MARCH 20, 2023 – Today I was ant on a hill. Nothing revelatory about that. Gazing up at the stars on a clear night or looking down at the earth on a clear day from 36,000 feet reminds me that each of us is . . . an ant, or more precisely, something far less than an ant. While skiing uphill today, I imagined peering way down at myself from the top of the hill and shouting encouragement. I pictured myself as an ant . . . on a hill.
To conquer self-doubt and fatigue when x-c skiing uphill, you need to distract yourself with imagery until . . . Voila! . . . you’ve reached the top.
The ant-on-a-hill image was good for two hill climbs, but I resorted to other mental methods on the other 10 hills. On the penultimate ascent, I thought about possible topics for today’s blog post. Upon reaching the summit, I was struck by a burst of sunshine off the snow. The glare triggered a realization: today’s post would be No. 1400.
When I set out on this writing project on April 14, 2018, it was largely experimental. I wasn’t sure how it would pan out, where it would lead or how far. Would it lose momentum after a burst of initial enthusiasm? Would the subject matter narrow, then fade into a banal and boring rut? Would I skip a day, then two, a week, then junk the whole idea? Only by discipline could I conquer doubt.
Then came illness in December 2021. I plunged off the proverbial cliff. As I tumbled into the unknown, however, a possibility occurred to me: the blog could be my safety harness, a device to slow, then reverse my descent. Through challenging days that preceded my diagnosis and followed the commencement of treatment, I adhered to the daily work of this blog. By writing publicly about my experience, I discovered the benefits of introspection and developed a vehicle for expressing deep gratitude for all the people dispensing care and encouragement on my behalf.
At the end of the first month of pills and needles, I began an account of my Grand Odyssey during “ancient times.” The effort provided purpose. The project led to the discovery of a large cache of letters supplementing my memory and motivating me further. During the stem cell transplant phase of my treatment, the blog again bolstered my spirits and, I do believe, the physiological outcome.
Since then, topics have tumbled from a grab bag of daily musings, encounters, and experiments. If not every entry is a keeper, the keeper odds increase with the number of daily posts—at least in statistical theory.
On my next to last descent, I wondered how I’d now react to old posts, selected randomly among the 1,400. Would I be embarrassed? Critical? Amused? If only one or two were to be saved, which would I choose? Which would my readers select? Whatever. For good reason, evolution put our eyes on the front of the head, not the back: life is to be led moving forward, not backward.
On the day’s final hill climb, I paused at the midpoint to admire my surroundings. “Little Switzerland” was in its glory on this first day of spring. As I leaned against a tree, I marveled at its intricate bark, highlighted in the sunlight. The tree symbolized the infinite wonders of this world, this life, and the branches, touching the ozone, reminded me that I’m but an ant on a hill and . . . an ant with a blog.
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© 2023 by Eric Nilsson
