(Re) Finding Myself in the World

This is something I wrote - mostly just for myself - on the flight back from a work trip to Bangladesh in December 2022. I was trying to force myself to actually sit down and articulate how I had been feeling in the past few years and why - mostly because I just couldn't figure out why I hadn't been feeling much like... well... me. 

I’m posting this now in answer to all of the questions (complaints :P) I keep getting on IG about why, now that I have finally started posting again, I am only posting throwbacks to 2020 (and confusing everyone as to where I am in the process).

The short answer is because I have so many stunning photos from the last 3 years that I just hadn't been able to post before, and it would be a shame not to post them now that I feel okay to do so.

The long answer is contained in the (rather wordy) essay (dairy entry?) below.  It's a lot, but I promise to intersperse all the wordiness with beautiful photos!

Orto Tokoi reservoir on a beautifully calm pre-Covid era winter's day.

I had promised myself during the Covid years that I would use my free time to catch up on posting photos. Instead, not only am I still behind on posting the photos from my last 7+ years of adventures (some from 10 years ago!), I didn't even manage to keep up with posting photos of what I was up to during Covid times!

Part of that was for great reasons (too busy out exploring to post!), part of that was for necessary reasons (too busy working when not out adventuring to post), and part of that was for a complex constellation of emotional reasons that I am only just beginning to understand and parse. 

Knowing I was leaving KG after (at the time) 6 lovely years, and not knowing if or when I would be coming back, made looking at pictures of wonderful memories and places I love deeply incredibly difficult. I was essentially mourning a loss. This place that I called home and got to play in every day would no longer be that. And I didn't (still don't) fully know how to deal with that. 

I have lived in, made friends in, and loved so many amazing places, and each one owns a piece of my soul, but none as long or as much as Kyrgyzstan.

Leaving any place is hard, but leaving one you love deeply stretches you thin in ways that are impossible to explain to anyone who hasn't felt it. It's like part of you remains there, holding on to all the people and places you love, while the rest of you continues to move about in the world. 

The more times you make that move, the more stretched thin you begin to feel, with all the connections and commitments pulling you in different directions, drawing you taught. 

Add to these all those other connections you make while abroad – to people who feel like your long lost soul twins, to partners in adventure and craziness, to those who brush briefly past your life but who are out there making the world a more awesome place – all of whom are going about in the world on their own adventures, some constantly on the move and others tucked away in remote corners you may never visit again, and the taughtness begins to feel nearly unbearable.

It’s as though you are fraying at the edges trying to hold on, with worn patches forming in the middle that allow things – memories and connections that you never wanted to lose – to escape and fall through.

And yeah... I am still not sure how to process any of that… but here is a photo of lovely Lake Issyk-Kul taken from Bel-Tam, between Bokonbaevo and Kadji-sai on the South Shore, in mid June 2020, shortly after Bishkek's release from the first Covid lockdown, along with some photos from my first hikes post lockdown in July 2020. 

   

Lake Issyk Kul from the South Shore, Ringed by mountains and perfect for summer swims, this high altitude lake (the second largest in the world!) is considered the jewel of Kyrgyzstan by many - for me it is just one of the many, many jewels. 

                             

Kyrgyz Ala Too mountain views from the Alamedin Reservoir in southern Bishkek

An early July snowstorm up at Lake Adygene (3583m asl) in Ala Archa National Park. 

Stunning views out over the 4000-5000m peaks of the Ak Sai Cirque in Ala Archa National Park from my afternoon nap perch about 100m below the summit of Peak Elektro (4025m asl).

Sky reflections on one of the Sulutor Lakes, just off the turn off for the old Too Ashuu Pass road along the Bishkek Osh-highway (approx 3200m asl).

Not only have I spent the past 2 years mourning my departure from KG and the thinning of my connections to Central Asia that that necessarily entailed, I've started to realize that I have, in many ways, been confused about or mourning the loss of my life as I had known it.

I always knew leaving KG would rip me out of the incredible local friendships and outdoor exploration and adventure (as well as aerial and pole/dance) networks that I had built. I was incredibly sad about that, but (I thought) ready for it.

What I didn't expect, was for my departure to also coincide with the loss of my travel/adventuring life as I had known it.

