When the River Meets the Sea - Re-Vitalizing the Voices of Teenagers and Transforming the Parent Relationship

The river flows to the sea and becomes part of something greater. Without the rivers, the sea would be diminished, thirsty, without revitalization and the ecosystems would suffer and die as a result of imbalance. As parents, we are connected by our experience of parenting with all its joy, all its mystery, and the times we are fearful and uncertain. Our children are their own beings, with souls that are being colored and carved by their experiences. We are their shepherds; we are their beacons, but they are not us and they do not belong to us. As their parents, we are charged with being witnesses of our teenagers’ journeys to becoming part of the consciousness of the world, the participants in shaping their cultures according to their vision and values. When we let go, if we can let go, we cannot predict the course. On some level we know they must determine that for themselves; to engage their imaginations, their resourcefulness and their voices. But how will they learn to use their voices if their predecessors do not teach them to speak in whatever language expresses them best whether it is through spoken language, the language of art, music, dance, writing or another of the imagination’s vehicles?

Transforming the Parent Relationship – From Knower to Witness

Witnessing is different than protecting, advising, teaching or telling. For the parent of a teenager perched on the edge of the nest ready to take the first test flight, witnessing is an act of refraining. To refrain from speaking, warning, teaching, advising or telling is to open space for the voices of our teenagers. To refrain from filling the empty space with our opinions and admonishments while they search for the right words is to trust that they will find them. Too often, we extinguish and silence voices that need a quiet host and we fail to act as curious guests in the imaginations of young minds and hearts. As M. Scott Peck wrote in his 1988 book “The Road Less Traveled, “Our job is not to prepare the path of life for our children, but to prepare our children for the path.” 

How Our Culture Affects Teens

Teenagers are weighted with cultural expectations for maturity juxtaposed against the realities of their emotional capacity. Teenagers try to match what the culture expects often at the cost of their self-esteem and inner peace. Many teens struggle with body image, sexuality, economic disadvantages, depression and learning problems, and many cannot imagine talking about these issues will provide relief or resolution. Those who cannot withstand the pressure from peers, parents, the schools and the culture often drop out of school, use substances to cope with emotional pain, join gangs or they decide suicide is the only way to end their suffering.

American boys are required by law to register for the draft when they reach the age of eighteen. When a war is going on, registering for the draft and contemplating possible death in a country thousands of miles away has the potential to be terrifying, yet our culture does not address all the implications of this requirement, selecting only to valorize voluntary military service as a means of achieving success or increasing self-esteem or guaranteeing a college education, if a soldier makes it home again. Many arrive home in pieces, their tender psyches reeling to return to the place left far behind on the threshold between childhood and adulthood.

Teenagers struggle to discern their values and expectations with those of the culture, schools, and parents in trying to create the paths they will take as adults. For teens who leave the school system or who drift after graduating high school with no clear plan for the future and few resources, the world can seem overwhelming and inhospitable. There is little time to dream, imagine and to retreat, perhaps cocooning into a chrysalis for a time to let the lessons sink in. There is only the experience of harshness, rigidity of the systems they are caught up in and our culture’s frenzied pace to know more, be more and do more. Despite the rumbling in their stomachs, their aching heads and emptied hearts, they press on keeping pace with a speeding conveyor belt with no “off” button within reach. American teenagers are a silenced population. They are given no clear role or voice during their most critical developmental years in shaping the world they will inherit. They are rarely offered a voice in decisions that will impact them as adults.

We are a nation of fearful consumers and ravenous competitors, our eyes turned outward for food that never satisfies the deepening starvation for connection with each other. Our children receive the anxiety like radio waves, and they respond to the frenzied pace with the language available to them, usually behavior such as bullying or withdrawing into the darker realms. We diagnose it rather than paying attention to what it says about the state of our culture. We identify them as the patients rather than examine ourselves and the world we have brought them into.

The Children Left Behind

According to Angela Diaz, M.D. MPD, director of the Mt. Sinai Adolescent health Center in New York, the population of teenagers between sixteen and twenty four is the most underserved in the United States in terms of health care, preventative care, mental health services and dental care.  They are legally adults at the age of eighteen, but unless they are in college, the likelihood is that they will get jobs that pay little more than minimum wage, inadequate to live on with no medical benefits. The mental health system has coined the term “transitional age youth” to describe the population of young adults who are suspended in the nether-region between being teenagers who have more access to social services and those 18 and older who are cut off from services or who cannot get into college and become stuck in survival mode of minimum wage jobs. These are just a few of the barriers that millions of teenagers who will inherit our country are up against.

