Boundaries of Fear

How do we prepare when we don't know what to prepare for?

I've done a lot of solo trips and a good number have been in the wilderness. But this one probably scared me the most. Between unpredictable weather, bear and moose, critical gear malfunctions, and getting lost, there's a lot that can get even the most prepared voyager stranded out here. Paddling out into the abyss that first day definitely had me questioning my own motivations and whether it was worth the risk. Aside from wanting to do something special to mark my 33rd birthday, and besides exploring an absolutely awe-inspiring landscape devoid of misguided human machinations, there was something else pulling me. It was fun, don’t get me wrong. But there’s plenty of ways to have fun that aren’t so… demanding. I guess I was craving a test. Something that required… Toughness. Grit. Focus. Clarity of mind.

Coming back to the grid and being presented with images from Hurricane Helene was surreal. So much devastation, so rapidly, in a place not so different from where I grew up. And concurrently, many are out there seeing the current political climate and thinking they need to prepare for some kind of war. They might not be far off (sadly, the very fact that they’re preparing for it dramatically increases the likelihood). It goes to show, we don’t know what kind of disaster is coming to our own doorsteps, but it certainly does feel like a matter of scalable odds that challenges are on their way. And none of us can opt out.

As for my own preparations, I think one of the best training protocols in the face of uncertain times is quite simple. Do things that are hard. Things that take guts, strength, and real consequential decision-making. I don't think the Shelter of Modernity gives us enough opportunities to engage with these types of experiences, nor does it offer adequate space for spiritual reflection when they do occur. You usually have to seek these things out for yourself, and sometimes people will think you’re crazy for doing so. Listen to your loved ones’ concerns, and allow their questions to shed light on the why’s of your process. And then, go.

I don’t want to inflate my own sense of self-importance here. I did something thousands of people do every year. But still, I met my edge. For me, it emerged in the form of nighttime, and water. Wilderness solos can be fabulously relaxing, but the dead of night always seems to be the time when I start spiraling and second-guessing my intentions. Up there around the 48th parallel (the US/Canada border) the sun takes a while to fall past the horizon. It casts long shadows no matter what time of day but once it does finally scoop below the trees, the darkness is unbelievably pure. And after the wind dies down, the silence actually seems to reach inside your ears and curl around your psyche. The sound of creatures and breezes and gulps from the lake shore can distort to sound bigger, closer, more curious than they are in reality. We’ve all experienced nighttime. But experiencing it in utter remoteness—swallowed by blackness and crowded by silence—it’s an endurance test, no doubt. But even in the short number of days that I was out there, I noticed those edges start to soften. In short, I overcame the fear centers of my brain and by the last day, I was sleeping soundly.

A very small section of the vast Boundary Waters Wilderness Area

Something similar happened with the water. As much as I’ve paddled, swam, and surfed, I’ve actually never been comfortable in water. Since childhood, I’ve been allured by rivers and oceans but never seemed to feel at home in them like so many people I know. I don’t like pathologizing myself or others, but calling it a phobia does feel correct. It’s the kind of thing where rationality steps out of the way and it’s hard to explain what exactly drives my uneasiness. Classic phobia. Anyway, trying to control a vessel lurching off course by an unrelenting wind, on the largest lake I’ve ever paddled, surrounded by dense wilderness in every direction, and then sleeping multiple nights in absolute darkness, it was hard. I don’t think my body fully un-tensed the entire time I was out there. But in that tensity, is a re-stringing of nerves. A re-wiring. Powerful medicine!

Hopefully, it goes without saying that I didn’t conquer these fears. I think that’s the wrong way to look at it. They still live in me, and I have to live with them. I’m going to confront them again. But the thing about facing them—choosing to do the thing, even when it’s uncomfortable—that’s where the medicine lies. So much of our personal limits have nothing to do with physics. They’re almost entirely mental. Blockages set in place that stop you before you can even touch a real, physical limit. But the only way to get to a place of knowing that limit is by bringing yourself there. It’s like psychic endurance training. The specific risks and limits are going to be different for everyone. For me, it looked like paddling into a fierce headwind and sleeping alone in the bush. Whatever it is for you, I highly recommend giving it a sustained, honest exploration before the universe does it for you.

I didn’t plan this edition of the PhaseShift Newsletter. It just kind of happened. I realize I permitted myself to give some advice, and I hope that felt okay. You can obviously take it or leave it. For now, I’ll just thank you being here, and making it to the end. See you next time. The music at the end of the audio version is by Emanative