A Year of Wonders

Yes, I'm stealing that title from the book I just finished, but I think it's appropriate. In looking back, I completed 10 of the 15 things from my list last year (not surprisingly, the recurring commitments fell off, but I did clean my bathroom more often than I otherwise would have). I am sad I didn’t get to Coors Field, or any field for that matter except my flag football field (another 2 championships baby!) but I wouldn’t have traded the year I had. Here are some highlights:

1. Seven months and counting with an amazing man—God has truly blessed us and I’m excited for the year to come.
2. SUP’ed—Stand up paddleboarding. Didn’t even fall in. Bonus: got to see baby dolphins learning to fish.
   
3. Creative Writing Workshop—this pushed me and encouraged me. I loved it! Everyone should take more classes!
4. Rocked the Ugly Christmas Sweater in an epic way.
   
5. Camp Doc Episode 2—in which I learned to hammock, did a 13 mile hike, had Mass in the car wash parking lot, and did a lot of lightning protocol.
6. One award and another nomination at work. Don’t worry, just when I feel like I’m doing something right, a med student evaluation says, “Dr. Z was usually a great teacher, unless US Soccer was on.”
7. Speaking of which… Cheered the USWNT to World Cup victory (pretty sure it was all me)
8. Zombie target shooting with mom and dad. What? Our family is normal.
   
9. Watched “White Christmas” for the first time. Apparently this is a big deal. Who knew?
10. Trained as a Peer Supporter to be able to respond to adverse events at work.
11. Did my first (and second and third) liquor shot ever (not on the same night). I mean, it only took me a decade, but I felt like I was actually able to enjoy the experience instead of puking on the carpet.
    
12. Lit my birthday cake with a cautery loop. I have the best coworkers.
    
13. Puzzle room victory! Michelle wins for picking the lock.
    
14. Bartender’s choice at a speakeasy.
15. St. Louis trip—the zoo, Kelly’s graduation, MMMHops.
    

Not sure I can (or want to) come up with 16 things to do in 2016, but I do have some goals for sure. It’s going to be a big year.

1. The Camino—my goal is to go outside my comfort zone speaking Spanish, to live simply, and to enjoy the journey.
2. I want to continue to grow in love and holiness with A, who helps me be less selfish and more courageous. And yes, next year will probably involve some event planning, so there’s that…
3. I’m going to re-instate my letter-writing and new-recipe resolutions from last year. Can’t hurt to try.
4. One Rockies game. That’s it, just one. That shouldn’t be too hard, right?

 Happy New Year!!!

The Edge of Time

My creative writing final. Not perfect, but I learned a lot while writing it, and a classmate said I'd improved 10-fold. This is a throwback to last summer's camp experience.

I spend most of the morning in the shadow of the cliff, my eyes drawn again and again to the imposing wall as if by some unseen force. It stares back, daring me to a rematch.

Two weeks earlier, I stood in the same shadow, with anticipation instead of wariness. The climbing route is aptly named: The Edge of Time. The edge is what strikes you, no matter how long you spend trying to take it in. A great slab of rock, wedged upright into the ground, as if a huge headstone was cracked in half and this piece was planted as a memorial.

That edge is where I got stuck that first time, forty feet up, my right leg shaking like it was tapping out a telegraph, despite my best efforts to control it. That edge is where I dangled, head heavy under the weight of my white helmet, telling my belayer to lower me down, mortified that the teenage girls had outdone me.

Now I am back, unsure if the possibility of vindication is worth the risk of another defeat. Being the only female on this climbing trip raises the stakes even higher; I can’t be “the girly girl”. I tighten my harness straps around my thighs and tug up hard on the belt loop to make sure it’s snug. My sweaty hands slide over the knots, double checking everything one last time. I turn back to my friend, holding the other end of the rope.

“Belay on?”

“On belay,” he says, indicating he is ready for me to begin.

At least one of us is.

I step closer and lay my palms on the cold granite. Inhale. Exhale. The rope pulls taut into my chest as the belayer takes in slack, forcing me to lean around it. I close my fingers around the first holds and lunge upwards. I settle into a rhythm of reaching, pulling, standing, reminding myself to use my legs, not my arms.

I surge past the point of defeat from two weeks ago, but my victory is short-lived. A few feet higher, I pull myself to standing and reach up yet again. My hands sweep left and right. Nothing. The ledge above me is barely enough to hook my fingernails on. I use my foot to grope for a step to my right, but it is out of reach. I am stuck. Again.

Voices call out from below with encouragement and suggestions, but all I hear is the one in my head telling me I’ve failed. How many more half-hearted attempts before I can throw in the towel? One more?

Resigned, I push up on my toes, pinched in the tight rubber shoes. I lean into the wall and strain upwards, trying to use my momentum to drive me past that ledge. Suddenly I’m 18 inches higher on the wall, not sure how I got here. I hear cheering from below and my fatigue and doubt evaporate. Surging ahead, my adrenaline crashes the same time my fingertips touch the metal anchor at the top. I collapse into the harness, letting it enfold me while I am lowered to the ground.