An Open Letter to My Young Adult Friends

This is directed to my former (and future) athletes, students, climbing partners, and friends who are making the transition to adulthood. Parents of young adult climbers might also find interest in these sentiments. -Aaron

The world is gripped with uncertainty. We don’t know who we will be when we arrive on the other side of the scourge of COVID-19, but we will be a changed species. Life will be different. At a minimum, our perspective on life will transform. It’s quite possible that opportunities we recently took for granted will be drastically compromised. Undoubtedly, this might be troubling for you, as young adults, who are in the midst of determining your identities and who you want to become. 

To varying degrees, you all identify as a “climber.” Let me acknowledge and validate this. You are a climber. Don’t let anything or anyone tell you otherwise. Your identity is not under attack, nor should you feel that it is threatened. Our current state of existence, and consequently, reality, shouldn’t be seen as an interruption. It’s life and it’s happening, just the same as it was happening before the pandemic took hold. Humans will adapt. If you are to continue to be a climber, you must adapt as a climber. 

What is also happening now is that the means of how you are a climber — the methods you use to make climbing a reality — have been drastically reduced. It’s currently very difficult to act as a climber in the ways you’ve learned to build your identity around. It’s even more difficult to prove that you are a climber, whether it be to yourself or to those around you that you might normally have to defend yourself from: your parents, friends, teachers, coaches, sponsors, employers, fans, etc. A huge part of the shaping of our identity comes from how we talk about our actions and how we tell our story. 

They way I look at it, our current situation presents an incredible opportunity for you to prove to yourself that you are a climber. 

It would be easy to give up, right? Or take a break - focusing your efforts and intention on something else, like “doing your part.” You’re probably feeling this pressure, both internally and externally. You might be thinking, “If I can’t or shouldn’t be climbing right now, how can I even be a climber?” You might not know life without climbing as your most consistent output of effort and energy. Now what?

On September 11, 2001, I was a few days shy of turning 23. My sophomore year of university pursuing a fine arts degree had recently begun. Summer was (effectively) over, and after an expedition to explore unclimbed and skied peaks in Alaska and countless pitches of gneiss and limestone at my home crags in Montana, I was a climber. Through training, commitment, sacrifice, and ambition, I had made myself one. I earned this identity. Furthermore, I felt that I was finally escaping the indoctrination of my childhood. My beliefs and values were my own and I was accountable for how I acted upon them. In addition to being a climber, I was also becoming an adult.

As the news rolled in that day and in the weeks ahead, replaying the horrific events and covering the aftermath, I was continually overcome by a very distinct and selfish contemplation: how would this effect me? Although I had barely begun to see myself as an adult, the world had changed in the blink of an eye, and I would be just as much part of the new reality as everyone else. Together, for better or worse, we could never go back to how it was before. With an uneasy sense of shame, I repeatedly questioned my identity as a climber, an athlete, a student, an artist, and all of my other passions. I was forced to examine the obligations I might have to my community, my country, my family, and as a global citizen. 

I found solidarity with fellow climbers and relied on the steadfast example set by my mentors. I refused to let myself live in fear of a bogeyman. And while my way of life didn’t change in a significant way, I made sacrifices, participating in the cultural zeitgeist that permeated life in America. Looking back, this was really just an act of abandoning the superfluous tendencies of my youth, but it seemed significant at the time. I don’t recall if I ever muttered the thought, “I need to grow up,” but I’m sure there was some sort of sentiment along these lines. Ultimately, I found that by escaping childhood tendencies and simplifying my priorities I became more creative, more resilient, and more dedicated. It was liberating. My obsession with making art and climbing rocks increased while distractions were reduced. 

The world changed on September 11, 2001. Life became more uncertain than ever before, especially in the midst of becoming an adult. I was forced to step outside of myself. My identity was challenged. From this challenge came growth. 

What we are experiencing now is remarkably different, but there is congruity. Because of the collective effort needed to manage and stop the spread of this virus, we are forced to put our routines on hold. For those of us who become directly affected by illness, through personal contagion, caring for others, or as health workers, we will feel the immediate trauma. Some of us might be fortunate enough to carry on as if not much has changed, yet every human being on this planet is likely to recognize some level of paradigm shift.

We will all struggle in ways that are unique to our specific circumstance. We will all experience loss to some degree. The current and predicted loss of human life and subsequent suffering will affect everyone who continues to live. This is one of life’s most constant themes. Living through loss is a burden that we must bear if we are to survive and even, thrive. As climbers, we are reminded of this all too often, given the intrinsic nature of risk that accompanies our passion. In the bigger picture of human existence, climbers often elude this reality. It’s in our fabric that we try to exist outside the sphere of cultural norms. Currently, we’re all in this together. We can’t escape the reality of the situation, nor should we try. 

Now, more than ever, we must acknowledge the life-affirming qualities of climbing as reasons to keep climbing — to keep being a climber — even though we might not be able to climb right at this moment. 

Climbing to our performance potential requires adapting to how we overcome the relatively arbitrary challenges we establish for ourselves. The current global crisis is not an arbitrary challenge. You have no choice but to adapt. If you are to continue to be a climber when you can’t explicitly be a climber, how can you maintain your identity? How can you look at this as an opportunity to redefine your identity as a climber, and to make it stronger?

First, put your phone down. Your phone does not validate your identity. Your actions do. The way you move through life does. Most importantly, the way you overcome loss, react to difficulties, and transcend your limitations is what makes you a human. You know this. Now is the time to put your convictions to the test. 

You can’t climb with your phone in your hand, so if you are to continue to identify as a climber in the present, practice doing so without your phone. Put it away and move. 

Try to find a moving meditation; to feel the effortlessness and grace that you feel when flawlessly executing difficult movement while climbing. This takes practice and rehearsal. Remind yourself how much of a struggle climbing can be and how much time and dedication you’ve spent to making it become easier. You might not have many options for movement, so be creative. How can you engage your body as a system, similar to how you use it while climbing? Climbing movement comes from the synergistic effect of using your entire body, not just individual parts. Now is not the time to isolate. Beware social media-influenced training trends. Beware the feeling of needing to accept challenges coming from the other side of a screen. Put your phone down and move. Move with intention and awareness. Seek authenticity. Move because it makes you, you. 

Don’t try to “crush” this. You will not overpower it. You cannot destroy your frustrations, fears, and anxiety. Find grace. Find ease. Let go. Accept the uncertainty and open your mind to creativity. Climbing is a personal expression. If you cannot climb right now, how else can you express yourself?

Put your phone down. 

Write about who you are and what you do and what is important to you. Write to someone you love or care about. Write about what makes you a human being: your feelings, your faults, your unique perspective. Write about why you love climbing. Identify and express your own thoughts, avoiding the regurgitation of tweets or profound Instagram captions. 

Make, repair, clean, converse (as in, actual talking), read, draw, cook, bake, learn. Play your favorite music as loud as you can and freak out. Let it out. 

Don’t get though this on drugs, including alcohol, sugar, and screen time. Turn off the screen and get outside of yourself. Get up in the morning and do things. Try really hard at some of these things. Don’t let life pass you by. 

Finally, ask yourself: am I waiting or am I doing? And, am I helping or am I hurting?

As a coach, I am continually in awe of your accomplishments, both on and off the rock. It’s why I do what I do. Since there is limited, if any, opportunity to get on rock right now, here’s your chance to see what you can do off of it.

Hang in there, my friends, take care of yourself and your loved ones, keep climbing, and please check in with updates on how you are surviving.