Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.
Life is often compared to a road. Speed bumps hinder our pace along the way, forks of indecision abound and sometimes it can feel like we’re whizzing 20 over the limit with our brake lines cut: There’s no slowing down now. But occasionally our journeys of self-discovery really do take us along a physical path. This week’s featured writer, Hannah Malin-Stremlau of Sharon, shares the skin-scraping tribulations she faced on a month-long bicycle trip that, in the end, brought out nothing but the very best in her.
Acceptance before change
Hannah Malin-Stremlau, 18, Sharon
On September 2 of 2022, I packed three short-sleeve shirts, two long-sleeve shirts and four pairs of pants into a backpack and left my house in Sharon, Vermont, for four months for an intensive expedition school: Kroka Expeditions’ Legends of the Southwest Semester. I left all superficial dependencies behind: my phone, my cute clothes and even my stuffed hippo, Hippy. As far as anyone else was concerned, I dropped off the grid. As a group of 10, we entered a carefully cultivated community with a culture of our own. Doing a Kroka semester had been a dream of mine since fifth grade, and I was ready. I knew I was in for discomfort, and struggle, but I knew the outcome would be more than worth it: tranquility and unwavering self-assurance. What I did not know is that before I could reach those outcomes, before I could develop or advance, I had to accept myself for who I was.
The capstone of the semester was a month-long bikepacking trip through the Sonoran Desert in
Arizona, to the Mexico border. We woke, dressed and ate while the sun rose and the December desert thawed. By the time our hands touched handlebars, the sun was beating down on our sunburnt necks. Before that semester, I had never mountain-biked before. Not only did I leave all collected safety nets at home, but many of the group were more experienced than I was. To me, it was unknown territory. I kept high expectations for myself, expecting my inexperienced legs to take my virgin bike as far, as fast and as efficiently as my weathered peers.
We biked through the Black Canyon Trail and Arizona Trail, on a single track and with cacti on either side. Time and time again I found myself not in a forward motion like the rest of the group, but sprawled on the desert floor, hoping for help untangling my bike from my body. We moved along a sharp, rocky cliff. When the inevitable happened — swaying, skidding and tipping — I would tumble down, feeling both metaphorically and physically below the others.
Every time I righted myself again, I gained another level of mental fortitude. It took courage to fit my body back onto the bike that betrayed me again and again. Through the repeated process of falling and standing, I honed the technical skill of mountain biking. Moreso, I learned what it means to meet myself where I am, and the power that has on the rate of my growth. No change can come without embracing your starting point. I am hard on myself in the learning process, which is usually not beneficial. Forcing myself into the shape or being I feel I should be, forcing myself to be someone I’m not, will never result in the outcome I desire. I am continuously practicing how to hold my own hand with patience and kindness as I learn.
Kroka has been one of the most transformative experiences of my life. I learned who I was through the hum of my hub, the rhythmic feeling of pushing each pedal forward and the grinding of 20 wheels over sand, rock and cacti. Moreso, I learned how to love who I am through the feeling of the tan earth meeting my legs and shoulders as I fell. I became comfortable with the tingling of teddy-bear cholla spines in the palms of my hands, and the tickling of sweat down my face. I found the joy of growth, but not before I found the equanimity of unconditional self-acceptance.
