and what was sweat.

I couldn’t help but think I wasn’t good enough or strong enough or fit enough or legitimate enough. I couldn’t help but hate my inferior bike and how I ran out of water about half way up. Or how unprepared I was. The hills just never stopped. There was never a moment of respite. Some cars that passed me were clearly struggling up the incline. I had no idea how hard it was going to be.

When I finally reached the top, slightly delirious from dehydration and sunburn, I fell to the ground and didn’t move for a good 20 minutes. Crying. My legs were Jell-O. I felt like I was going to die. I lost everything I had eaten that day. I was a mess. And I’m pretty sure I made the couple who was up there taking romantic pictures worry a little bit. But whatever. All I could think was “Why God? Why was that so hard? Why did you make it so hard?”

Except it was after I thought these things (and done my share of cursing at the universe out loud) that I clearly remember thinking (hearing?), “Liz, you did this to yourself”, in one of the clearest, most comforting realizations I’d been given in a long time.

I had no idea how hard Squaw Peak would be. No one asked me to do it. Yet I’ve always been one to learn the hard way… I did what I wanted and I have so much trouble giving up what I want. That mountain was there, sure, but I didn’t have to climb it. Not that it was inherently a bad thing to climb it – it’s a perfectly worthy endeavor. But I wasn’t ready for it. It was I who jumped in, in all my naivety. I overestimated myself and it was I who thought God was out to get me. But really He was the only way I could find relief.

So there at the top of the mountain, I saw where I had came from and where I’d chosen to be. And even though I didn’t even bike the whole way, even though I felt like it was too much, it never was. And even though I blamed God and the universe for beating me down, I realized who was really responsible and I finally felt accepted for who I am and I acknowledged who I am – a child who the universe loves regardless of which mountains I choose to climb and what mistakes I make along the way. I felt loved.

The kicker was I didn’t get what I had originally wanted and I wasn’t who I thought I was. But that was ok.

I tried to climb Squaw Peak again today. With my new clip-in pedals and shoes, twice the amount of water, and with a different attitude. I still didn’t make it. And that was ok.