For a person of average fitness, I hike reasonably well. I don’t go out of breath too easily, and I tend to find sure footing on the way up. The way down, however? That’s a different story.
My kneecaps are slightly displaced. As a result, my knees bear 150% of the usual weight when I walk downhill, or so a doctor once told me. In any case, they get wobbly fast, and so even if I could hike up for eight hours, I’d never get down from the mountain. Ergo, no crazy hikes for me.
Not least due to my knees with special needs, I’ve discovered plenty of other natural limits over the years—but they’re not all physical. Sure, I can’t snowboard, surf, or freestyle anymore, but I also suck at Rubik’s cubes, remembering recipes, and leaving things alone without organizing them.
It’s normal to feel sad when you discover your natural limits, and sometimes, they challenge you to overcome them. Most of the time, however, they simply point the way—away from the limit and towards something else.
In the West, we spend a lot of time encouraging each other to “crush our obstacles” and “overcome our limitations.” The part we leave out is that most people only have one area in their life where beating their limits is essential to their happiness.
I don’t care about my travel log, hiking journal, or how my abs look as long as I can write. Write books. Write essays. Write something new every day. Writing is the arena I have chosen, the fight that is dear to me, the hill I want to die on. Whatever limits I find inside this world, I shall beat them down word by word.
Everything else, however, is merely a signpost pointing me right back to writing. A reminder that, actually, it’s okay to go only on moderate hikes—especially if it means more time at the keyboard.
Only a fool would try to jump over nature’s every boundary. That’s a quick way to go over a cliff. Why do you think she put them there? So you can step back, turn around, and think hard about where you’re really trying to.
Cherish your natural limitations.