I don’t know why I am, the way I am… Well, I sort of do but that’s beside the point. The weather is warming up and so is the year. In about a month I’ll be on the Foothills Trail with Elaine, come late May I’ll be paddling the Greenbriar, June I’ll be out in Washington, August the Adirondacks, later in August grad school, with adventures and hijinks in between all of these major tickets. Right now, I’ve been training and prepping for everything to come. It’s cool to give a shit, but it’s a lot, getting ready for backpacking, cycling, outdoor climbing, and paddling season while also trying to get my mind ready for grad school. I know simply by preparing, I’m starting off better than a lot of folks, but I keep getting hit by the same question in different forms – what if I’m not good enough? Not smart enough? Not strong enough?
A few weekends ago I went to a grad school open house at William and Mary for their American Studies program. There were maybe five others in my cohort, four of which were there for the PhD program rather than the MA. I… couldn’t help but feel like a complete moron. It started off awkwardly enough walking into the room where everyone was having breakfast. I had spent the morning taking photos on the Colonial Parkway, and was still getting caked up sand between the tread of my boots as I walked in on my cohort all wearing business formal attire. Here I was, the dirtbag, with double denim action and chunky boots, a hiking daypack slung on one shoulder, being stared down by folks who own irons. Scary.
I got along well enough with them, and fortunately the current grad students all seemed a bit more relaxed. Still, every time we were asked to talk about our research interests, I felt woefully underprepared. I was supposed to have an elevator pitch? Why yes, I am interested in studying outdoor recreational subcultures within the United States blah blah blah. It’s not even that everybody in my cohort had these great ideas that blew me out of the water, they varied from ill-defined to desperately niche to boring as hell, but they all were imbued with a certain confidence, a faith that what they were doing was truly academic and important. Maybe they just had the right combination of words, maybe they all felt the same way as me. They probably did. Still, here was this professional-looking bunch, studying things that sound academic, and here’s me, a dirtbag wanting to study dirtbags and trying desperately to convince somebody of its importance. I know it is. Outdoor recreation has exploded in popularity since COVID and it poses questions related to class, race, gender, disability, and our basic concepts of nature as Americans. Is backpacking just a facsimile for westward expansion? Why do we consider some lands worth of protection, and not others? There’s historical research, contemporary ethnographic research, economic studies, etc, all to be had. Yet I still felt like it wasn’t good enough.
In talking with professors, there was a split between those who seemed genuinely interested and thought I had something good and compelling going on, and those who I felt certain hints of prejudice from – oh great the cishet white guy who couldn’t be bothered with a blazer wants to studying dirtbags and can’t articulate his exact proposal, six months before he even starts grad school? Still, though, it did weirdly feel right. I almost feel my biggest mistake wasn’t being more myself, more colloquial, more iconoclastic, more irreverent. I’m never going to beat people on their own turf, but they’ll never beat me on mine.
Between the highs of some people praising me for being a smart boy (half of me getting into academia it feels is just to get words of affirmation from professors), and the lows of imposter syndrome, we took a tour of William and Mary’s campus. It wasn’t a formal tour by any means, and I spent most of it just remembering high school shenanigans there. I felt a bit isolated, not quite getting into the flow of conversation with any of the natural cliques that had formed. I’ve been so surrounded by my sort of people, I think I’d lost a bit of my knack for small talk with strangers. I felt a bit alone until we got to the Sunken Garden and to the far edge I saw them – the two coastal redwoods on campus. I love those damned trees. They’ve already seen me at my best and worst and I was reminded I’d never be alone there, I’d always have them.
Still, it’s weird going back to school in the place I grew up. I’ll still live in Richmond, but this’ll be the most time I’ll be spending in Williamsburg since I was a kid. Starting fresh somewhere the landscape is already littered in memories of a past life is… weird. Even weirder is seeing marks of the passage of time. Old shops that are no more, new ones in their place. My personal map of where’s important and unimportant entirely shifted. My sweet lord.
I do have confidence in myself to figure out how to traverse this, but I haven’t figured it out yet. I have time, it just never feels like that. In a similar vein, my life outdoors is also going through growing pains. Getting into climbing has been great, it’s such an accepting and helpful community. Still, it’s hard doing something where I know I’m by no means exemplary. I can’t just outthink myself out of it. I’ve taken quickly to the things I can just research my way into expertise with, but I can’t exactly research my way into being a better climber. I’ve had to find the line between not beating myself up but also not making excuses for myself. It’s exciting to get into, but there’s some days where the same self doubt comes in – what if I’m not flexible enough, not good enough, not strong enough? That’s not the point of climbing but they’re called intrusive thoughts for a reason. I’ve always struggled with perfectionism.
The upcoming Foothills Trail thru-hike with Elaine is exciting, but I feel the same pangs of doubt. I’m an experienced backpacker, I know what I’m doing, but this is still going to be the longest trek I’ve taken yet. I’ve certainly tried to prepare my body, but it never feels like enough. Every uphill ascent I curse myself on, I wonder if I’m really ready. If I can get through the pain, embrace the suck. It’ll be a challenge, and I know realistically I can take it. Still, the doubts linger. I don’t want to let anybody down. I don’t want to let down the people who believe in my academic abilities and all that, or the people I’m going climbing with, or those I backpack with. I want to be good enough, strong enough for them. I sometimes wonder if that’s why I’ve let myself stay single – this fear of not being good enough. I have to remember, though, that not feeling like you’re par to the task isn’t a good reason to not try. That few people truly feel good enough, and most who feel like they are probably aren’t. Dunning-Kruger.
We live in a time of instant gratification and this year I’ve loaded my plate with things where you have to embrace sucking and not getting instant gratification. I have the occasional banger pic, but the more pics I take, the more critical I grow of myself. It’s natural, it means I’m learning and growing, but still, what the fuck. All these things I’m doing and preparing for take time and some of these things I’ll just have to do regardless of how ready I feel. I know the payoff will be worth it, but it’s been hard. I’ve never been a bold mover or someone who takes decisive action, but sometimes I have to let myself run the risk of falling flat on my ass.
It’s been a productive time. We’re never done growing, learning, all peaks have descents. Just because I’m not strong enough doesn’t mean that’s forever. I’ve paraphrased this from Courtney Barnett before, but things take time, so take time. It’s going to pass anyway. Keep taking time.