Climbing and finding my voice

Today I’ll be pouring my heart out so it feels scary but also necessary.

I’ve been back at home for almost a week now and gone climbing four times already: bouldering, top-roping, climbing outdoors with some buddies, and even starting the two-day class “Learn to Lead Climb”. I’ve bought myself new, more aggressive, technical climbing shoes; I’m practicing and seeing confirmed those new skills and strengths that I gained as a climber in my outdoor experiences in Colorado; and I’ve mostly being climbing in fun company and engaging activities. Yet, every time I’m at my climbing gym, I still have the instinct to look for that boulderer and wish that we would run into each other, as we used to so often before — and I’m always a little disappointed that it hasn’t happened.

I am not going to judge or berate myself for my feelings; but I am going to flesh out the reasons why I feel this way: several reasons, all very clear to me and all stemming from a newly found position of grounded confidence (being at last comfortable with my gender identity and my “coming out”; comfortable/happy with my physical body; getting back into a relatively satisfying and balanced professional and social life here at home). 

The first reason is very old, and has played out for me in another relationship in the past (with the partner with whom I had that long, toxic relationship): a little part of me is seeking my father’s approval, that approval that I never really got enough from my parents, as a child, of being an “amazing boy” — now it’s this stronger, more experienced and braver climber in me that I would like to have recognized, specifically by someone who is a good climber and used to be a better climber than myself. 

The second reason is plain habit. This person and I have known each other and interacted for two and a half years. Meeting and having to interact in a professional environment for over a year, and then COVID-19, made the situation “weird”, at best, often complicated or confusing; so climbing and the gym offered us a space — both physical and figurative — where we could interact more closely, on a safe personal level. Apart from actually going to climb together several times, we’d often run into each other and chat a little at the gym — so that’s where the habit was formed for me. 

The third reason is simply fun: despite all the complicated, confusing and often even frustrating situations that arose for me with this boulderer, we connected on so many different levels (beyond climbing), the conversation flowed and the emotions were super intense in ways that I just cannot find with any other of my climbing partners — and while I was in Colorado, I got super intense emotions in other ways and with other people but here I don’t really anymore, so I miss them a bit. 

And finally, the last (but not at all least!) reason is closure. I need closure. I want closure — and I want it even more from this position of grounded strength that I have found again. Before leaving for my summer trip, this boulderer & I were still interacting, hanging out as well as running into each other at the gym by accident. And right before my departure, we had a couple interactions which, on one hand, made me really angry, while on the other implied that we’d see each other when I got back from my trip.

Traveling; seeing different, beautiful places; meeting and being with wonderful people; exploring and doing so many amazing activities, having so many fantastic experiences — all of this helped me to find myself, my confidence, my balance again, as well as to give a new, more detached perspective to the situation with that boulderer. Often when I put a physical, geographical distance between myself and an upsetting situation or person, I regain balance and perspective on that relationship, and most of the time I end up wanting closure. And this is what has happened for me this time, too: I am simply tired of that situation, as I’ve realized how exhausting or upsetting it was in so many unnecessary (and maybe even unhealthy or dangerous) ways. But I also want to honor and treasure the beautiful moments I had, the lessons I learned, in that weird, confusing, indefinite relationship: and I want to say all this to that other person involved (who might not even have a clue of any of my feelings!). I want to tell the boulderer how I felt in the past and how I feel now. With no anger or resentment, but as a gift: as a gift to myself, and maybe as a gift to them.

For me, it’s also important within this whole phase of “coming out” and finding my voice: it’s part of this journey together with these posts I write here; together with my “coming out” emails to my friends, embracing and stating openly my non-binary gender identity; together with taking up the courage to express my emotions in words with/to other persons, finding my voice. Getting closure by telling this boulderer my emotions relative to the situation with them, would be another important way for me to find my voice — finding my voice after two and a half years of holding it in with them.