Throwing It In

Near the end of July, on what was to be my second of only two outdoor getaways for the summer (and not vacations mind you, short weekend with lots of travel just to get some woods and water), I was lazily swinging in my hammock, looking out at Lake Huron through my bug net, enjoying a book on trees, when I heard what I thought was the unthinkable.

     "Are you committed to staying, even if we throw it in?"

I had heard mumbling and rumbling, somethings about flies, the loud smack of hand against bare skin, possibly even some swears coming from the picnic table beyond the trees. But this? Throwing it in? What was this heresy? Sighing, I realized I was going to have to leave my comfortable cocoon of a hammock and join this conversation. Let's just say that by the time my feet hit the ground, my body no longer in the protective wrap of the hammock, I was feeling their pain. I planted a smile on my face, walked over to the picnic table, ignoring the biting flies. "Are you serious"? "We're serious".

My backpacking friends are a fairly hardy bunch. We travel with what we need on our backs, to locations without "facilities", and can go days without showering. (Full disclosure, we love Michigan because while this sounds badass, in three seasons we can usually find a decent water source to cool off and get a little less trail grubby). Unfortunately, most of us are in a season that between work and family commitments, time on the trail is limited. This was to be our only weekend of the summer. At our favorite spot. With private beach access on Lake Huron. And we're talking about throwing it in? After about five minutes of conversation, which felt like an hour in fly bit time, I capitulated. If they were going, I would go too.

What ensued was the fastest camp tear down I have yet to witness. Three women, with tents pitched, clothes drying and camp luxuries set up, were packed and on the trail in under half an hour. Mind you, this was 90+ degrees and very humid in the middle of the afternoon.

I proceeded to berate myself the two miles back to the car. There is just something about quitting that feels wrong. Adversity makes you grow. Gratitude helps you find a message from the Universe in everything. So giving up? We're taught perseverance as magical character trait that eventually brings a Disney like ending. I didn't even feel better when the sky opened into a downpour just as we reached the car. Perfect timing, right? Rain is part of the backpacking experience. If I packed it in every time it rained....well, let's just say trail time would be virtually non-existent. So no, even the rain didn't change my perspective.

That night, after a good shower, I was left with only my fly bites and thoughts for company. Truthfully? it felt good to be in clean. To rest comfortably in my bed. But the nagging narrative of the wrongness of quitting was relentless. What finally broke through for me was the realization that the guilt was unproductive. There are times, when choices are unproductive or hurtful, that some guilt serves a purpose toward growth. But this guilt was wrapped up in an ideal that I had imposed. No one was hurt by me "quitting" the trip. Not even me.

The growth comes in evaluating the guilt. And finding opportunities to grow. Persevering an unproductive path will not lead to growth or happiness. My life is more authentic, my choices more intentional, as I engage in actively evaluating relationships, career opportunities and moves, and the intention through which I make choices daily. Perseverance may be virtuous and serve to strengthen both resolve and success, but only if the path one is on is the right one.

When have you found "throwing it in" to be the right choice? And have you persevered, just for the sake of persevering, when you knew the quest was more about the negative narrative rather than the right pursuit?