Your Best Will Always Be Enough

Usually at the outset of a new month I have a big burst of energy. There is something about turning the page on the calendar that feels refreshing and uplifting and while I won’t say that none of that new month optimism is present for me at the moment, it would be dishonest of me to pretend that it is not coupled with a great deal of weariness. The cumulative strain and grief of a full year of navigating a pandemic, some recent news from a doctor that was not devastating, but certainly left me shaken, and the uncertainty about what lies ahead for me and for us finds me arriving at this new month with a little less vigor and pep than is typical for me. And I’ve decided that that’s okay.

As someone who, more than anything, wants my legacy to be one of uplifting others who are struggling, I often find myself walking a fine line with what I share with my community here online. I, of course, want my words and images to bring hope, inspiration, and nourishment to anyone who comes across them, but I am also committed to being real and honoring the full spectrum of my/the human experience. If you’ve been following me for any length of time you know that I do not have any interest in bypassing or toxic positivity. 

And so, my message for the beginning of this month is a tempered one and draws from a lesson that my father gifted me with when I was in 6th grade. It was a tough year for me. Up until this last year I would have said it was the toughest year of my life. My home life was chaotic and overwhelming that year and for the first time in my academic career, my grades suffered to the point that my report card required a parent’s signature. As I handed the report to my father, my hands shook. I was ashamed and also scared of what his reaction might be.

He reviewed my grades and then looked at me and calmly asked, “Did you do your best?”

I answered “yes” honestly as tears welled up in my eyes and then he placed his giant bear paw hands on my shoulders and said, “Then, I’m proud of you.”

I broke down into sobs of relief and some other feeling that I still can’t quite name.

To know that it was enough, that I was enough, despite the ways I felt I had fallen short, shattered me.

I have thought about that moment so much over the past year and especially in the past handful of months, none of which has looked anything like I would have hoped. 

There have been days where I have been able to create meaning and purpose out of these odd times, but there have also been days where I have struggled to hold myself together or do anything of substance at all. On the days where I’m in the latter experience, I have noticed the voice of my inner bully piping up, telling me I should be doing more, or that I should be handling things better. And then, I remember the question my father asked me and I ask it of myself: Am I doing my best? 

And as long as the answer is yes, I take a deep exhale and begin the practice of releasing myself from the grips of shame and not-enoughness. 

Some days, our best is what we envision it to be. For me that looks like taking good care of my mind and body, showing up in my power and light, and engaging in meaningful work that serves both myself and others. 

But some days, our best just looks like making it through. And whatever that looks like for you, please know that you deserve grace on those days, too.

As I look to this new month ahead, in this wildly strange time, I don’t feel the need to set any big goals or place high expectations on myself. The only thing that I am asking of myself in this moment is that I do my best. And my hope for myself, is that I truly know in my heart that it’s enough, that I am enough. I hope you know that you are, too.

This is What I Remember

I’m sure I must have driven through Gaviota sometime before, but the first time I remember going through the pass was almost exactly 5 years ago with one of my dearest friends on our way to Big Sur. It’s hard to put into words exactly, but as soon as we entered the gorge, I felt like I had fallen under some sort of spell and was completely enchanted by the only stretch of wilderness along the SoCal coastline that extends all the way to the ocean. The rugged mountains with stone cliffs and dense vegetation felt like something from another land and time. I can remember seeing the wind caves and feeling completely haunted by their beauty. Like they were singing to me. A song much, much older than human language.

I said for years that I was going to go hike up to those caves, but somehow it wasn’t until yesterday that I finally got around to making the trek. I had a whole day planned: hike up to the wind caves, explore a bit, then on to the peak for lunch. If I made it down early enough I would head over to the hot springs and then spend some time at my new favorite beach in Goleta on the way back down to Ojai.

Well...you know what they say about best laid plans...

I arrived in Gaviota in the morning, made my way up the 1.25 mile climb to the wind caves, spent some time exploring all of the various caverns, and then proceeded to roll my left ankle just as I was starting out on the second leg of my climb to the peak.

I quickly realized that I couldn’t put any weight on my left foot at all without experiencing radiating pain and decided to abandon the peak and make my way back down to the trailhead. 

The terrain on the trail is steep, fairly uneven at points, and includes areas where scrambling is required. I hobbled and hopped on one foot in the areas where I could do so and crab-crawled through the sections that I couldn’t safely navigate with only one point on the ground.

It was easily the slowest descent I have ever made on a hike, and as I made my way down the mountain, inches at a time, I started thinking about how I had always wondered what would happen if I ever got injured while I was hiking alone. That this had actually been one of the fears that kept me from hiking alone for a long time. And here I was, meeting that very fear, head on. 

I decided about a month ago around my birthday that the practice I wanted to lean into most during this trip around the sun was consciously choosing grace. Trusting in the universe and myself. Moving in harmony with the ebbs and flows of life rather than resisting or forcing. Embracing whatever comes my way as if I had chosen it and meeting it with clear eyes and an open heart. I feel like yesterday was one of my first potent lessons in those very practices.

Not only did I realize that I was able to handle much more than I thought I could, I was also reminded that I am never alone.

Several different pairs of people who were hiking up actually offered to help me get back down the mountain. Honestly, I would have been floored regardless, but in the time of Covid when contact with others feels riskier than usual, this felt like such immense generosity of spirit that the gestures alone infused me with strength. I also know without a doubt that my father’s spirit was right there with me too. He was far from a perfect man, but I’ve never known anyone who was able to summon up grit and sheer will in the way that he could. When I had moments of feeling like I wanted to stop, I took a deep breath, reminded myself of where I come from, and continued forward.

I’m not sure that I’ve ever been so happy to see my car.

I decided to have my ankle checked out and thankfully it’s not broken, just badly sprained, and I’m hoping to be back to my usual shenanigans in the next couple of weeks. Probably with some additional ankle support and most definitely with a renewed sense of faith in humans, the universe, and myself. 

So much of how we see our life, current and future, depends on how we choose to frame our past. What I will remember about yesterday is the beauty of the place I live, the kindnesses that were offered to me, the fact that I was able to crawl my way down a mountain on one leg, and that I did it with grace.