Practicing Safe Stress

My life has been easy. I’ve never been in real physical danger, I’ve never been truly sick, and I’ve never been truly hungry.

But my ancestors evolved in dangerous and difficult conditions, so I have built-in stress reactions and coping mechanisms designed for a human with a tougher life. I have a safe bed and a grocery store with plenty of affordable food, but a body and mind built for primitive survival. My evolution is way behind the times.

So what are comfy humans to do? Well, like prairie dogs in a zoo, still scanning the danger-less horizon, we get stressed anyway. 

Look out!! He's right behind you!

Currently, the number one cause of stress in the US is money. This seems strange when you consider how financially well-off Americans are compared to our fellow Earth inhabitants. So I’m willing to bet that if we had unlimited money, we’d find stress elsewhere. We wouldn’t need to look far — we often fret over politics, our jobs, sports, our relationships, the Oscars, our neighbors, Black Friday deals, our pets, traffic, our alarm clocks, the holidays, our clothes, and the number of likes we get on Instagram.

It’s not our fault. It’s in our genes — our evolution. We’re built to face danger and difficulty, and in its absence, we feel unfulfilled. This emptiness is our disease of affluence. 

Some treat this disease by creating the perception of danger while remaining relatively safe. Some jump from planes with a parachute, some drive in fast cars with airbags. Some of us practice safe stress by climbing. 

Sketch provided by Jackie Niles @idigdirt

Climbers push their physical limits, maintaining intense focus while experiencing sudden bursts of adrenaline. Wouldn’t we have the same physical experience if we were hunting (or being hunted) a hundred thousand years ago? I think that’s the point. 

We mimic our ancestral danger and put our oldest instincts to use with sport. We satisfy our deep needs for difficulty. And though we return to our comfy and safe beds at night, we keep some connection to ourselves and to our past. We can sleep soundly knowing: we still are the humans we once were.

Safe and sound

Writing, Climbing, Life

Something that I really like about writing is the revision process. When you start an essay, the first draft tends to be too big, too long, and too wordy. The ideas don’t flow, and in turn, the big concepts aren’t communicated as clearly as they could be. But you make fixes and adjustments. You rework sections. You remove phrases. Eventually, you are left with only the pieces that add value to the composition. It’s hard, but a finished essay can be so satisfying. Nothing is more beautiful than a complex concept that is clearly and concisely communicated in just a few simple, digestible paragraphs.

Every word has its purpose.

A climbing project works a lot like this too. The first time up, you grab everything in sight. You don’t want to miss any key beta, so you make sure to try it all. At first, the moves don’t flow well into each other, and you end up doing too much work for too little gain. But you rework sections. You rethink sequences. You remove holds from your beta. Eventually, you climb only what is necessary to reach the anchors. It’s hard, but a send can be so satisfying. Nothing is more beautiful than a difficult climb whittled down to its simplest form.

Every move has its purpose.  

Lately, I’ve been going through a period of revision in life too. Days, seasons, and years didn’t flow well. My life felt like it had become complicated and cluttered. I had relationships that brought too much unhappiness, and it was hard to see a clear purpose to the effort of every day. Since my last draft, I’ve made several changes. I’ve rid myself of a house, a smartphone, and almost all of my belongings. I've ended a marriage. I’ve kept the things that add value to my life, removed the things that made me unhappy, and moved into a van.

In life, I think the search for that finished essay, that send, or that final state of happiness isn’t valid. Your life is more of a novel in constant need of revision, expanding or contracting based on the situation. There is no finished product – only a hope that your latest revision is one that you could die happy with.

Revision is hard, but it can be so satisfying. Like an essay, and like a climb, there’s nothing more beautiful than a life simplified down to just the pieces that are most meaningful.

Everything has its purpose.