“Joy comes to us in moments—ordinary moments. We risk missing out on joy when we get too busy chasing down the extraordinary.” ~Brené Brown
I started going to my local gym a few months ago to prepare for a strenuous hike.
The gym is a tiny place, located on a quiet street in the middle of a small town. It doesn’t have any fancy accommodations or instructors leading classes. It doesn’t even have showers or lockers to store my bag.
It does have a few treadmills, free weights, weight machines, and regulars who can lift really dang heavy weights.
Now, I’m not someone you would usually find in a gym. Let me put this in context: my lowest grade in school was in physical education. I quickly grasped long division and read complex stories, but I probably still could not get the volleyball over the net.
As you can imagine, the gym was not a fun place for me.
I imagined everyone silently judging me. I worried about what to wear. I was so clumsy from nerves that I even had trouble opening the gym door.
The regulars, mostly men, seemed huge and intimidating. I felt small and weak.
I stayed on the treadmill in the corner for six weeks. Headphones on. Head down. “I don’t belong” on repeat in my mind.
It was a battle with myself to get out of the car every time I visited, but I somehow found the courage to make it to the treadmill. I imagined the joy I would feel when I finally made it to the top of the mountain.
Finally, after six long weeks of walking on an incline, my husband and I flew across the country to complete the hike. It was the longest distance and highest elevation (and quickest descent) I had ever experienced.
I honestly thought I wasn’t going to make it in some parts. On two occasions, I had to sit down to avoid fainting.
My muscles screamed. I panted and wheezed and sweated. But we climbed.
And we climbed.
And then, when I thought we had reached the top… we unfortunately had to climb some more.
Finally, after several hours, we made it to the end of the trail. The summit opened up around us, and I instantly forgot my exhaustion. Every minute of struggle felt worth it for what stood before us.
It was a bright, clear day, and miles of rocky peaks were visible. A blue lake twinkled below. The sun reflected off a small glacier to my right. Everything was still and, even with other hikers around, incredibly quiet.
My husband and I spoke in whispers as we ate our peanut butter sandwiches, and I realized I had flown across the country and hiked a mountain in an intentional search for extraordinary.
If I am really honest with myself, I’ve been searching for extraordinary my entire life.
I know I am not the only one. Many of us high-achieving perfectionists often find ourselves frustrated. Not only do we want to experience extraordinary; we also want to be extraordinary. We have an innate desire to live a life of contribution and meaning.
We often feel like we are not doing enough. We feel we should be doing more. We think we need to be there instead of celebrating where we are right now in this moment. And even when we do accomplish something, it often doesn’t feel like enough for long. Our constant striving reinforces the belief that we ourselves are not enough unless we’re achieving something big.
This desire serves us well. We are individuals known for our ability to get things done and make an impact on those around us; yet we can be so forward focused that the right now can feel underwhelming and, well—for lack of a better word—quite ordinary.
Lately, I’ve held these beliefs under a microscope and really examined their hold on me. What makes a moment extraordinary? Do I really need a product, a summit, for the moment to have meaning? How many people must I impact before my life “counts?”
I’ve discovered extraordinary moments are like the summit of my hike, which also means they are fleeting. It is not long before your shins are killing you as you make the steep descent. It is not long before the extraordinary moment becomes nothing more than a memory and, on occasion, a beautiful photo.
I am realizing that maybe the extraordinary doesn’t have to be limited to the peak. Perhaps it can also be found in the hike. Maybe it was in the moments I gasped for breath. Maybe it was even in the mundane gym sessions I completed in the weeks leading up to the hike.
Those moments pushed me outside my comfort zone and allowed me to grow stronger. Those gym sessions prepared me so I could show up in the moments of the hike where it got really hard. Isn’t that, in itself, pretty extraordinary?
I have returned to my local gym. Only now, I have moved from the treadmill in the corner.
Now, several times a week, you will find me with a barbell in my hands. You will see me celebrating incremental growth—a few additional reps, a bit more weight, or maybe even just celebrating the fact that I showed up today despite my fear.
In a way, I guess the quest for the extraordinary has led me to appreciate these moments of ordinary. I am finding myself appreciating consistency and routine. I find myself appreciating incremental progress over the huge gains.
That’s not to say that I don’t still chase extraordinary. In fact, I have a trip planned in a few short weeks to find views like I have never seen and to push myself in new ways. I am sure it will be extraordinary.
Yet, I also am starting to find joy in the small, everyday tasks. I am starting to see meaning and purpose infused in every action. I’m now on a quest to appreciate just how extraordinary the ordinary can be.
