What Plan B?

Qualities I’ve heard attributed to me over the years, by people I know, include disciplined, focused, consistent and methodical.

And it’s funny, because when I think about those qualities in a person, as a neutral observer standing outside myself, I’d expect someone who is very systematic, has well thought out strategies, plans out each step and has alternatives should the actions they take not work out.

But I realized this last year, that I never have a Plan B. Nor have I ever had one.

When I was 10 years old, we lived in Mittimatalik (Pond Inlet), Canada. There I had access to amazing mountains and cliffs (which we didn’t have back in Deline). And I loved to climb. One climb I did was close to home. The community is right on the ocean and to one end has cliffs that go straightdown to it. In a couple areas there were ledges you could scramble down to, kind of like platforms. On this particular day I made it down to one of them so I might attempt an ascent.

I stood there, surrounded by outcropping boulders mimicking giant stalagmites of an age long forgotten , I mapped the approximate route of the 35 foot climb before me.

As I went, I was feeling really good, the exhilaration of each hand movement, of each foot placement as I rose to the top. Then, about 3/4’s of the way up, my hand hits loose rock. Okay, lets try over here. Loose. Hmmn, put my foot there, lets get a little higher and…no. I slowly get back to my previous position. Yes, by this point, my heart rate has elevated. I’m sweating more than just from the effort. And I’m scared. I take a breath.

So what are my options? As I looked back down, there wasn’t much space to make a half decent fall I could at least live through (should that choice be thrust upon me).  All I saw were the spear headed boulders, lying in wait for the tiger that would fall into it’s trap. The holds were too small to safely attempt a descent. I thought to climb laterally and get around the loose section, but now that I knew it was there, as I looked, the coloration and pattern of the rock told me it was a band straight across. My only real option was up. Up through 3-4  feet of loose rock, followed by another 6 feet to the top.

On a positive note, at least I would always have some solid purchase. When my hands were in no mans land, my feet had solid footing. When my feet were crossing into someones idea of a cruel joke, my hands had a firm hold.

Whatever thoughts that previously crept in my mind about what lay below me were wiped clean. I couldn’t think about it. I needed all faculties focused on getting up. With each placement, I applied a slow, steady pressure so as to avoid jarring the rocks, causing them to slip out from their as yet undisturbed resting place. This technique also ensured that the rock I was holding onto, was as adhered as it was going to get to the rock IT was resting on, sending a chain reaction that (hopefully) would provide me as solid a wall as possible.

After a few crumbles and a few not so successful attempts, I passed the first half of this endeavour. Hands were now solid and it was about getting my feet through. The part about this that made it so long was the shifting of weight from one limb to the other. It needed to be slow and deliberate, because I couldn’t completely move off, in case the loose stuff gave way before I’d applied my full body weight to it. Without further incident I got past. A few more feet was all that was left, yet I forced myself not to rush, with the feeling of relief threatening to charge in full force. I was still on the side of a cliff.

Just for good measure and to ensure I truly appreciated the experience, there was nothing to grip at the top, that I might safely pull myself up. This was like pulling yourself up over a box that’s too high to get your hands underneath you, to push up and over. I had to put one arm at a time on the ledge and pull with my elbows until I could get a leg up to finish the job.

Once on top, I didn’t move. I just lay there. Eyes closed. Breathing in the faint scent of the tiny wildflowers that were sprinkled across the bare Eastern Arctic during their brief summer stay. Then the relief rushed in. And then the exhilaration. I sat up, turned around and, putting my legs over the edge, soaked in the incredible view that seared itself into my memory. The sun blazing reddish orange as it lowered around the backside of the mountains.  The incredible peaks of Bylot Island staring back at me with ancient eyes. An iceberg peacefully gliding through the sound, in no hurry to see this day end. And almost no wind, that all may hear the deafening silence of that land. This glorious sight, truly a gift of which I will be forever thankful to have received, was the result of my commitment to the goal at hand.

My childhood and teenage years (and my young adult life, come to think of it) are littered with these experiences. I wasn’t a happy-go-lucky thrill seeker. When I decided to undertake a challenge or goal, I considered it gravely. Looked at the options before me. Reflected on the reality of what I was about to engage in. But then, upon deciding to move forward, I committed whole-heartedly, with everything I could dredge up. I never thought about turning back. I never thought  “What if this doesn’t work?”. “What if I don’t make it?” Because to do so was to rob myself of the precious resources needed to accomplish what I set out to do.

And that has transferred over in my daily life, in my work and career, in my hobbies and interests. When I choose a path of action, I have nothing to fall back on. No Plan B that sits in the shadows, ready to coddle me should I not make it. Forward I go with complete commitment. Failures and challenges met as a natural component and welcomed necessity for success.

Feel like the quest towards living your greatest life has been stalling or become stagnant? Have a Plan B? Is it time to drop it?

Dare to Evolve,
Shane.