I’ve been sketching out ideas for a potential book project. It’s early days, and I’m still wrapping my head around the concept. But one thing I’m certain to address is how we adjust our mindset in the face of adversity.
That got me thinking about a trip I was leading several years ago in September to the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. There were two clients on the trip, and we were backpacking and pack rafting our way across the northern foothills of the Brooks Range. Along the way, we got hammered by a series of storms, one after the other.
By the first week of September, winter is knocking on the door of Alaska’s arctic and those storms hit us with snow, wind, and cold. The first of the two big ones hit in the night, rattling our tents fiercely, and forced me to rise in the darkness to batten down the lines of the tiny kitchen tent.
I slept poorly, the wind and my worries about the clients’ well-being keeping me awake. Come morning, the snow had eased off, though the wind still tore across the tundra bench where we’d set up camp. I started the water for coffee on the tiny camp stove, then walked over to my clients’ tent. I could see the gusts slamming the fabric of their dome tent, the poles flexing inwards then popping back out with a bass-drum-like boom!
No way, I thought, could anyone sleep in there, and prepared myself to reassure some exhausted and potentially scared people. As I walked closer, the tent continued to bounce, threaten collapse, and snap back with a boom of nylon, but each time it did, I heard something else… laughter.
Confused, I stood for a moment outside their tent and just watched. The wind would hit, the tent would flex and boom and a fresh eruption of laughter would follow. Wind, flex of tent, Boom! A pause, and then giggling. I smiled and laughed myself at the absurdity of it. I was worried they were miserable, scared, and cold, and instead, they were thrilled with the raging wind and the adventure we were having.
With that lesson, I reset my own attitude toward the storm. Rather than cower in our tents, which would have been my default on a day like that, we tightened down the lines and went for a hike. Walking through fresh snow up to the top of a small nearby peak, we looked over the white and red landscape, and leaned into the wind, arms outstretched, feeling each gust try to lift us from the ground.
This morning, going through some photos from that trip, I found this image that I’d never previously processed. This photograph, and that memory, were a wonderful reminder to make adversity your inspiration. And not to spend the day hiding in your tent.