Learning Series ~4: The Upgrade

Sometimes you don’t see the ball coming straight at your face until it hits you straight in the face. Correction: not sometimes — almost always. The art of a well-aimed blow.

The path dissociates itself from the one walking it. I had had so little time to stop that I hadn’t noticed it, but now the trail I was on was going uphill. I hadn’t realized it, but it had become so steep that it looked like stone cliffs with no visible path at first glance. Correction, it didn’t look like it: they were towering stone walls with no visible path at first glance.

There was barely anything left of the trail except for a narrow tail end that no longer fit under the category of “path,” and what stood ahead was a solid wall of limestone that, way off in the distance, seemed to hold what looked like the end of the road, much closer to the sky. The end? The beginning?

What a shame! The path had become sooo enjoyable, the landscapes so beautiful, and it had finally started to feel so comfortable to walk barefoot through the meadows that I didn’t notice the path I had started on was gradually disappearing — steadily — and not only that, it was forcing me to level up.

It wasn’t a choice, because there was no other possible way — only this terrifying rock wall that was honestly scary. It took me a while to understand that it was actually a continuation. Same line, different form.

The fresh, comfortable, favorite sandals of my current path — the ones that made me feel completely at home — were no longer useful. Now, a different kind of gear was going to be required.The thing is, it had caught me so off guard that I hadn’t even noticed it. Not the change in terrain, not the new needs — not even the fact that there were new needs. The pleasure of simply walking had become so entertaining that the surprise left me completely stunned. Also frustrated. And angry.

“Where is my path?!”

That anger turned into denial and stubbornness, so without thinking — but very much ruled by emotion — I kept going the same way as if this were still the old path: with my walking sandals, my mate in hand, and my colorful Sunday oxford pants with little drawings on them. It didn’t take me long to understand that I could no longer carry the mate in my hand, and that I also needed to take my sandals off and roll up the pants that were getting in the way. With this outfit, everything felt way too uncomfortable — and not only that: impossible.

I sat down beside the “path” and stopped to look up — and to cry a little too. It took me a long while to understand what was happening, and while I was sitting there, feeling into it and assessing the nature of the situation and the new terrain, I realized I needed an update.

This path was going to require another version of me — one who could handle different tools, a different perspective, and at the very least, sturdier shoes with enough grip for the rock. Also, some sharp climbing picks to place in my hands, and probably a rope for when I got a little higher up.

It was hard to accept.I complained while holding my favorite sandals in my hands, because they had accompanied me for so long — and not only that, they had saved me from who I used to be and, somehow, had also helped turn me into who I am now.

But what could I do? If I wanted to continue on the path I had started, I had to update myself, take different risks, and learn how to use different tools,

because the path was no longer a path —I wasn’t even walking anymore: now I was learning how to climb.

Sometimes leaving behind the path we had been walking is not joyful at all — much less comfortable, and even less neutral. Sometimes we want to stay on the old one, but the only way to continue is to continue.

Sometimes it takes time — the time of grief — which helps us understand that we are somewhere else now, that we left the orange classroom to enter the green one, that we still belong to the same school, but now we enter through a different door. And sometimes we don’t even realize it on our own. Sometimes we need someone else to translate it for us.

Expansion also comes with little griefs — growth disguised — and if the path changed, then we must adjust too.

It’s okay, really.

Sometimes all it takes is understanding that we’ve entered a different process, and that now we need different things in order to keep going. Sometimes it also means allowing ourselves to cry about it a little.

BUT IT IS NOT AN END , IT MEANS WE LEVELED UP. Organic and necessary.

And if we learn to see it with wisdom, it can even become a celebration, because when we dare to incorporate new tools, it can turn into one hell of an adventure — one that gifts us air and new views, far more infinite than the original path we had begun to walk,

because if it’s an upgrade, then surely the “path” is about to become way more interesting.

In the end, what matters most is not what we achieve along the way,

but who we become in the process.

❦