Changing with the Seasons
One of the most powerful elements of immersing ourselves in nature is the freedom we have to match our pace to the pace of the season. Within our day to day lives, which typically include a 9am to 5pm work schedule (or 8am to 3pm school schedule), caring for a family, running errands, doing chores, balancing extracurriculars, upkeeping a home, and trying to fit some sleep in between all of that, it becomes quite difficult to feel as though we can ever change our pace of living.
In March 2020, I had just found new tenants for my condo in Honolulu and moved with my 17-year-old daughter to Salt Lake City, where we knew virtually no one. We settled into a tiny apartment with only two beds and two chairs as we waited for our wordly possessions to come over from Hawaii in a shipping container. A few days after I started my new job at Evoke, the world shut down and my kiddo and I were locked in this tiny, underpopulated, under-furnished world.
When I write, “being a lightning rod,” what I mean is being willing to step into the path of rage, anger, and the intensity of however many kilowatts of emotion our loved ones are feeling. It can be terribly painful work; however, it can also be incredibly powerful if one has the bandwidth to do so. I do want to name at the onset of this piece, that there are times where it is absolutely unsafe to do this, so it is critical to check-in with yourself about your capacity and desire to place yourself in the path of someone else’s pain. Some of the most empowering moments I have ever seen in this work are those in which a caregiver has named their boundary, described their limit, or said sorry, knowing that there was no extra room in their cup. I have the utmost respect for individuals who can be clear and loving with their limits. If that is the case, this writing, in this particular moment, may not be for you. My focus today is for those of you who are being confronted with your loved ones’ pain, and who do have the bandwidth and willingness to receive some part of that.
The other night I had an interesting dream. I was swimming in a deep ocean with my kids. I could see my two boys floating ahead of me just beyond my reach. I could feel the coolness of the water and the contrast of the dark blue depth below me and the bright glow of the sun above. In depth psychology, the image of water is referred to as a symbol of the unconscious. Dreams remind us of a vast ocean of emotional experience that we have yet to fully understand.
I headed southeast along 60-some miles of gravel and dirt towards the Colorado River. It was exactly the space I needed to contemplate what my next year would look like—a mindless, alluring path with a seemingly important end. I leaned my head against the frozen window watching the sun greet the frost-covered ground. Despite all my consternation about the future, the world continued to sparkle.
It was late morning and the hope of the staff team, driven by an early wake up, to start our hike before the heat of the day was waning. Our preparations to leave had been complete for some time: our gear in need of transport was at the road, the previous night’s onion peels—overlooked before—no longer lay “on the floor.” The hitch? Earlier we had informed a group member, Andrew (a pseudonym used to protect client confidentiality), that, for the first time since his arrival, we expected him to hike with his pack. For him this was unwelcome news, and the initial verbal response was, “No.” He intended to refuse.
You just heard from your child’s therapist that you are invited to do an overnight visit in the field with your child. Your first thought may be something along the lines of, “Yes! I finally get to see them!” Pretty quickly that first thought may be followed by “Oh no, I have to go camping in the winter?!?”
Everyone today is faced with messages that our bodies--at least their exterior appearance--are projects. To put the reality of this into perspective, I suggest looking into Jean Kilbourne’s work as she has chronicled decades of the increasing magnitude of cultural pressures on women, especially through advertisement, since the 1970s. Among the internet searches is an entire series of documentaries called 
“Hey Mom,” my 22 year old son began, somewhat nervous. “I wanted to tell you something. Well...umm...my girlfriend asked if I would like to go spend the holidays with her family this year.” and then he paused.
Often when I am talking to a prospective field staff during the interview process, they ask me what traits I look for in a candidate. From my time in the field, working as a field staff, talking to successful high-level employees, and examining the commonalities between past staff and others who did not thrive in their previous employment, I have boiled down what I believe to be the five essential traits that seem to be universal among successful people and field staff alike.