The original plan had always been to leave KG and spend the next 7 months travelling and wandering in the mountains wherever I ended up. I knew I would never quite be ready to leave KG, but I was excited by the prospect of hitting the road again long-term and figured that would help me get over the hurt (yes, yes, I know, most people would consider my 3.5 month summer travel expeditions 'long-term'. We all have our own little weird tendencies :P).

Instead, Covid hit, and we all know how that went. To be honest, in many ways I was very lucky, and the Covid era actually gave me quite a lot (including Covid four times, twice before vaccines were even available, but that's a story for another time). The main thing was that it meant I was able to stay in KG nearly a year longer than expected (since it wasn't like it made sense to head off travelling anywhere else), turning my anticipated 5 years there into 6, and then to return again several months later in year two of Covid for the Spring semester, giving me a year 7. For that extra time in KG, particularly the gain of a whole summer mountaineering season (the photos from which I have yet to get around to posting on IG, but some of which I am now posting here!), I will forever be grateful.

But, it also meant I didn't get to go off travelling on that big trip.

Ultimately, that's a fairly miniscule concern, and something I accepted without issue at the time, particularly given that I had gained a whole summer of mountains, alongside another winter of skiing, and extra time in KG in general, in exchange.

It also, however, meant that, rather than leaving my phenomenal life in KG for more adventure  (something to look forward to), when I did eventually leave, it was to return to Ontario. In the winter. In a lock down. In a city that, at that point, had been locked down (again) for months, and would continue to be so for many months longer.

At the time, I didn’t realize how much giving up my life in KG for a return to a restriction-and-snow-bound Ontario would impact my psyche.

While returning into a winter lockdown felt incredibly restricting, I had known what to expect and was (I thought) okay with it – supportive of the health measures and enjoying spending time at home with my grandfather as I continued to teach online.

Part of travelling and adventuring is finding the balance between when to push and when to accept what is beyond your ability (or is appropriate) to change or control. Covid was definitely a time to just embrace going with the flow, and so I did.

It wasn't the returning into a lockdown that broke me (wore me down to a thin veneer of myself, more like).  I enjoy spending days alone without any claims on my time from wider society, and I definitely enjoyed getting to spend so much time with my hilarious nonagenarian grandfather.

It was the OHIP (Ontario Health Care) regulations that meant I was tied to Ontario for the better part of each of the next two years in order to maintain residency status that really made me feel trapped.

Exploration and adventure have long been a part of who I am and how I connect with the world. And to not be able to leave my province, even once things opened up..? Well…

Being required to remain in-province likely would have made me feel locked down regardless of how open and free Toronto had been at the time. But the feeling of being caged in certainly wasn't helped by the fact that Covid restrictions meant we weren't even allowed to go camping and explore the natural beauty that Ontario has to offer come spring.

Even more than that though?

Ontario, lovely as it is, lacks the mountains that speak to my soul.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was almost as though I was withering.

Turns out, even though I am allergic to everything in it, my soul needs the outdoors to remember how to breathe. 

 And mountains – those are crucial to my very ability to inhale.

 

Multi-day trekking in the Karakol region. Heading up the Jyrgalan Valley toward the Bulak Ashuu Pass.

Late-summer wildflowers in the lower reaches of the Jergez Valley.

One of the fabulous Kol Tor lakes in the upper reaches of the Jergez Valley, at 3505m asl.

A closer look onto that same Jergez Kol Tor lake. This view (and this valley) is just pure magic.

One of the university psychologists at AUCA said something last spring during an NGA faculty meeting that has resonated with me so hard ever since. She said, essentially, "Covid has made us all into teenagers, chafing at our restrictions." 

She was discussing both the reactions of our students (who still are or are not far off being actual teenagers) and ourselves. Highlighting how everyone's patience had worn/was wearing thin. Explaining in broad terms the need so many felt to act out, to rebel against the rules and regulations.

And she was so right. Even though I willingly complied with all the regulations, understanding on an intellectual level why they were necessary, even desirable, and even though I voluntarily took a number of extra precautions. There was something in me, somewhere deep down, just raging to get out. To be able to do what I wanted when I wanted, even as I was repeatedly making the conscious decision to follow regulations. 

