Tomorrow night at 2AM, Craig and I set off with two of our neighbours to climb Ben Nevis as part of a neighbourhood park improvement fundraiser. Other neighbours will be doing a 24-hour relay walk around the park — in their pyjamas! That part was my idea… thank you, thank you. We, on the other hand, will be climbing a mountain.
I admit, when I first agreed to do the climb — and for a long time afterward — I was dreading it. A few people have told me it’s a dawdle, that there’s a tourist path that’s well-trodden and perfectly manageable. I’ve also read, however, that if the weather isn’t perfect, Ben Nevis is a crushingly difficult climb into the clouds where all climbers meet a certain doom. (Doom… DOOM!)
Except thousands of people do it every year. And some people even managed to take a piano up there. So it’s probably fine.
The biggest obstacle I was anticipating wasn’t actually the mountain, but me. I know when I have to do physical chores I don’t want to, I can get really cranky. I don’t want to climb this munro with my lover and two neighbours and be a complete prick the whole time, so I knew I had to shift where my head was at about this trek. I think I’ve done that.
First, there was the logistical matter of not having the right gear. Well, it would be stupid to do this climb that way, so I finally got some proper waterproof hiking boots, gloves, and a rucksack, and another neighbour loaned me his hiking jacket and gave us both some walking-sticks.
Then there’s the matter of exerting ourselves all day, so I stocked up on lots of little treats and energy-stuff so we’ll be able to snack like squirrels the whole way up. I know that will keep me happy.
But the big, big impasse was “Why the hell am I doing this, anyway?” My parents kindly insisted on giving me sponsorship money, but, aside from a weak little message on Twitter and Facebook, I haven’t asked anyone for money because a) I don’t know people here, other than the neighbours, and b) I hate asking people for money.
For one, I’m weary of constantly being asked to sponsor this event or that online. Somebody’s always asking for something, and I don’t particularly like being on the receiving end of it.
Second, at least most people’s causes are a terribly sad disease. We want to fix up our park. It’s a nice park. It’s a historic park. But the first rule of copywriting is to step into your audience’s shoes and ask, “What’s in it for me?” I honestly can’t answer what’s in it for anyone else if my park gets fixed up.
And I’m fine with that. This is not something I’m terribly committed to getting better at. In my workshop days, whenever we resisted promoting their thing to everyone they’d ask, “Where else does this issue show up in your life?” I know I’m not great at charging for my stuff or promoting it (I’m in R&D on that), but at least in those cases I feel convinced that my books are good on the inside and out, and my copywriting clients think my work hits the bullseye pretty often. So the fundraising is not something I want to make an issue of.
I have to have something at stake, though. Just surviving this climb would be a sucky approach and make for a miserable day.
On the outside, it’s a chance to get to know some of the neighbours, and to do something pretty different with Craig.
On the inside, though… What is it? What could it be? I sat down with my journal, put on some ambient music, and put the question to myself. Here’s what I said (translated back from shorthand!):
I’m thinking about the climb of Ben Nevis we’re making tomorrow. Before I was dreading it, doing it just to be polite. Now I actually want to go. I have the right equipment, but more than that, I am approaching the experience as one big metaphor. After all, mountains are the ultimate metaphor for goals and achievement. So what is my relationship to goals and achievement?
I haven’t been setting big goals for a while and I think it’s because deep down I think it’s not actually possible to get what I want — even though I have a great life. I never became a famous actor. I didn’t get lucky with my books. So I guess I’ve kinda stopped trying for the big stuff. [It’s very uncomfortable even writing that, because these are the icky external motivations I look down at now, but perhaps it’s good to admit that at the beginning those were the stars in my eyes.]
In his youth, Dan Sullivan [president of the company I copywrite for], did an Outward Bound climb of the Cairngorm Mountains in Scotland. One day, he reached a point when he couldn’t go any further. His instructor went back to where he was sitting down.
“So this is where you stop, is it?” the instructor asked.
“What?” asked Dan.
“Well, everyone has a point where they stop. I guess this is yours.”
Dan hated that thought, so he got up and kept going, and finished the climb.
So if the results I got don’t look like traditional success, is this where I stop? Or, more to the point in my case, where I go instead of there?
So we’ll see what the mountain says. But I’m excited now. I know there’ll at least be good snacks!
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