Are You Happy Now?

“Be happy!”

J yelled out as he pointed his phone down at me.

If he says that one more time… I’m going to strangle him.

“Just how many pictures are you going to take?!”

“Of you struggling? I’ll stop when it stops being funny! Remember, this is what you wanted! You only have yourself to be mad at.”

With that, he spun on his heels and resumed his ascent up the 45 degree incline toward Roys Peak. The pasty white flesh of J’s legs mocked me as he practically pranced up the hill. He was clearly built for this, whereas my “sturdy” legs weighed me down as I stomped up the hill with my itty bitty steps.

“You’re not supposed to call them ‘sturdy’, you know,” I recalled our conversation from the day prior.

“I don’t mean it as a not-compliment…”

Like hell I only have myself to be mad at.

Pausing to catch my breath for the hundredth time, I turned around to remind myself why Roy’s Peak was THE hike on my Excel spreadsheet when I planned our New Zealand trip.  Why this was worth waking up at 5 am to get to the trail by 7. Why we trained on uphill hikes for several weeks.

Why I wasn’t going to actually kill my husband because he was right.

The view was still epic as outcroppings of mountains pierced the deep navy waters of Lake Wanaka.  In contrast, yellow grass of the hillside scattered the orange hue of the early morning sun.  Without a single cloud in the sky, I couldn’t have asked for a better day.

Now for the topic of the husband, remember J’s the one who’s driving the campervan on the wrong side of the road – you don’t want to do that. Plus he makes you breakfast and coffee every morning… so many good reasons to not kill him. And the likelihood of you getting away with it is very low.

Better not.

Somewhat mollified, I surveyed our progress after an hour and a half of torture. I knew it was going to be hard, but I didn’t think it would be this hard.

Roys Peak: nearly 10 miles round trip and 4,265 feet of elevation.

The stats didn’t quite capture the scream of your calves as they simultaneously clench and pull to propel you up the hill. Or the tightness in your chest as your lungs struggle to expand beyond constricting ribs to satisfy the air hunger you’d learn to live with for 3 hours. Or how it had the ability to turn you against your life partner.

Looking down the trail, I saw the Chinese tourist couple I passed earlier clearly having a spirited discussion. At the start, they were so obviously in love with eyes only for each other – clearly honeymooners. The wordless scene that unfolded below me now painted a much different story, and I was more than happy to supply the commentary as I struggled to catch my breath.

“You lied to me! You didn’t tell me it was going to be like this! Where is that Instagram picture spot that you showed me?!?” I imagined her saying.

“I swear sweetness, it’s at the top of this! Here, let me carry your bag and coat.”

As she roughly shoved her excessive belongings into his open hands, I shook my head knowingly.

They’re not going to make it. They should just turn around now with their marriage intact. Come back when you have 15 years under your belt and you’ve realized sometimes you’ll envision yourself throttling the person you love with every fiber of your being but you WON’T, because #truelove.  I bet that never makes it onto Instagram…

Just a few paces behind me, the woman who kept leap frogging me on this journey was slowly catching up during my breathing break. She was more my speed – slow and steady. But unlike me, she was a stoic, silent sufferer.

You used to be like her, M. Do you remember the days when no one used to know you were struggling?  It was much easier to hide back then.  

I was supposed to be using this vacation in between jobs to restock the reserves my 2 year battle with burnout had taken out of me.  But all of the solitary time hiking (because my husband kept abandoning me on the trails!) left my mind to wander freely for the first time in a long time. 

Despite being surrounded by the literally breath-taking beauty of New Zealand, I still couldn’t seem to escape the darkness I had just fled, leaving me to wonder: maybe the problem was actually me. 

Maybe I had cast the blame on the medical system because I was unwilling to see the truth – everything was all in my head.  I simply hadn’t been strong enough, resilient enough, doctor enough to survive up to even the 5 year mark as a primary care attending.  

And now I couldn’t even walk up this frickin’ hill.

Maybe that’s why this is the hardest hike of your life, M.  You can’t even get out of your head enough to put one foot in front of the other.

Resuming my climb, I finally caught up to J, this time without his phone waiting to capture my misery.  Flashing his mischievous smile that always crinkles the outer edges of his eyes, J offered me the Camelbak bite valve for water.

Ugh… that dimple gets you every time, M.  I guess we won’t strangle him today.

Arrival

Holding out his hand to take mine, J slowed down to my pace as we ventured up the hill once more as that couple and arrived to the most ridiculous scene of our entire trip: 20 or so people, standing in line to take THE #instaperfect shot at Roys Peak.  

It was so absurd I couldn’t stop the incredulous laugh tumbling out.

Everyone was just there to replicate the exact same picture they had seen on Instagram.  Of all the 360 degree views on this epic hike, this was the one view that was photo worthy?  