And it took being compared to a teenager to understand what had happened. Covid regulations were the first time many of us were having long term restrictions imposed on what we saw as our expected freedoms in our adult lives. It was a loss of control. Of course everyone was emotionally reacting like teenagers, or finding our emotional tethers shorter than usual. Even those of us who seemed outwardly fine and even eager to comply were experiencing a form of loss of agency. Suddenly, we had less control over our lives, others were making the decisions whether we liked them or not - even if those decision-making others were simply the responsible sides of ourselves doing what we all needed to do to survive.

I have always had a selfish streak when it comes to my time and energy. I am happy to use both in the service of others, but only within limits. I need my me time. To travel alone, to think alone, to just be alone, and to come to decisions alone. Without that, I lose the me I like and I have less patience for people in general.  

Early Covid gave me so much of that time, and I was so grateful. I was so tired and spent (more on that later), and needed that time so badly, that I was like a desert plant sucking up water. 

In Late Covid, however, once life had started to go on but we were no longer 'all in this together,' the restrictions I and many others chose to continue to follow combined with the restrictions I had on my ability to leave Toronto/Ontario to throw my head for a real loop. 

Logically, I told myself to view my time back home as a pause. A chance to reset my roots in Toronto soil and to mend some of the tears and edges of my over-stretched network of connections. But, between restrictions, genuine covid spreading concerns, and life in general making it near impossible to catch up with friends and family regularly; the timing of my midnight online teaching sessions and amount of work I needed to take on in order to fund life in Toronto making it hard to take a break and just focus on me and what I needed to be okay; and the lack of altitude and outdoor time my heart needs to sing, my time in Toronto began to feel more like a box, a glass case I had created for myself.  

From inside, I could see the same world I always had, but I couldn't quite figure out how to interact with it in the same way.

I’d forgotten how to be me, let alone how to be me in the world.

Kyrgyz Ala Too / Tian Shan Mountain views from the summit of Peak Putin (4,446m asl) earlier in the summer.

Early Autumn views onto Lake Uchitel at the foot of the Uchitel Glacier at around 3600m asl in Ala Archa National Park 

Moody Peak Boks (4470m asl) and Aksai Glacier views from around 3400m asl on the trail between Ratsek Hut and Lake Uchitel. 

The wonderful EcoTrek Yurt Camp in Jeti-Oguz on Christmas 2020! Skating, cross-country skiing and snow-shoeing (after some back country downhill a few valleys over), what a way to spend the holidays!

I mentioned that early Covid had given me a much-needed break...

I realize I have no grounds to complain as I did it entirely to myself, but it turns out that taking advantage of every opportunity that comes your way and living life to the absolute fullest for 5 years straight with no break is somewhat tiring. Who knew? ;P

It had become blindingly obvious to me by the beginning of year 5 in KG that I could no longer sustain the pace of "work full-time-and-a-half + two side gigs + circus teaching and training + leading outdoor club + getting out to the mountains to summit or ski with friends on free weekends" ON TOP OF planning and preparing to hit the road on crazy travel adventures which took off immediately pretty much any time I had more than a week off, and then doing any prep work for my job from the road so that I could hold off on returning until the very last minute when I had to be at work. 

I had so many amazing adventures. I am so, so lucky to have had so many amazing opportunities, and I am really glad I did all of it. But it was crazy. And now, thinking about it, I have no idea how I survived 5 years like that. It was no wonder I was burnt out.

I can honestly say that, when Covid hit, I looked at the cancellation of my about-to-be-embarked-upon spring break trip and with more relief than sadness. 

I also can't lie and say that the notion that I was possibly almost too tired and exhausted to enjoy my planned 7-month trip at the end of year 5 hadn't already crossed my mind by then.

Looking back now, I know that would have been the case.

By that point, even thinking about planning travels made my mind want to curl in on itself. Some of that may have been that I didn't want to face the longing it could create if I couldn't travel due to Covid restrictions. But a huge portion of that was just exhaustion and burnout. My mind was so stressed about so many things (including, later on, the desperate situations of my former Afghan and Pamiri students, neither of which have been resolved), but it was primarily just tired from having been "on" for so long. From doing so many things and being responsible to so many people in so many different contexts. 

