Both Things Are True

I lay with my gown open, craning my neck to stare at my heart wiggle and dance on the screen. My valves flapping like fish gasping for air in black and white. The tech pressing the probe hard against my breast bone, having me hold my breath over and over.

Here, vulnerable, I think about all the people who don’t like me. People I’ve loved who didn’t love me back, friends I’ve lost, people who I didn’t get along with from the beginning. Every falling out I’ve had- when I’ve made amends and apologized to no avail, been blocked, ghosted, forgotten. Every time it “wasn’t a good fit” or was “unforgiveable.” No matter how much grace I had for them, when I was ready to forgive and they were not. Makes my heart grow three sizes bigger on the screen thinking about it. 

Mild tricuspid regurgitation. 

Every time I’ve lost a loved one I’m blinded, I think- Life is just pain. And pain. And some more pain. Why do I keep living? My fingers growing numb, as cold as the ultrasound probe, my heart in my esophagus. I stare at How to Survive the Loss of a Love- green, blue, yellow- colors that scratch a little itch, the color of a 90s windbreaker. I read it for the third time.

I’m tracking everything I’m grateful for. A European summer, my cousin’s wedding, meeting my sweet baby niece, hiking in the alps, visiting my dad, and so much more. So lucky. I am trying to live with an abundance mindset- we all deserve everything. And that includes me.

No structural heart disease, I was cleared to go hiking.

A day before beginning the last two stages of the Tour De Mont Blanc, I had a devastating friend breakup. There I was in Copenhagen, walking the streets of Vesterbro and staring into space, my mind and body swarmed with pain. And pain. And some more pain. Tears falling into my Hugo Spritz. I failed to be grateful here- even while traveling abroad. The story was I ruin everything. 

I joined for three days of this wild hike to challenge myself- to stretch. Zettie, Midori and I set intentions before we set off. They had hiked the PCT together- from Mexico to Canada. I told them I wanted to lose my ego, and connect with my mom. This was my first time ever backpacking, and right off the bat we were met with a huge uphill climb. My pack heavy strapped to my torso, my poles failing to support 40% of the weight. Midori told me “our bodies seek homeostasis- here we are resisting that- pushing past it.” Zettie told me “I hike so I can surrender- surrender to nature, to discomfort, to be tired, hungry, stinky.” How can I surrender? It was some kind of ego death- lost in desperation, with not enough breath to talk, climbing the Alpine Path. And my mind swirling with all of the colors of my losses and what could or could not happen in the future. Camping was easier than expected. It really was something to not look in the mirror for three days. I’m currently having the worst breakout of my life, but that’s a story for a different blog.

Cold in my sleeping bag, I imagined my mom was holding me. When the breakup happened, how I wished I could call her. She was always the one I would call, the one I would pick out of a sea of everyone I knew. 

Near Refuge La Flégère, our tents stood near the ledge of the mountain overlooking the valley. Here across from the dense spikes of Mont Blanc, I pictured some medieval castle hidden in the mountains. I dream of another reality, something nostalgic, ancient, magical. I comfort myself by thinking of other realities. I try to understand reality by dwelling on the past. I self-soothe by dissociating from pain.  

I finished the hike grumbling, complaining about pain in my toes, shoulders, hips, ankles. So totally myself, so totally ego-full. I asked Zettie, “Did I act how you thought I would act on the hike?” 

She said “Yes.”

I’m glad I did it. It will probably be a long time before I attempt my next dream hike- from  Idyllwild to Big bear on the PCT. It’s ok. It’s so good to know myself, have a little more empathy for myself, remember that we come by things honestly. Everything is transient, even the biggest feelings. A few days later, I feel like I’m uncovering some treasure in the truth. It’s ok: you do not have to like me. I like me. You do not have to forgive me. I forgive me. The right people will stick around. Maybe the one instance in which I believe “what’s meant for you will not pass you by.”