Mothers have it hardest

‎It's been a while since I've posted on this blog. But not because I haven't been doing things, quite the opposite. Over the last year and a bit I've paddled some big water, including the hardest river I may ever run, climbed some big walls and generally gotten myself out there. 

Just this week I listened to an episode of a show called "The Dirtbag Diaries" entitled "Moms have it har‎dest." It's caused me to pause and consider something I may never fully appreciate. 

Those who know me know that I love the outdoors. I love silent, self propelled adventures in the wilderness. I love to do things that are hard, things that, while the risk has been mitigated to a manageable level, still scare me a bit. I believe that true adventure starts when the outcome is no longer certain. I don't mean doubting living through the adventure, I don't have a death wish, I just mean that you're into something that you don't know how it will evolve or terminate. For adventure to exist there has to be a possibility of things not going according to plan, a possibility that things could get uncomfortable or maybe even downright miserable. I love the uncertainty that tugs on my brain halfway through a tough climb, or above a new and tricky looking rapid. Will I fall or send the climb? Will I be sitting upright in my boat after the run or will I take a swim? I thrive on challenges like this, but not all of my loved ones share my view on adventure. My sister once called me and logically laid out why it was absolutely crazy to undertake a 320 kilometer solo paddle on a whitewater river to the Arctic Ocean that I was about to embark on.  My mom, while certainly concerned before these trips, doesn't discourage me from going but rather shows her concern by making up first aid kits and making sure that I know she's praying for safety. My wife, while very supportive of my pursuits, says sometimes she has to avoid thinking of the worst. But like an elephant in a living room, the reality looms... there's a chance that I might not come home. 
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I believe in playing safely. I love sharing my love of the outdoors with my kids but, in keeping with my stated ‎belief in safety, I wanted to know that the adventure I was sharing with my kids was, first and foremost, safe. I love paddling and climbing with my kids but, sometimes, I need a bigger challenge. I feel the pull to try something hard, to experience the thrill of adventure once more. My mom, my wife and others who love me see this and, due to conceptions, misconceptions and the unpleasant thought of me making a mistake and mangling myself, they worry. 

So what about my mom? What about my wife? My mom has no choice in the matter other than her response to my choices. She is going to love me regardless. My wife chose to love me for who I am and, though she worries about me, she has decided that she accepts me for who I am and doesn't try to change me. ‎I'm so thankful for these two moms, my mom and my kid's mom who don't try to change who I am or discourage me from the things that I love. 

But, I wonder at times, am I being fair? I know what it's like to accept a certain amount ‎of personal risk. But what is it like for my mom? What is it like to try to understand someone who does things that you wouldn't do? 

My dad inspired me to an adventurous lifestyle by taking me to do cool but hard things when I was a kid. He and I trained for two years leading up to a seven hundred kilometer bike ride that we did together when I was only six. He taught me that anything is possible if you set your mind to it. He's had a no-holds-barred attitude toward life and towards challenges I've seen him face throughout his life. He always said that a life lived well was better than a life lived in fear. He allowed me to go camping for days at a time when I was twelve, taught me to operate heavy equipment when I was fourteen and always encouraged my ventures. Once, when recounting a breath hold dive I made to a depth of seventy meters, and a second time when telling of a particularly gnarly rapid that had me for breakfast, he said "Think of your mom when you tell us about your adventures. No use adding to her worries." 

As I mull all of this over, I wonder, how much adventure is too much? And, at what point do you start to sacrifice the things you love for the peace of mind of those who love you? People who might understand that loving you means accepting you and all the things that make you who you are but may never fully understand what drives you to the wilderness. To my adventure seeking friends, and to those who love an adventurer, what say you? 

You can find the Dirtbag Diaries episode by the same name below. I recommend it! 
‎http://m.soundcloud.com/thedirtbagdiaries/mothers-have-it-hardest
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