Why We Climb (2017)

Revisiting an old lesson about the value of our struggles

I drew this comic during a challenging year when I was also learning the basics of sport climbing outdoors. I was depressed and figuring out my way through it on my own (without therapy). In hindsight, climbing was probably my escape from problems and way of coping.

As my circumstances unfolded over time, I gradually leaned on climbing less as an emotional crutch, balancing out what I needed from it with other means of addressing my problems (like therapy).

I still climb, though my relationship to the sport has changed as I’ve gotten older.

These days, I’m not as hard on myself as I once was and my expectations are more realistic. I still struggle with my limitations, but I have more fun too.

Recently, I got a chance to try sport climbing outdoors again, for the first time in many years. Despite having more experience, I was a beginner again, trying to keep up with better, stronger climbers and learn new skills on the fly.

I find that climbing tends to poke at whatever mental hurdles I’m grappling with at any given time.

For me, it’s most often that my insecurities come to the fore: not belonging, not being good enough, and failing everyone around me.

This time was no exception. I was back on the wall with my fears in tow, pushed to the limits of my body and capacity to learn. It felt like history was repeating and I had failed to retain any of what I was already supposed to know.

Then I stopped myself.

I took stock of what was different and what had changed.

For starters, I’d since learned not to be so hard on myself. (Always a work in progress.) I know my limits better. I learned to be more patient and to take things at my own pace.

And most important, I learned to not go it alone.

When I drew this next comic in 2017, I was just starting to test out this theory. It wasn’t yet in full practice.

This time around, I had friends with me the whole way, good-naturedly heckling and supporting me, doing what they do best. I’ve learned to trust them with my struggles and imperfections and to keep me on belay. And I do the same for them.

Even if it’s you against the wall and no one can do your climb for you, there’s comfort in knowing there are people looking out for you, ready to catch you.

In climbing, as in life, nobody climbs alone.

I’m grateful to know that this lesson sank in.

Climbing with friends in Squamish, BC, August 2025. Photo credit Jackie Haynes

Update: I’m back from traveling and will resume my regular publishing schedule. More art and climbing reflections to come. Thanks for your patience and being here.

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