Our educational system has put its resources and focus on preparing students to pass aptitude tests and less on developing imagination, creativity and the ability to navigate the complex problems of living in this competitive culture beyond high school which for many does not include college. Our children fear failure because they are not permitted to fail and then retrieve success from its fallout by accessing their own resilience.

For teens with emotional problems stemming from lack of access to stable caregiving, economic stability and medical care and who have experienced trauma as children, the legal system becomes the de facto parent. Children who break school rules or the law due to violent behavior, drug use or truancy are placed either in foster care or juvenile detention. Many cycle through these systems over and over again until they reach the age of eighteen. Without experiences of loving, caring stable homes, or parents with whom they can speak honestly, these children are released from the juvenile justice system at the age of eighteen and are expected to go out in the world and live according to the laws and expectations of a culture they are unfamiliar with. Some will make it into college or vocational programs against all odds, but most do not. These are the young adults this society fails to recognize and offer resources for healthcare, social support and life skills education in a supportive, safe and nurturing environment.

Talking about Suicide

            Although none of this information may apply to you and your teenager (s), the possibilities for any teenager to fall through the cracks and land in the juvenile justice system, on the streets, or drug involved is everyone’s concern. It is critically important for adults and teenagers to speak openly about the fears and challenges of growing up and out of the family and into the world. Statistically, male teenagers complete suicide more than female teenagers and the reasons for suicide remain the same as they were ten years ago. Boys often feel they must have certainty about their life path by the time they reach the age of 18; the benchmark we have set determining their ability to be independent.   And although there has been progress in cultivating openness about fear of growing up, boys are typically not as willing as girls to express such feelings. The CDC cites depression as the main cause for suicide and that suicide is the third leading cause of death for teenagers between the ages of 12 and 19 after accidental deaths and homicide. Among the leading causes for teen depression is discord, violence or abuse in the family, inability to feel a connection with parents or caregivers, pressure and anxiety associated with school, and isolation or being ostracized by peers. Statistics evaluating depression among teens show that if there is just one person, not necessarily a parent, but a coach or a teacher or an extended family member, with whom they can speak openly and feel safe and who can offer them support and unconditional love and care, it often makes the difference between rebounding from depression or not.

The Transparent Parent

The river is allowed to make its way to the sea meandering over the land, carving its way around obstacles, bumping over stones and crashing in great waterfalls to the valleys below. To watch it and witness its journey is a miracle, a marvel for all the senses to experience. To stop it by force is to starve it from creating its own path severing it from its ultimate destination which is to join with its greater ancestor, the sea. Learning to let go of old ways of being “the parent,” the knower or the authority is perhaps our greatest and most terrifying challenge. Transforming the parent relationship means learning to hold space for the most frightening conversations including depression and thoughts of suicide. Trusting ourselves in the action of refraining requires relentless faith that simply listening and holding space goes a long way, perhaps even preventing the desperation and depression from eating our children alive. An undefended and open heart is always an invitation even for the most reluctant visitor. The changing role of parenting as our children open their wings is an opportunity to show our humanity and fallibility and to choose humility rather than hubris, to hold sacred the role of being the one they want to come to first when life seems overwhelming.

 

The Everest Challenge

Lessons from the Tarahumara

Jon and I listened to the audiobook version of Born to Run on the way to Bishop. I've wanted to read it for several years, but always told myself I should be working on my dissertation instead. If you haven't read it, I recommend it not just because of the storytelling; it has wisdom we can all use and apply especially about love and compassion in sport. Joe Vigil, the renowned coach for Adams State College studied the native Mexican Tarahumara tribesmen running the Leadville 100 and wanted to discover how they could run for miles and miles in their sandals and flowing white capes with smiles on their faces the entire time. They flowed over the roughest terrain as if their feet were winged creatures. Dr. Vigil concluded that the "secret" was simply love of running. The understanding they have of their connection with Gaia (earth) and Nature as the ultimate source. There was nothing cavalier, ego-centric or competitive about running and racing; just the love for being connected and at one with each footfall, each stone and creek, each nuance of the earth beneath them.