The weirdest part of the last few years has not been the fact that what has been going on in the outside has made me feel like I couldn't travel, but that what has been going on in my own brain made me feel like I wasn't sure I wanted to. 

How’s that for some cognitive dissonance? For travel, and exploration, and enjoying each challenge to be such a huge part of who you are and how you understand the world, and then to just... not feel like you can. Like your brain shies away from the very idea of it. Of difficulty. Of adventure. Of you. 

All it wanted was easy. And to not be responsible for things. 

The few non-work trips I did go on during Covid Year Two were just that, easy (well, except the one where I tried to work and travel at the same time. I managed, but my brain got really mad at me for that, and I was not okay) and requiring of minimal planning and research in advance. 

The work trips have been equally logistically easy. But the few times I have potentially had multiple days off (most of which I have had to work through anyhow, so it turns out this is a moot point :P), it's almost like my brain is scared to even think about trying to plan anything. Like it fears it won't remember how.

Happily, I have managed to research, plan and enjoy a few simple day trips without triggering that feeling. I'm viewing that as a start. A rehab of a sort.

The spectacular braided rivers of the Enilchek Valley on the KG-China border. 

The glacial outflow lake at the foot of the Enilchek Glacier. Just phenomenal. Made for cold swimming though!

More glacial lakes (and moraine) these ones located atop the 60.5km (!) long glacier.

Getting further up the glacier now (after multiple days of trekking!) and starting to see its other arms.

At 60.5km, Enilchek is the 6th longest non-polar glacier in the world. The length is deceptive. Those peaks in the distance are 6000-7000m tall!

A drained Merzbacher lake. Located at the confluence of the north and south arms of the Enilchek Glacier, the lake appears every spring on top of the glacier, only to drain around mid summer when the ice damn holding it in bursts, leaving its icebergs sitting on top of the glacial cover.

More of Merzbacher (3304m asl). Those icebergs are tall!
Just look to the left and you will spot Altynbek standing atop one for size.

A really big hole (Sarlacc Pit anyone?) giving you some idea of just how deep the glacier goes (hint, this is not the bottom). Complete with @Slioy for scale.

All of this to say, looking at (and therefore posting) photos from any of my trips and adventures - not even just those from KG - had become incredibly complicated emotionally, so I just simply... didn't do it. 

I think I am okay now? Work at the moment means a lot of physical travel, but little actual adventure. 

It also means a lot of heavy emotions to sift through. Working with refugee and oppressed populations is hard, not only because you are witness to the incredible trauma most of them face/have faced, but primarily because you get an upfront and personal look at the insanely ridiculous ever-shifting hall-of-mirrors that is the bureaucracy that stares them in the face and tells them no, no, not that, and no again, over and over and over.

The world seriously needs to do better. It's exhausting and upsetting, and I am not even on the receiving end of it.

But I think I know how to move past it? The day trip planning as rehab method appears to be helping. As has taking the time and space necessary to start thinking everything through and processing what has happened.

It feels so silly to think of any of this as trauma or grief that my brain has to think through - especially in light of the very real and valid trauma and grief those I work with have faced - but brains are funny things, and they work through and operate the way they want to, regardless of what seems like it should be right or wrong.

Views onto the wonderful (and oft overlooked) Suusamyr Valley town of Kyzyl Oi. This is easily one of my favourite towns in Kyrygzstan.

A little bit of post-lockdown craziness on our first trip up to Song Kol (3061m asl) after our release from the city confines.

You’ll be happy to hear that I am doing much better now (hence the return to posting!) and have even managed to plan and enjoy a number of bigger trips since writing this. Of course, that also means I am now even more behind on my postage as I just have that much more to catch up on. But that really is an issue to tackle on another day ;).

Stay sane out there my friends. Turns out it’s not as easy as one might think.

Views onto the Kyrygz Ala Too range from my 4th floor apartment in the 4th microdistrict of Bishkek City. How did I ever leave this?

A very happy Ally enjoying a wade into the upper Boz Uchuk Lake (3464m asl) after multiple days of trekking in the Karakol District.