300 for 30: Day 21

I went on a hike today with my parents to a waterfall. I really didn’t want to go. It was the waxing period of another depressive episode; the rainforest was tropical, humid, and full of insects that wanted to drink the sweat from my face so I had to constantly wave them away with my hat; it was raining intermittently; there was nothing particularly interesting or exciting about yet another Southeast Asian waterfall; and there was mud everywhere. But had I not gone, not only would I face my parents’ disappointment on Father’s Day of all days, but my self-critical thoughts would have had a merry time reminding me how I’m trying to lose the weight the medication has made me put on.

The guidebook said that the walk was 400 meters. They had left off a digit; it was actually 1400 meters, up and down hills and across creeks and streams. I generally enjoy hiking, but not in such mugginess when I was feeling this lousy to begin with. I constantly waved my arms like propellers to keep the flies and other creatures from attacking.

The problem with walking in one direction, turning around, and then walking back, is that every step on the way there is another step you know you’ll have to take on the return journey. A long, cantankerous spiel was running through my head as I panted through my nose to keep from swallowing any bugs by accident, and my soul itched and creaked inside me.

Yet when we got to the waterfall, which I still found utterly uninteresting, I felt myself begin to heal. The rain fell in earnest but it didn’t bother me. I had pushed and pushed, and it had gotten harder and harder, but when the endorphins kicked in and I had worked through all the ill-temper, I was okay. Okay. I even made jokes on the walk back.

Sometimes dealing with something difficult is like lancing a boil.