A Personal Account
Day 3 – A Wake Up Call
Waking up at the crack of dawn on my third day in the wilderness, or shall I say, the shout of dawn, my dream is interrupted by a staff member performing a rooster call. I’m awoken from a dream of throwing Natty Lights at a stack of 1000 solo cups to a still, shaded desert landscape filled with clusters of Juniper and Ponderosa trees. I feel like this should be a peaceful way to wake up, but instead I’m reminded of the series of poor choices that led me to this place, a place which is supposedly going to make me happy again. It’s hard to connect those dots when I’m sleeping under a pitched tarp that’s caved in from a thick morning dew, and a stiff, aching pain in my neck that shouldn’t exist in a 21-year-old body. When I turn over in my sleeping bag and look up the sage covered hill at my peers, I see they’re already out of their shelters somehow, laughing and seemingly enjoying their granola and oats. How can these people possibly be enjoying themselves without a pumpkin loaf and a Java Chip Frappuccino? They must have good imaginations, I guess. Or maybe they don’t have any real problems like I have? It’s not like they dropped out of college and struggled with crippling depression and anxiety and have a drinking problem. Right? I bet their mom isn’t hounding them about cleaning their rooms which has forced me to sneak my IPAs onto the golf course. I must consider the possibility that I am on a secret reality show and these people are paid actors, and I’ll just become the butt of America’s joke. Time will tell, I guess, which is something we all seem to have a lot of out here.
Day 8 – Pulled out of Quicksand
Something about waking up under a tarp in a sleeping bag, which many would think is objectively uncomfortable, feels cozy in the crisp, arid air of the high desert. Yesterday, I shared my life story with a group of 8 strangers who unexpectedly helped me feel seen, accepted, and connected in a way that I hadn’t experienced. The field staff related to my experiences and exuded confidence in their stories of facing adversity with a growth-oriented mindset. Reminding myself that I felt safe in this barren, but beautifully untouched landscape, I rolled over relieved while relishing in my newfound belief that this wilderness therapy thing might work. My life to this point has been a bucket filled with internal and external criticism, spilling over into a shameful sinkhole that I thought I could never climb out of. This calmness in the desert has helped me to stop thrashing, to learn that it is okay to struggle, and to accept the help of a dozen arms reaching to pull me out of the quicksand. Following a restful sleep, I use this metaphor as motivation to climb out my sleeping bag, to gather my belongings and begin walking over to my fireside tree stump without my caffeine crutch. Something as simple as getting out of bed is feeling a little bit easier, an achievement in of itself. I call a “sitting group” for the first time, a process in which I create a space to share my emotions, thoughts, and hopes to my peers. Hearing my words verbally reflected back to me seems like a concrete example of personal growth. Like the sky above me, I see the clouds part to allow relief and joy to beam down on me for the first time in years.
Day 22 – The Gruff Monster
After several graduations in our group, carrying 80-liter packs up and around mini mountains, and acclimating to a new diet of beans, rice, vegetables, fruit, and granola and oats, all of a sudden I am the new “Number 1” of the group. After a refreshingly exhausting hike, I laugh at myself while sitting staring at the flickering flames and blue glow of our growing campfire. Why do I feel this responsibility to be a leader and hold my peers accountable to the expectations of the program? Having the most seniority doesn’t technically come with responsibilities, but in a strange way I feel that I’ve achieved something for making it this far. I can now listen to constructive feedback without walking away, I’m finding joy with a lack of societal comforts, and I’m conquering the physical challenges of being overweight. I hope to help my peers achieve the same success I have had.
Dinner that night is moving slowly, and for Group 8 to earn more MFT aka Mandatory Fun Time, we need to pick up the pace to finish cooking and cleaning up under the 2-hour mark. As the new Number 1, it is of course my responsibility to teach everyone all the time management skills I’ve magically mastered in the last 2 minutes of my arrogant thought loops. I’m spitting commands quickly and firmly, loud enough so the whole group can hear me and with an annoyed undertone which will surely convince my peers how serious I am about playing an hour of sock hockey tomorrow. You may be shocked that one of the field instructors, Alice, pulls me aside and gives me in-the-moment feedback about my “gruff” communication. She explains to me that a couple of my peers were responding to my leadership style, but out of fear rather than motivation. The rest were shrugging me off, which she pointed out seemed to be frustrating me more. I try to listen to her, yet most of her words are leaking out of my ears. “Gruff” rhymes with tough, and to encourage and cheer like a superfan for an 0-9 football team seems weak and unproductive.
Laying under the stars that night, I ponder Alice’s feedback and whether it makes any sense. The more I think about it, I’m at this program to learn, and clearly my behavior in this dinner setting around a campfire is pushing people away, just like it was at home. Maybe I have found that door which opens to a new path and doesn’t end in despair. Maybe I’ve found a mentor who cares about me and can guide me to a place of peace and serenity.
