It feels like I am constantly asked by friends, family and everyone I meet why I do what I do… Most people understand the draw of the mountains to some extent. The inherently human drive to want to explore and experience is a tale as old as time. Mountains are beautiful; they represent the last bastions of untouched wilderness and are a safe-space from pollution, over-population and the everyday stresses of normal life.

It’s not unusual to enjoy spending time outdoors, and everyone likes to travel, to see and experience new things. But climbing and mountaineering often involve large amounts of suffering, and this is where people start to get confused. But what about the cold, I am asked? The exhaustion? Don’t you get scared? Don’t you get bored of mountains? Why do I always want to do something higher, something longer, something harder?

A lot of people think that mountaineers do what they do for fame, recognition or something to make them seem interesting at dinner parties. Maybe that’s the case for a small percentage (*cough* rich but inexperienced Everest climbers), but it’s certainly not for the vast majority of us. I have never climbed anything anywhere near impressive enough for recognition and I probably never will! And that’s fine, because that is so far from my motivation.

So What is my Motivation?

It’s almost impossible to put into words, and I often struggle to detangle my thoughts enough to understand it myself. But one thing I am sure of: I am motivated by ‘suffering’. 

So much of mountaineering involves suffering. You’re exhausted, you’re sick from altitude, you’re scared of making one wrong decision or tiny mistake that could cost you your life. I’m regularly overcome with worries and doubts that I’m not good enough, strong enough, fit enough or brave enough.

There comes a point on any even vaguely serious route where I question what I am doing and why I am doing it. I tell myself that I will never put myself through it again, that I will never do anything that induces such a vast array of overwhelming negative emotions. It’s hard to convey just how awful I feel sometimes. I catch sight of the summit and I start to cry because I’m just so happy that I made it, and that it’s nearly over. And then it’s over, and I want to do it all again.

The Sublime

In 1757, the Irish writer and philosopher Edmund Burke attempted to explain this notion far more eloquently than I ever could.

“Whatever is fitted in any sort to excite the ideas of pain, and danger, that is to say, whatever is in any sort terrible, or is conversant about terrible objects, or operates in a manner analogous to terror, is a source of the sublime; that is, it is productive of the strongest emotion which the mind is capable of feeling“

Edmund Burke

His proposal is that experiencing fear, pain or danger, causes a rush of terror. This terror is experienced as delight when the danger ‘does not press too close’. Burke ultimately divides sensory experiences into two categories: the beautiful and the sublime. Beauty brings pleasure whilst the sublime brings terror. Together, they cover the whole range of human emotion and experience.

In Real-Life Terms

For me, this makes perfect sense. I experience beauty when I am standing atop a mountain summit and I am gazing out across a panoramic and uninterrupted view of the natural landscape. I experience the sublime when I hear the nearby rumbling of an avalanche, or I am climbing a steep slope where one slip of the foot could prove fatal.

It’s absolutely not all pain and terror. There’s the intense joy I feel when I reach a summit, or complete the crux pitch of a climb. There’s the amazement at being in such outrageously beautiful places, away from people, things and the problems of modern day life. There is the ridiculous amount of satisfaction that comes from overcoming suffering. Pushing on and succeeding, even though it’s hard and it hurts. 

For most of my life, I have felt weak, un-athletic, unconfident and afraid. I overthink, I care too much about what other people think and I am extremely self-critical. When I have completed a climbing or mountaineering objective, I feel strong. I feel brave. I feel competent.

Beauty and the Sublime

Together, these two overwhelming experiences – beauty and the sublime – are my life-blood. When I am out in the mountains, I feel truly alive. The crazy range of emotions that I cycle through, and the sheer intensity of those emotions, is addictive. It feels like being woken up by someone dunking me into an ice bath. The rest of the time I am just living, barely awake, sleepwalking through life on auto-pilot. I have tried to find other things that induce such intense feelings, but I don’t think there is anything else that even comes close.

“Find What You Love and Make It Your Job”

I have considered working towards qualifications that would allow me to work in the outdoors as a climbing or mountaineering instructor. I have actually even started (and finished!) some of the necessary training. But along the way, I realised that this is not the solution for me. As much as it appeals in theory, I am just not comfortable with the reality. I’m not really a people person and I’m not a natural leader. The technical aspects of climbing and mountaineering don’t come easily and intuitively to me. I’m clumsy and unconfident. Ultimately, I don’t think I could ever stand being literally responsible for other people’s lives.

But perhaps most importantly, I am so scared of mountaineering losing its magic. I don’t want to spend all day every day out in the mountains and find that it’s not special anymore. I don’t want to lessen the beauty and I don’t want to lessen the sublime.

So I’m going to carry on with my mish-mash of odd-jobs, self-employment and online work. I don’t love it, but maybe that’s the point… How can the good be good if there’s no neutral or bad against which to measure it?