As I considered my thoughts for writing this piece I read many articles on style and ethics in the mountains and I reached out to friends and mentors for their thoughts. I think that the great writer and alpinist, and my friend, Kelly Cordes summarized it very well:

“It’s wild and weird, and yet somewhat similar to many things with humans and human nature, factoring in modern connectivity and elements of commodification of niche activities that nobody used to care about, alongside traits that have been beside us since we left our caves in search of fire. I’m a fan of our inherent drive and competitiveness — it can lead to beautiful things — but there’s also a fine line between those traits manifesting in a healthy and inspiring way, and letting our egos run away with themselves. I’ve long viewed many of these activities along a continuum of moving in the mountains. In that regard, trail running into scrambling into climbing isn’t so different from alpinism. The things people do in these places can be incredibly inspiring. And yet, sometimes I wonder how our values can be so different. I’ve long thought that the way we treat the things we profess to love is an expression of who we are. In that regard, it doesn’t matter how meaningless a silly run or climb or ski or whatever is — and, sure, it’s all silly in the grand scheme — but how we do these things can be a reflection of our deeper selves. It may sound lofty, but to me it’s true.”

It snuck up on me. Amidst the challenges of re-entry, jet lag driven sleep challenges, an endless inbox of work that needed addressed, a backlog of patients, a three week absence from family responsibility, and a fairly fatigued physical state, the sadness crept in. At first I thought it might be just fatigue, but as the weeks passed I found that even after a long, deep sleep, that the motivation to get out of bed barely registered. A general malaise shadows the days. It is hard to smile or laugh, and isolation is my preferred companion. It is hard to admit, but I am sad.