Shuffling, Shambling, Zombie Hobbies

You tell yourself you're having fun, but are you really? Here's what to do when you find yourself shuffling through the motions of the things you used to love:

I’d love to be back, climbing here…

Editor’s note: a version of this post was first published back in September of 2022, for a much smaller audience of readers. The message is as true now as it was back then. For new readers, I hope you’ll enjoy it. And for those who have been around for years, thank you for continuing to support this publication. —Cole

The last glow of evening backlit the western ridge, while a dusty violet hue crept across the rest of the sky. Night would fall properly soon.

The five members of our little group all trained our head lamps on the rock before us. The formation was roughly the size of a compact SUV, just like the guidebook said.

One of my friends plunged her hands into her purple chalk bag, rubbing them together. “I think I can get it this time.” She approached the problem, and pressed her body against the base of the stout boulder. I stood beside her, waiting to break her fall with one of our crash pads.

She squatted low, before pushing off and flailing one of her arms upward. Her thumb and forefinger latched onto a chalk-stained chunk of rock.

“Nice job,” I said, shifting the pad a little.

She grunted, bumping her right hand up to the next hold. The problem only had one move left, but it was a doozy.

She repositioned her left hand so that the heel of her palm faced into the rock, and pushed upward. In the same motion, she threw her right leg up over the top of the rock.

“Beached whale beta!” She yelled. With all the grace the phrase implied, she wriggled her body over the ledge and onto the top of the problem. She clambered to her feet and raised her fists above her head in triumph. We all cheered.

After slipping and sliding our way back down the approach in the dark, we regrouped for drinks at the nearby rooftop bar. We basked in the glow of hanging string lights, steeling glances back up the cliffside where other climbers' flashlights danced in the dark.

For two incredible summers, this sport meant more to me than bouldering grades and pushing projects; it was about gathering with friends every week, petting crag dogs and catching sunsets over tucked-away valleys.