Acceptance before Change
Acceptance before Change
On September 2 of 2022, I packed three short sleeve shirts, two long sleeve shirts, and four pairs of pants into a backpack and left my house in Sharon, VT, for four months on an intensive expedition semester school: Kroka Expeditions’ Legends of the Southwest Semester. I left all superficial dependencies behind; my phone, my cute clothes, and even my stuffed hippo: Hippy. As far as anyone else was concerned, I dropped off the grid. As a group of ten, we entered a carefully cultivated community, with a culture of our own. Doing a Kroka semester had been a dream of mine since 5th grade, and I was ready. I knew I was in for discomfort, and struggle, but I knew the outcome would be more than worth it: tranquility and unwavering self-assurance. What I did not know is that before I could reach those outcomes, before I could develop or advance, I had to accept myself for where I was.
The capstone of the semester school was a month-long bike-packing trip through the Sonoran Desert in Arizona, to the Mexico border. We woke, dressed, and ate while the sun rose and the December desert de-thawed. By the time our hands touched handlebars, the sun was beating down on our sunburnt necks. Before semester, I had never mountain biked before. Not only did I leave all collected safety-nets at home, but a lot of the group was more experienced than I. To me, it was unknown territory. I kept high expectations for myself, expecting my inexperienced legs to take my virgin bike as far, as fast, and as efficiently as my weathered peers.
We biked through the Black Canyon Trail and Arizona trail, with technical single track and cacti on either side. Time and time again I found myself, not in a forward motion like the rest of the group, but sprawled on the desert floor, hoping for help untangling my bike from my body. We moved along a sharp, rocky, cliff. When the inevitable happened - swaying, skidding, and tipping, I would tumble down, feeling both metaphorically and physically below the others.
Every time I righted myself again, I gained another level of mental fortitude. It took courage to fit my body back onto the bike that betrayed me again and again. Through the repeated process of falling and standing, I honed the technical skill of mountain biking. More so, I learned what it means to meet myself where I am, and the power that has on the rate of growth. No change can come without embracing your starting point. I am hard on myself in the learning process, which is usually not beneficial. Forcing myself into the shape or being I feel I should be, forcing myself to be someone I’m not, will never result in the outcome I desire. I am continuously practicing how to hold my own hand as I learn, with patience and kindness.
Kroka has been one of the most transformative experiences of my life. I learned who I was through the hum of my hub, the rhythmic feeling of pushing each pedal forward, and the grinding of 20 wheels over sand, rock, and cacti. More so, I learned how to love who I am through the feeling of the tan earth meeting my legs and shoulders as I fell. I became comfortable with the tingling of teddy bear cholla spines in the palms of my hands, and the tickling of sweat down my face. I found the joy of growth, but not before I found the equanimity of unconditional self-acceptance.
The Voice
August 2024
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