Britt Skrabanek

Beautiful Misery

Dramatic title, I know.

Don’t worry. This isn’t about Kathy Bates breaking somebody’s ankles with a sledgehammer. (Shudder.)

This post is about this other crazy bitch…

Yep, you’re reading that right.

Misery Ridge Trail. Most difficult.

And, we hiked it.

Wondering if the trail lived up to its name? I would have my ass and legs tell you, but we’re still not on speaking terms.

At around 3,000 feet in elevation, the huffing and puffing as you climb this steep trail humbles even the savviest hikers. There was seriously a moment when I wanted to stop, turn around, and give up.

Yeah, me.

Yet, determination came from somewhere inside. I thought of nothing else but making it to the top. Everything faded away and it was only me, Mr. H, and nature—bound together, beneath the bright sky.

Eventually, we conquered that damn rock.

We were still in Oregon—Smith Rock, to be exact—but it seemed like Mars. The high desert was so different from the mossy wonderland we were used to.

In central Oregon, there is still a hint of what lies on the other side of the mountains. It’s half desert, half forest.

And, holy shit is it gorgeous!

A climbers paradise, every time you look up, you see one human or a whole group of humans hanging on the side of the giant rock.

They move with slow precision, choosing each movement as if their life depends on it.

Because it does. One false move is all it takes for these daring climbers to have a really bad day.

Which is why medical huts with crutches and stretchers are strategically placed throughout the park.

At the start of our adventure on Misery Ridge Trail, it was all about this deep internal discovery. What we were truly capable of when fatigue and doubt set in.

After all of that was done and the trail leveled out, our breath slowed and our smiles returned. But we were different, walking with a newfound energy, almost bouncing the rest of the way.

Hell, I even skipped a few times. And obviously, a Yoga tradition was a must.

There were times of difficulty, but we never gave up. There were times when I slipped and his hand was right there.

Climbing that rock together was a bit of a defining moment, a beautiful misery where it was only us against the rest of it.

Kind of like life. Hmm…

How about you guys…any defining travel/sport/adventure moments that changed you in some way?

The Life Enthusiast Chronicles with Julie

Last month Abby Smith reminded us that we should never turn away from difficulty, that we should embrace it and learn from it to truly live. In my monthly series, The Life Enthusiast Chronicles, phenomenal people from across the globe chat about why life is so amazing.

Today I’m excited to bring you guys this awesome gal in Paris I’m happy to know, Julie Klene from Les Petits Pas de Juls. This lovely thing just makes you smile. Her travel blog is absolutely delightful, with beautiful imagery to compliment her zest for people, culture, and life.

If you need a regular dose of positivity and adventure, I suggest you follow her. You’ll instantly see why I invited her to be a part of this series, because she embodies the Life Enthusiast spirit like it’s nothing.

Connect with Julie on Facebook.

I don’t know Britt outside of this little space we share on the internet. But I’ve come to see her as someone important, because her words always reach something delicate in me.

I know she has that ability with many more people out there. So, I was very moved when she thought I’d be Life Enthusiast Chronicles worthy.

Thank you, Britt, for trusting me here!

I don’t know if I’ve always been like that or if it happened slowly over the last few years.

All I know is that I’ve always loved hanging out with friends and family, enjoying the little moments with them, cherishing each kiss and embrace, and the opportunity to take off almost any time to see what it was like someplace else.

Somehow, everything might be related to Dead Poets Society. Robin Williams kind of looked like my dad, and “Seize the Day” has always resounded in me like something I should listen to, in order to avoid that moment “when I came to die, [and] discover that I had not lived” (Henry David Thoreau).

When I think about it, it must have started a few months after my father passed away; I was 15, he was 42, he shouldn’t have left me there and then.

After he left, I told myself I’d live the life he would have been proud of seeing me live.

A life I’d be proud of too, a life that would bring me happiness, love, and through which I’d be able to share love and happiness around me.

I took every opportunity as the best chance to show him he should have stayed. Him, my uncle, my grand-fathers and my god-father. To show them all they should have stayed.

And then, I flew away.

When I came back to France from living in Montana, USA, as a foreign exchange student when I was 18, I headed straight to the University to become a Sign Language Interpreter because I had discovered in the USA that it was what made me tick—it still does, today!

I found the job of my life and I enjoyed every little thing about it, being the bridge between two worlds, so people from each could reach to the other.

At the same time, I met some super interesting people, who made me discover that I loved bungee-jumping, driving a motorcycle, sky-diving and traveling far.

I got married, thought I was on the right track and fell off my happy cloud when I realized I had completely misjudged that happy moment. But, then, a friend who had gone on her own before-I-turn-30-world-trip, showed me the way again.

After she came back from her trip, I sold everything I owned, took a year off from work and left. As easy as that; it felt right even though I didn’t have a difficult life.

Finding myself on the road by myself (5 months in South America, 1 in Australia, and 4 in Asia) opened my eyes on a world I had only had a glimpse of before, opened my eyes on who I really wanted to be, opened my eyes on Life.

On that road, I realized I loved hiking—and could hike way up high! I loved eating at markets, I loved hearing the locals’ stories, I loved scuba-diving, I loved traveling on my own but also loved meeting new friends along the way.

I was surprised by how much I enjoyed my brother’s company when we met in Thailand, I learned I could be me even if that new “me” was not what other people would have “me” be.

And, most of all, I met Raul, who is now the best husband I could ever dream of.

I have been traveling for the past 5 years now, Living the Dream. Every time I’m in a new place, I feel like that child in front of a Christmas tree, ready to unwrap all the gifts that place has to offer.

I climb up towers, I hike far, I push myself to the limits, I make new friends, I go back to them, I work in Patagonia because I’ve found there a kind of peace that’s indescribable.