Craning my neck to look up at the barren summit, I realized most people headed right back down after taking their picture.  2-3 hours of the most grueling uphill hike and people didn’t even want to get to the end?  

It’s all about social proof these days, M.  Taking the designated pic trumps the personal satisfaction of making it to the top.  But… here you are, standing in line to take that very picture that you’re judging everyone else for.  Aren’t you just a little disgusted with yourself for contributing to this?

“My GOD.. is she jumping??  She could fall off the cliff!  Is the pic really worth it?”

“Are we really going to stand in line for 30 minutes to get this shot?  I could just take a picture of someone who looks like me and get on with it.”

“Ugh… another person doing a yoga pose.”

The murmuring behind me signaled I was in the presence of my kind of people – the woman who kept overtaking me on the way up and another sunburnt solo traveler from the States.  As we immediately bonded over our incredulity of the whole scene and our concurrent hypocrisy as we stood in line for the full 20 minutes, she said,

“You know, most people don’t even go to the summit – we’re going right?”

J looked over at me questioningly.  Did I have it in me to pull myself up a hill again?

“Of course we’re going!  We didn’t make it all this way not to get to the top.”

As we climbed higher and higher, the struggle seemed to dissipate as we compared notes on what brought us to this place.  The theme was oddly familiar – jobs left, new mountains and trails explored, nervous anticipation of an unknown future to come. But the future could wait a bit longer as we rediscovered the adventurers in ourselves after leaving the scripts of roles we were supposed to play at home.

As we marveled at the beauty sprawling out below, gratitude overcame us that we could share this experience together.  Because although adventuring and going your own way is fun, it can also get lonely.

How many planes and roads had been taken for us to converge on this one hill, on this one day?  How had the universe known we were meant to pause on our separate journeys and sit in silence together?

Some people are meant to walk with you for only a moment in time.  

Some moments last for eternity.

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Walk with me

The last 3 weeks, I’ve been waiting for the words to flow so I could wrap up my burnout saga with this #instaperfect ending, packaged up all neatly and finished off with a pretty little bow.

But the words never came.

Ultimately, I decided not to post anything last week.  I’d rather keep my silence than go against my quest to be authentic and real with this journey.

But to my surprise, people still came to the blog to read the next chapter, unprompted by my usual weekly email newsletter and social media alerts.

Instead, they were met with the remnant of a story left undone.  

I was tempted to craft a happily ever after for you, for the people who’ve invested in my story.  Perhaps you were hoping in some way if you could see me rising above, then so could you. 

I even considered abandoning the blog until I could come back victorious, but to be honest, I’ve never been a believer in happily ever after anyway.  

So here’s the truth…

Burnout doesn’t end the day you give notice to your soul-sucking job. 

It doesn’t magically disappear your last day in clinic. 

You are still solidly within its grasp even as you revel in the beauty of your happy place, with the person you love most in the world.  

The road to recovery is still paved with self-doubt.  You will still be afraid to see how deeply the cynicism and anger carved out the chasm in your soul.  Echoes of the warped stories you told yourself will still resonate in your dreams.

But each torturous, itty bitty step brings you higher even as you fight yourself and your demons the entire way past these false endings to the true summit.  

I’m not there yet, but I’m finally able to see the mountains wrapped in chartreuse velvet peering at their reflections in the sun kissed water. 

I see where I’ve been and where I’m going, switchbacks leaving jagged scars in the hillside.  

I’m beyond grateful for the people who’ve chosen to share this journey with me – some were only meant to walk with me for a few moments to reflect on our similar paths, others have signed up for a lifetime to hug the pieces of me back together.

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“Are you happy now, M?”

J tilted the brim of my baseball cap up to look directly into my eyes while we teetered on the summit’s edge.  Yet again, when my eyes were stuck peering at clouds being held back by the mountain range through the lens of my camera, his eyes were trained on me.  Eyes the perfect shade of shallow ocean blue with faint sandy coastlines circling the pupils, always trying to conceal the worry he carried for me.

I remembered the despairing woman in her hammock staring up at the forest canopy 6 months ago, wondering if she had it in her to reach higher.

Would she only see the clouds cresting the horizon, signs of another storm eventually rolling in?

Or would she be content to finally touch the sky, if only for a moment?

“It’s so beautiful…”

J arched his brow at my non-answer.

Why are you deflecting, M? Are you still numb or are you practicing foreboding joy again? You’re allowed to be happy. You need to let this happen, if just for a moment.

Taking in a deep breath, I steadied myself.

“Yes, yes I am.”

Maybe this moment wasn’t going to last an eternity.

But it’s a start.

 

***

Photo taken at the summit of Roys Peak, New Zealand. 

Not captured: J yelling that my legs were dangling too far off the edge.  

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