I caught myself pondering a question, as I walked up the road to join Te Araroa in the Te Kahui Kaupeka Conservation Park.
Below to my left I could see Coal River, swollen and swift from snow melt. In my face a strong wind blew, deafening much of the roar coming from the river, and making the push up hill even slower.
Where has this last year gone? I thought. It is nearing Christmas, the school year is out, and now I have time (and energy) to think. I don’t want this to be some ode to a shit year - but actually - it has been in many ways!
This year I lost part of my normal self and had to adjust to a new normal; I lost my best friend and soul-human to cancer in May; I was hospitalised four times in August and to top it all off I had a kidney operation in October. It’s been a year of learning.
But mostly I lost myself. This day, last December, I was walking in the Himalayas on the trip of a lifetime, to Everest Base Camp. Base Camp itself was not the be-all-and-end-all for me (just as well), rather, to be back in Nepal, amongst her people and her mountains; that was the draw. I wanted to walk there this time; drink in those huge hills and push myself. After a stressful year as a teacher, I felt I was ready for a complete change of scene.
As I wandered along on the small segment of Te Araroa I had under my feet, I thought about the similarities between the landscape before me, and the landscape in Nepal - I could be walking in the Khumbu region, but I am here, walking in the Tekapo region. The world is smaller than we think.
A side creek flows into Coal River over a significant loss in elevation.
Milky waters of the Dudh Kosi carved their way down from the high mountains ahead of me.
When I am near a milky river - such as what I saw coming from the valley today on my walk near Coal River, I am always reminded of the mountain rivers in Nepal. The milky hue; the noise; the energy.
I consider often, how life is like a river. Sometimes it is fast flowing, sometimes gentle and lazy. At times a river may have rapids that require deft negotiation, other times there is so much shallow water you can see the bottom. Sometimes also, you think you know where to cross and you place your foot - sure of the steady footing - only to have swept from under you by the current, or a slippery unseen stone. Life is like a river.
No part of a river is the same; no drop of water is repeated, identical or moves in the same way. Each is unique.
Like an unpredictable river, so too has the last twelve months been.
I never could have imagined a year ago, I would be so eager to get out of Nepal - her sounds, rush, colours, smells, all too much for me. My brain was fried. Just over a week into my walk in the Everest region, I came back down in a helicopter. I was really unwell. My brain was filling with fluid and the impact it had has largely dictated my year since.
I felt betrayed. How could beautiful surreal kind lovely Nepal do this to me? How could my body do this to me. Had I done something wrong? Was I going too fast? Too slow? Was it the chest infection I had when I went there? Did I climb too high the day before on acclimation day? What? What? What?
The Chukhung Valley leading away from Dingboche, towards Island Peak (left of centre) as viewed from nearly 5000m.
It was not until I got into the swing of things back home
that I realised the toll this head injury had taken on me. CT scans had confirmed small clots in my brain affecting vision - that sorted itself out far sooner than expected, thankfully, but not without an effect on my overall vision. The biggest issue was headaches (still ongoing but less in frequency - but they can still be really powerful); initially (and usually unexpectedly) balance issues; but most noticeably, I had a reduced tolerance for light, noise, stress, and anything requiring mental cognition. I became tired very easily. My ears rung.
I came home to a new job, a new town - a new life.
Having to shift house to 300 km away was incredibly fatiguing. I made several trips in a week back and forth - sleeping on the side of the road when my brain hurt. Funnily enough even though friends wanted to see my Nepal photos, they didn’t ask me how I was or if I needed help. It was almost as if ‘ignore it and it will go away’ was the prevailing attitude. Who steps up for you in times of hardship, is very telling. I boxed on none-the-less.
I started my job with a brain that couldn’t cope with too much noise (not a good mix for a school teacher); I couldn’t deal with people (again - where’s my buzzer - wrong on every level!); I struggled to teach; I forgot things; I was utterly mentally fatigued at the end of each day. Brain dead. I am still living this - but not as noticeably.
So where has the last twelve months gone? It has gone into trying to get well; trying to get enough sleep; to remove myself from stress when I can; to leave work when my brain has absolutely had enough; to take care of myself unapologetically. I have also given up worrying about what people think of me, allowing others to speak to me as if I am an idiot, AND I have given up chasing people. Way too much energy involved in that!
It has also gone into taking stock of all the great things that have happened this year, despite the crappy interludes.
I have landed myself in amongst a wonderful community in small-town Canterbury; my job - although stressful and exhausting - is the best teaching job I have had yet. It is a joy to be at this school with such a supportive, loving and caring staff - these are people who STEP UP. I have started yoga and meditation again. I have joined an active photography club. I have re-connected with friends from this area. I have made the most of the stunning scenery where I live, to indulge my love of photography and hiking. I have more energy to be creative again. I have visited USA twice this year and have the absolute pleasure of being able to show my friends around the lower South Island when they visit here in January. Lots to look forward to. I have packed a fair bit into this last twelve months. I have learnt a lot.
Slowly, slowly, she grows into her new normal, and its not so bad.
What do you do when it feels as if the river cannot be crossed? Find a way to cross it.