I come back to France and enjoy my birth-country much more that I did before.

I learn.

Back to work now! My friends in France wanted me to stay a little longer and offered me a job position I couldn’t refuse: working in Paris as a Sign Language interpreter again.

And, although Raul has had to go back to Mexico for a few weeks, I know we’re on the right track, I know we’ll find our own pace, here, there or somewhere else.

Because we have each other and we know what makes us tick.

Travel, Enjoy, Love, Give, Live. And “Carpe Diem” always!

Jul’

Bloom Amongst the Gloom

I don’t write about positivity and life enthusiasm on this blog, because I think I’m an expert. I have crap days, I carry a bouquet of insecurities, and I wonder if I my life has purpose.

And, I know I’m not alone.

Common answers I hear from my incredible guest bloggers when I first ask them to write for The Life Enthusiast Chronicles are…

Who me?
I’m not really a Life Enthusiast.
Are you sure?

My answers are…

Yes, you.
Yes, you are.
Yes, I am.

Hey, I get it.

We think a positive person looks, acts, and lives a certain way. We think that positivity is this unattainable thing reserved for a select few. A select few we’ve never actually seen in real life.

We are so hard on ourselves. Hell, when we hear that we are “good” rather than “bad”, we almost don’t know what to do.

I go through a range of absurd emotions—from blushing to stuttering, from crying to rushing away.

Back when I started this blog, I didn’t know what the hell I was going to write about. I just started writing.

What I did know was this one thing. I wanted to inspire without the bullshit.

I don’t like fluff and I don’t like dishonesty. I like what’s real—what makes us vulnerable and human. What makes us who we are.

Last weekend I saw this tree at the end of my hike.

Spotlighted by the sun, it was the one tree on this section of the hill that was blooming. It was leaning over, but another fallen tree was keeping it from crashing down.

Man, you guys, I just had a rough week.

Monday morning we had to rush Hazel the cat to the vet, because she got really sick, really quickly. She’s okay now, but things got pretty dicey.

The workweek was CRAZY busy, and the whole time I was still mentally recovering from the kitty scare.

Last night after that long week, I was so exhausted that I could barely keep my eyes open or make a joke. And, I joke around constantly.

First thing this morning, I decided to check and see if I received any reviews for Beneath the Satin Gloves since running it for free on Amazon recently.

It was a successful run, with nearly 700 downloads. I realize that the majority will never read it, but my one hope was to get more reviews.

Well, I got my first review from the promotion on Goodreads. It was one star, with no comment.

With few decent reviews out there, that just drove my sad little average right down.

You know something? I’m not bulletproof, and I never will be.

The bad review jarred me. And yes, I even had the old “Why in the hell do I keep writing?” thought permeating my mind.

Then, I thought about that tree, blossoming when nothing else around it was. So, I brushed off the shitty week and the shit review and decided not to fall.

Dammit, today I’m gonna bloom.

The Love Spy

Maybe it’s because spring comes so early here in the Pacific Northwest, but lately, love has been happening all around me.

Just this past week, I saw two different puppy love scenarios.

At the local pub we visit often, there was a young couple across from us at the bar. They were nose to nose, talking and laughing, genuinely into each other.

The petting was tasteful and they only had eyes for each other, like they were the only two inside the crowded bar—and, to hell with the rest of us.

Mr. H and I couldn’t help but smile at them. With love contagious in the air, we moved our barstools a little closer to each other and stayed that way.

Then the other day I went for my usual long hike up to the Pittock Mansion and ended up behind another couple the entire uphill journey. They matched my speed perfectly—and, I haul ass—so there was no way to pass them without sprinting suddenly like a weirdo.

I was annoyed at first, because hey, it gets really old staring at the same asses for an hour when you’re climbing technical trails, trying to enjoy nature.

There was a lot of hair flipping and giggling coming from her, while he strutted up the hill with his hands in the pockets of his baggy basketball shorts. Mr. Cool Guy.

They were heading to the same place I was, so I stopped being a cynical asshole and decided my fate was tied to the bouncy cute couple until I reached the top.

At the top of the hill, where Pittock Mansion is, lies the lovers bench many of you have heard me go on and on about for the past year. If you need to get up to speed, you can check out The Fate of the Lovers Bench.

I thought I could peek at the new bench to see how many love carvings had come about since last fall. Back in October, Portland Parks & Rec replaced the beautifully battered bench from before, because its old wood was unrecognizable from the romantic “vandalism” it had endured over the years.

As it was a Saturday, I assumed the bench would be taken. And, it was.

He matched the trees and she matched the roses next to the bench.

I felt a little guilty taking this picture, but like the couple at the bar earlier in the week, nothing else existed.

The bench was their world. Me and the other thirty or so people wandering around the grounds were invisible.

I didn’t stay long. I wanted to go home to my man. To be looked at, to be kissed, to be loved.

Last Chance…Grab Beneath the Satin Gloves Absolutely FREE!

Phew! Let me catch my breath here after the craziness that has transpired over the last few days.

The Amazon freebie for the rerelease of my first book, Beneath the Satin Gloves, has been a smashing success.

And, like a proud kid with pigtails and pink polka dot ribbons showing off a good report card, I have to share this…

Yep, that’s little indie author me, chilling at #6 on the bottom right there on Amazon’s Bestseller list in the Espionage Thriller category. Otherwise known as…shit yeah!

This would not have been possible without the incredible support I received from you all. Sharing and retweets were happening so much, I couldn’t keep up with thanking you all.

So, a huge THANK YOU to you guys. Your generosity is overwhelmingly lovely.

If you haven’t snatched up Beneath the Satin Gloves yet, have no fear! The freebie promo is running until tomorrow 3/1 (midnight PST).

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