Determination

January 25, 2022

I’ve been reading Cheryl Strayed’s memoir Wild as part of my year-long memoir class. I’m about halfway through, pressing on to finish at the cost of my other planned activities. I’m as determined to finish this book as Ms. Strayed was to stay on the Pacific Crest Trail during a record snowfall in 1995. Yet both of us keep getting side tracked.

Throughout the book, she describes the devastating loss of her mother and how her grief served as the impetus to begin her 1,100 mile hike. I would give anything to feel pain like that. My mother is still alive, but I doubt her loss would have much of an effect on me. For all intents and purposes, my mother disappeared from my life over 20 years ago when she conned me out of thousands of dollars then moved away without leaving a forwarding address. When my father died of brain cancer on September 11, 2016, I was notified by a text message from my brother. My first thought was, he doesn’t deserve to die on such an important date. That’s the reaction you get when you abandon your teenage daughter during her first year of college.

Despite the hardships, Cheryl and I kept going. It’s call determination. Most of the time, I didn’t see myself as strong or brave or even very resilient. I just knew I had no other choice. There was no one who would rescue me. No one who would pick me up if I fell. No one who would even be concerned if I fell off a cliff. (Okay, there’s a few people. But, it would take a while for them to realize I was gone.)

More than anything, I’m impressed by the determination it takes to write about painful events in one’s life. I struggle with telling my story almost every day. So afraid of the potential for retribution and retaliation that I’m often paralyzed with dread. I’ve kept the dream alive this long. Hopefully, I can see it through by sheer force of determination.