Why falling keeps me going back for more

Mountains are my happy place. I am so grateful to be living in a place like the Pacific Northwest where there are endless trails right in my back yard. I’ve made it a habit to get out into nature every weekend to fully appreciate the fact that I live in one of the most beautiful places in the world. I’ve hiked a ton of mountains near and far, and even though I’ve visited so many places around the world, there is nothing like being on a local trail for me.

Living in a rainforest means hikes are a giant embrace of healthy mossy tree trunks, giant inviting ferns, soft earth beneath your boots, and fresh and heavily oxygenated air. Regardless of if you’re only hiking a short 7k distance and 475m of elevation to the peak, or if you are taking a 10 hour detour to get up to 2000m+ above all your worldly city problems, you will find yourself in the company of majestic trees and rock formations that have been patiently waiting for hundreds or even thousands of years for you to visit. All you have to do is keep putting one foot in front of the other to accept their generous and welcoming invitation.

It is bliss.

it is meditation.

it is love.

It can also be treacherous.

At this point it is almost a given fact that I will fall at least once, if not several times, on every hike. Sometimes my legs tire on the incline. Or I slip on the way down. Even though my will to be there is strong, my muscles sometimes slow down before I am emotionally or mentally ready to take a break… and this means tripping on roots and rocks, and rolling ankles or scraping your knee on nature’s little surprise death traps that I swear come out of absolutely nowhere!

Unless I am seriously injured and require medical intervention, I tend to recover quite quickly. Actually, at this point, minor rolled ankles, scrapes, bruises, and other things that draw blood have very little impact on my motivation to keep going. Tripping is however, an opportunity to recalibrate my emotional state and my overall eagerness against my physical state. It’s ultimately a chance to recenter my body’s ability to keep up with my brain — which in my every day city-life is a daily challenge.

Falling upwards is one of my favourite metaphors for life. I’m reminded that the incline of a hike is synonymous with the effort required to move through any part of life. And that movement, both physical and metaphorical, is all ultimately just choice.

We all have lists of challenges we would like to experience within our lifetime but most of us only focus on the outcome. And more importantly, we think about the distance between where we are standing and where we want to end up. This gap is often so intimidating that we never start and that is the crux of many of our stagnant and unsatisfying lives.

When I fall upwards while hiking, it is a reminder that life takes work. It’s a moment to celebrate that I actually took the time to get out of bed, got ready with my 10 essentials, and got myself onto a trail. When I fall upwards it might feel a bit awkward, but it also feels like I’m being pulled onto the dance floor at the most important party in the world for that moment in time, that day, and in that space. A party hosted by Mother Nature and her hundreds and thousands of years of patient and perfect wisdom. A party invite that is constantly renewing, and connected to the freeing impermanence of now.

As I trip upwards and awkwardly dance to Mother nature’s silent rhythms, I’m invited into the present moment to notice any sense of urgency in my body. Any resistance. Any part of me that wants to get away from the discomfort of falling. Whatever I notice, I am happiest when I can approach it with curiosity and allow it to feel completely seen and accepted. Maybe it’s a bit of shame, maybe it’s self-doubt, or some other fear… if I dig deep enough I have noticed it is ultimately rooted in the fear of death. Tripping has therefore become a gift, as it triggers me to respond to myself with kindness, compassion, and then and only then, can I regain my feeling of being alive.

I also often find myself falling on the descent. Steep gradients, slippery rocks, and loose earth beneath your feet tend to have that impact on you. Its like Mother nature’s party, but at 3am when there are red plastic solo cups littered across the dance floor and some random strangers making out in the corner, having the time of their lives, except replace all those things with rocks, boulders, and and trees.

The potential, (and often realized for me), risk of falling downwards is simply a part of the experience of hiking an incredible mountain. Sometimes you’ll catch yourself and the half-fall will feel like an incredible victory. Other times you will actually hit your butt, hands, knees or whole body to the ground and it will be hard, sharp, painful, and awkward, or all of the above.

Either way, when I fall, it is less important to me to think about how I fell and much more helpful to think about how quickly I recover. It is what we choose to believe about the experience of falling. It is how in-tune we allow ourselves to be with the mind’s desire to keep going and your body’s ability to match that energy.

Falling is not the end of the world if you choose for it not to be. It is also not something to ignore if you are actually injured. How we respond to falling is the most important thing and the thing that keeps me coming back for more.

When I am hiking, I expect to fall. Not because I am not careful, but because I recognize I am doing a hard thing and I accept falling is just a part of the process. I will fall upwards which is a reminder for me to stop and notice my inner thoughts. I will fall coming down, which might hurt a little or a lot, but what matters most to me will always be about how I choose to respond and whether I am able to truly understand my body and its limitations.

In many ways hiking is where I feel most alive. Like all the best moments in life, moments where you feel alive and like your soul is on fire are moments that are meant to be savoured. There is something really beautiful about hiking and enjoying it as a walk rather than a race. Especially when I’m savouring the moments of hiking alone, I’m forced to notice the only person I can ever really race against is my ego. Like hiking and mother nature’s invitation to dance, life is simply an opportunity to be. To notice. To exist fully and savour the moment that is here and now.

Life is moving, and falling, and paying attention to each moment as quickly as we let each moment go, because staying present in the mountains or the city or wherever we are, ironically requires letting each beautiful fleeting moment continue to pass. And learning to be at peace with the fleeting nature of it all is something I will always keep coming back for.