It seems to me the last year or so has taken the lives or abilities of many members of our beloved climbing community. While accidents and deaths occur frequently each year, this past year has particularly impacted me. The people we lost were not statistics nor strangers, they were people I'd held conversations with, climbed with, and befriended. While loss occurs with every passing year, so does connection build with every passing year. This, I believe, is why I've been particularly affected by these losses. The more time I spend in places I love, the more people I learn to love. And yet, the more people you love, the more likely you are to lose one of them. Connection makes us vulnerable.
That isn't to say it isn't worth it. Grief has a beautiful way of showing us how much someone meant to us. But why are we so often incapable of understanding the value of such friendship until we've lost it? Death is inescapable, but we like to think we have a say in, or at least an idea of, the circumstances under which our last breath is taken. As a young climber, and a college student, so many people offer advice revolving around the same mantra: "you've got your whole life ahead of you". Take an extra semester, oh just one more loan, pick up one more shift, try the project one more time, why not go to grad school, make xyz sacrifices now - they'll pay off later. Why do we bother with things which do not or will not make us happy? Is 21 really so young when 22 isn't guaranteed? Am I really so young today if tomorrow isn't promised?
Tragedy is a catalyst for reflection. I'd like to think it encourages or forces those affected to focus on that which matters most - the people and things we love. It seems tragically disillusioned that one's initial instinct would be to post on social media. And yet, this was my first instinct. For me, one of the most frustrating traits of any loss is the honesty and love it elicits in us, powerful enough that we are compelled to share it with the world, despite it being too late for the one which sparked this love to feel it.
Social media has sat bitterly in my mind since these accidents. The accounts I created to share myself with others now seems to influence my choices, passions, and friendships. Is this acceptable? There are 5 stages of grief and I'm pretty sure instagram isn't one of them. But I posted my "tribute" to Savannah before I cried about her death. Is that not fucked up?
Is it any more twisted than me venting about social media on a blog? Well, I appreciate having an online journal to formally collect my thoughts, and the public nature of this journal doesn't influence my writing or keep me up in the same way other forms of social media do. Perhaps it's that lack of an audience that engenders authenticity. Ya know "what you say when no one's listening" kind of stuff.
I don't really know what to make of it. Social media is a tremendous tool and in my travels it has connected me with so many people I would otherwise not have met. But how can I know? When I post to instagram, there are probably less than 10 people that truly give a shit, and odds are they were out with me witnessing and partaking in whatever #tryhard I'm spraying about.
I have no concluding thoughts. And those we lost didn't get a chance to conclude theirs.
I'm grateful you survived your fall, Quinn. Your attitude inspires beyond your achievements (not to belittle these).
I'm continuously inspired by your authenticity, Hayden. I'm grateful to have met you.
I am so sorry for how quickly it was all taken away, Inge. Your passion continues to inspire.
Savannah, you overcame so much and were ready to take on even more. What a gross injustice to see your fire cut short.
No comments:
Post a Comment