Sitting there, on my couch in my air-conditioned house, watching Cheryl's struggles, I said, "I couldn't do that."
And then I paused the movie, exasperated with myself.
"I walked the 3-Day," I said, "but that's just sixty miles. And I had someone cooking for me. And a shower each night."
I had had just about enough of myself. So I responded to myself with this:
"Yes, Beth, you walked the 3-Day, which is sixty miles in three days. Do you know how many people don't walk the 3-Day? Most people don't walk the 3-Day. And you walked the 3-Day seven times."
I do believe that comparison is a mild form of insanity.
This summer, I've been working through
I'm finding it very helpful on a number of levels, but the most helpful thing of all (so far, at least) may be what I read on the second page of the prologue: "You can do hard things."
Yes, I can. I do. I have.
Recently, when my recently flooded basement was on the verge of flooding again just days later – even as the drying equipment was in place – that simple sentiment was what kept me going as I bailed water out of my almost-overflowing sump pit into any watertight container I could find. Thankfully, a neighbor had a second submersible pump that, in concert with the one I already had pumping, got ahead of the water just enough to prevent another flood.
At one point, it seemed hopeless. I was exhausted. Water is heavy, and I had been hauling buckets of it to empty into my utility sink. Then my circuit breaker tripped – twice – and I had to feel my way to the box to trip the circuit – twice – until it dawned on me to pull all the plugs on the drying equipment. I was running out of containers. After I had filled my utility sinnk, I had upended my totes of Christmas decorations, I had filled Styrofoam coolers, I had filled a plastic garbage can, but I managed to get ahead of the water just enough to run upstairs and grab the phone and call my neighbor.
And with perseverance and help, I prevented another flood.
And then, two days later, as it rained again, though thankfully not as heavily, I had the plumbing rerouted to discharge outside of my house, so, in theory, I should never have water in my basement again.
Neither the 3-Day nor bailing out my basement are the same as hiking the PCT, of course. Because nothing is the same as hiking the PCT. Only hiking the PCT is hiking the PCT.
And I will never do that. Because I don't want to do that.
And I will never go through what Cheryl Strayed went through in other areas of her life, because I am not Cheryl Strayed.
I am me. And my life is my life. And comparison is literally pointless.
I can surely have empathy for others. Sympathy, too.
And admiration and appreciation.
And I do. Every day.
And I know I can do more than I do, improve in many ways, but not to be as good as someone else or better than someone else, but simply to become a better me.
Which is not to say that I find myself lacking but there is more that I want to do. Of course there is. Doing is the point of living.
Being is only the beginning.
But the only logical comparisons begin and end with me: me now, me then, me in the future, however long that may be.
I woke up this morning. I don't take that for granted. I really don't.
So much possibility.