Lately I’ve been spending a ton of time outside. Some days I walk, others I run, and sometimes I pick a favorite spot and just sit.
Today, I wanted to sit by the river and enjoy a particularly warm Sunday. The way to the river is through a pretty wooded path. Since the weather was so warm, all of the ice and snow had recently melted. I quickly found that the entire path was caked in mud inches deep.
As I stared at the long path ahead of me, I was determined to get to the river as clean as possible. For several minutes, I determined which surrounding objects I could use to avoid the mess. My mind turned branches into bridges and rocks into islands. After I figured out my plan the best I could, I took the first step.
For a little while, I was doing it. It was the ultimate game of hopscotch, and I was killing it. I meticulously hopped from rock to branch to log, not once stepping foot in the enemy. But just as I was gaining speed, it happened. I fell. In an instant, I was entirely submerged in about three inches of mud.
I looked around and tried to decide whether to laugh or cry, but I did neither. There was something oddly peaceful about the defeat. What I had been trying so hard to avoid, I was sitting in. While it certainly wasn’t pleasant, it was much less scary than the parkour course I was tackling seconds before in an effort to escape the inevitable.
As I eventually pulled myself up, I wondered: no matter how hard we try, can we ever truly avoid the mud?
Naturally, as humans, we hate feeling uncomfortable. I’ve realized that people will go to great lengths to avoid feeling bad, whether it be through innocent distractions or drugs. But do these feelings that we try so hard to run from, ever really go away?
Earlier this year, I found myself pretty broken. I was thrown into a long journey of healing that I’m still navigating today. I quickly realized that healing is a lot messier of a process than the word suggests. As soon as you think you’re okay, you wake up the next day in yet another discouraging state of anxiety and despair.
I’ve noticed that the more effort I put into avoiding my thoughts and emotions, the more exhausted I become. Regardless of how carefully I plotted my path, I still ended up ass deep in the inevitable. After I stood up, completely covered in dirt, I finished my walk to the river. But this time, I walked right through the mud. I no longer had anything to fear.
Maybe the reason we try so hard not to feel things is because we’re scared. Maybe being tired actually is better than being sad. But maybe if we just let ourselves be sad, we wouldn’t always have to be so tired. I challenge you to take a few minutes and sit with your feelings. Don’t judge them. Just sit with them, feel them, and let them go.
As I continue on my personal journey, I’ve accepted that the path is not pretty. The path is muddy, uphill, twisted, and even outright cruel at times. I have fallen, and I will fall again. I know I will not come out of it clean. But I know I’ll come out of it stronger.
The only way over it is through it. Keep going. The river is near.