 

 

I thought about the 38 years that I have been running and more recently cycling. I recall my mother-in-law condemning my daily ritual as being selfish and silly, a waste of precious time when I could be working. What she didn't understand was how learning to run saved me from self-destructing. It was the soul-medicine I needed after the death of my mother just after my 16th birthday and soon thereafter, my father's choice to move away with his girlfriend without me. I was alone, without any firm sense of identity, an amputated daughter, a wandering orphan looking for a place to be or soemone to show me the way. My boyfriend at the time took me for my first run straight up a mountain trail. Upon reaching the end, I collapsed in tears and cried rivers and rivers of tears never cried before. Tears I didn't know I kept dammed up behind a safe wall of toughness and Amazonian resolve to survive without needing anyone. And when the tears finally slowed to a few sniffles, I realized I felt one with the ground I wept on. I wanted more because I love the feeling of my breath and the rhythm of my feet touching the ground. I loved engaging all of my senses in my surroundings, the sounds, the smells and the taste of water from the streams. I began racing because a coach at Sierra College told me I ought to. But I hated it at first. It made me anxious and nervous and I could never sleep the night before. I grew to love it when I learned to love myself and to transform the mind's chatter about how much better I should be than so and so, or how much better, thinner, more muscular so and so is than me into more loving self-talk. But my mind has its way of being a persistent and annoying pest when it wants to be so it is a daily practice of gently telling it to be quiet so that I can hear the voice of compassion instead.

 

The outdoors has been medicine, Mother, Father and serenity, a time of silence and solitude away from the noise of the world. I run and cycle alone because I love the solitude more and more as I age. Although I enjoy my friends and the occasional gathering, I find myself more introverted than I used to be. I often imagine myself a Crone in the woods, rocking on the front porch with her Crone husband and feeding the animals as they wander into the clearing in front of our hut.

 

So what does all this have to do with the Everest Challenge, a two-day 203 mile bike race with 29,029 feet of climbing in the eastern Sierra Nevada?

 

If anything will test one's ability to go deep within and draw from the heart's capacity to divine a way through the difficult hours, this event will do just that. The surroundings are magnificent, climbing through the primal canyons of Mother Earth with the aspen leaves turning on the flanks of the towering peaks. All but one of the roads are quiet and narrow with minimal traffic so the only sounds are my breath and the water in the creeks. The smells of desert mingle with the alpine flora and the hot breath of desert wind shifts to cooling breezes from the peaks as I climb higher and higher.

Day One:

I am used to riding alone so the tightly bunched Peloton is a bit unnerving. Neutral start until we turned up to South Lake after which we could race. But the pace was sooooo slow! I was going nuts being caught in this tight pack of women who didn’t seem interested in going fast. I told myself to be patient and just wait but really, it went against my desire to break free. So I went into the lead when I couldn’t stand it anymore and of course, the group sat on my wheel until I decided to move left and see if someone else would take it. Anyway, we went at the speed of drool until we were only about 6 miles from the turnaround. So with about 4 miles to go, Kathryn Donovan decides she’s finally going to go faster (she won last year by about an hour). I knew that pace was too hard so I kept my own pace and was glad to be out of the craziness of a pack. I then found that I could attune to the sounds around me instead of being vigilant about watching other people's bike wheels to avoid a crash. But even if I'd stayed with the pack, I get left behind on downhills because the heavier women can really power and on the flats, they get me every time. So there I was, flying down 168 at 47 MPH but still getting way behind!

Descending back down to the desert and into the rising heat, the second climb through Pine Creek Canyon was a leveler. Several women who had gone out hard with the leaders were suffering in the 90+ degree heat and no wind in the canyon. And the beginning of the final climb, a 22 mile ascent from 5,000 feet to 10,000 feet would be hotter at the beginning and very challenging at the end. I really gained a lot of what I’d lost going so slow going up the final climb from Paradise up to Tom’s Place and then up Rock Creek Lake Road to Mosquito Flat. But the early part of that climb was hot! And I felt myself feeling discouraged, telling myself it was perfectly okay to just stay within myself and realize that this was just a low point where I needed to be gentle with myself and just keep going. Don't force the uphills, just turn the pedals over and be patient. I heard the voice of my heart telling my brain to shut up. My heart said, "You're fine. Just trust yourself and rememeber, this is impermanent, the heat will not last forever." My brain said, "See? I told you this was a dumb idea. Who do you think you are you silly old crone! You should have gone with them when they broke away. Now look at you...drooling along like a snail." Although I'd gone painfully slow at the start thinking I should stay with the pack, I was still within three minutes of last year's time. When I finished, I was feeling woozy and nauseous and a little uncertain of what to do with myself. Should I obey the impulse to lie down right in the middle of the road? Throw up? Keep walking around in circles? Jon was working on a woman who had crashed in the Pine Creek Canyon climb but somehow pulled herself out of the sagebrush, banged up and bleeding, to finish the remaining 30 miles of grueling climbing.

