My summer surviving pSAD

It's been a while since I blogged. But why? I've been suffering from pSAD this summer. What is pSAD you say? I've coined it Phoenix Summer Annoyance Disorder... But really what I was suffering from was something different.

Something more inner.

I didn't hike all that much this summer, or at least anything awesome, rad or very adventurous. And not just because it's hotter than Satan's armpit here in Phoenix during the summers. I wasn't hiking because I began to feel pressure to do so. Not from anyone else, but from myself. And that's bad, y'all.

I became obsessed with Colorado, 14ers and amazing adventures to the point of despair when I couldn't pull those trips off this summer. (My summer was busy with college visits for my son and supporting my daughter's diving, etc.)

But this post is about how I survived pSAD. How did I do it?

I stopped trying to be something that I'm not. I wasn't born to climb mountains, I wasn't even born to hike. I was born to love my family and support and honor my friends and acquaintances. That's it. Nothing else.

At work, people would ask me if I had hiked that weekend, I'd tell them yes, that I hiked 5-10 miles and they would look at me like I had failed them.

I didn't fail anyone, except myself because I allowed A. the weather B. my own expectations of myself and C. my dreams of adventure in faraway lands to consume me and begin to destroy me from within.

When I chose to have children seventeen years ago (I'm old, K...) because of that choice, I gave up complete and utter freedom. I can't just drive to Flagstaff every weekend. I can't just take off in a minutes notice and go to Durango. But what I've been thinking lately, is that you know what, that's OK!

Because I wasn't meant to. Some people were. I have tons of online social media friends that have chosen a different path than I. Most are not married, and most do not have children. Their circumstances allow them to lead a life that I just cannot lead. But the distinction comes in the recognition that I chose to not live that life and that in itself was the definition of freedom of choice.

Now, having said all of this, as temperatures are cooling off, you'll still see me on top of mountains. You'll still see me out on a trail. But I'm going to choose to do it with a smile because I want to do it, not because I have to do it or because someone else expects me to.

I didn't write this for sympathy, or pity or to have some sort of epiphany-like experience. I just realized that I wasn't born to be Andrew Skurka, Conrad Anker, or even some of my rad as hell friends. I just wasn't. And that's perfectly OK.