After suffering through the climb out of the desert on Old Sherwin Grade, I felt stronger especially knowing the Jon left an ice cold Pepsi in a cooler at Tom’s Place for me and that was the fuel I needed. Before each endurance event, I drink about 20 ounces of Chia seeds soaked in water (another tarahumara tool). I learned this trick from my children's father who presented me with my first jug of Chia seeds back in 1978 when we were first going out. It had the consistency of snot and looked just as the author of Born to Run described it: "Like a science experiment from a swamp." But those little seeds pack a lot of nutrition and they hold about ten times there size in water so amazing hydration. So I finished strong, powering up the last 10 miles feeling fresh and powerful. So my heart was right...again...It was cooler and my nausea was impermanent!
I'd ridden back down to Bishop (another 33 miles or so) back to our motel while Jon provided massage for people up at Mosquito Flat. I went swimming and sat in a bathtub full of ice water, I chatted with three girls, age 17, 15 and 13 all of whom were riders in the race. Their father was the chief coach and support along with their mother and their 11 year-old sister who would enter her first Everest Challenge when she turned 13. What a delightful experience to see these young girls enjoying a potentially life-changing event such as this.

That night, I ate huge amounts of Mexican food from a little hole in the wall in Bishop where the Mama makes all the food herself.  And Jon gave me a massage.

 

Day Two:

Waking up was so painful. Never before have I longed to just go back to sleep so much. Oh wait...I felt this way last year on Day Two of this race. I told myself I would not be riding in the pack today. I would just do my own thing. They would mow me down but that would be fine with me. I would get mowed down either way. I'd just hoped some would come back to me later on. The first climb takes you from about 3,900 feet up to 7,800 in about nine miles. I didn't really wake up until I was about half way through this climb and then, thankfully, the Chia and coffee kicked in. I began to pass a few women who had gone out hard. I have made it a practice to say a little prayer for us all, wishing us all a safe ride with no mishaps. No ill will. The second climb, Waucoba Canyon was longer than it was last year by about four miles. So much for monitoring my time in order to try to make up any time lost from yesterday on this day. Good. Now I can go back to focusing on what's happening in my body instead of what's happening on my bike computer. Last climb, 22 miles from 3,900 up to 10,100 feet at Bristlecone Forest. Hot hot HOT in the first six miles! I was moving slow and once again focusing on impermanence. I can make it through another half hour, I told myself. It's fine to just turn the pedals over and not force it. No sense in dying out here in the desert and being eaten by vultures. At the aid station at 6,000 feet, I asked them to dump ice down my jersey to cool my core temperature. That did it. The wind changed from hot breath to cool alpine breeze and I felt fantastic. The final 15km is a showcase of the entire eastern Sierra showcased against a flawless blue sky. Although I kept my eyes focused on what was right in front of me most of the time, I could glance up and feel like I was flying above the earth. The pain of the 20% climbs seemed more a product of my judgement about them more than anything else. "Omigosh, I am going SO slow! I might as well be going backwards!" said my mind. "Well duh...it's 20%. And you've gone what...195 miles so far in the past 36 hours? Of COURSE you're going to be just getting the pedals around and hoping you don't tip over! Relax!It's all good!" said my heart.

 

I pushed hard over the last 5km, going deeply within myself and focusing only on the rhythm of my breath. I was thankful for being able to finish and even more thankful for all those volunteers at each aid station who took an entire weekend to stand in the heat and make sure we were all watered and fed. This event is always an experience in faith, a lesson in gratitude and a return to the essence of why we find ways of testing the reaches of our phsyical and emotional endurance. For me, there are no greater lessons available than what I learn by shutting everything out and going within.