Rejection & Self-Acceptance (Wisdom of the 12-Steps)

Bottom line: In the end, acceptance is an inside job.

(Hint: look closely at the photo.)

We won't get acceptance from everyone. We don't always get acceptance from those whom we wish to get it. However, there are those who will accept us and we need to be prepared to seek them out, which may take effort. In the long run, we need to accept ourselves, though we may need others to believe in us before we can believe in ourselves.

For those stuck and suffering a self-destructive cycle of behavior, emotional pain and trauma, 12-Step support groups provide an atmosphere of acceptance, and a safe platform to overcome the wreckage in our lives. Professional support through counseling/therapy provides the same. Both have complimentary ultimate goals: relief of destructive behavioral patterns, psychological health/emotional balance and better relationships.

We've all been rejected or will be rejected in some form or fashion. Big rejections, little rejections, loud or silent rejections, head-on or sideways, obvious or obscured.

I'll use an analogy of myself as a writer. Above and beyond the usual rejections that I receive in life, I live with rejection as a result of my selfish reason to have others read what I’ve written. I have a deep seated desire to create, connect and pass along ideas through writing.

Running the gauntlet of rejection is a necessity for a writer. Rejection of a proposed book. Rejection of a submitted article. If a written rejection does come after a submission, it’s usually weeks or months afterward. And if a written response is sent, it may be: No, thank you; or, Your piece isn’t a good fit at this time. Otherwise, there's dead silence. Nothing, nada, zilch. Anything short of acceptance doesn't feel good, though a written rejection is at least an acknowledgment. But that’s the nature of the biz. Little did I suspect the amount of rejection I'd face, when I started thinking, I’ll write and get it published. Ha, famous last words! And it isn't that editors are inconsiderate individuals. They're just inundated with submissions, so they can't and won't respond in writing to every submission. And a writer gets disabused early on that an editor will provide feedback about improving something written/submitted. Regardless of the form the rejection takes, impostor syndrome, the common self-doubt enemy within many writers, lurks in the shadows. Thoughts emerge like I can't write or that piece will never be published. I’ve heard actors on TV talk shows admit to experiencing impostor syndrome. I suspect many people across a wide variety of professions experience it.

In addition to grappling with imposter syndrome, every writer needs an audience. But if a writer doesn't already have an audience, or a large enough one, say through fame, then they need to build one. And I fall into the not famous category. No ifs, ands, or buts, it then boils down to marketing. That is, putting it all out there. I need to market my brand, my message, my book, blah, blah, blah. Again, that’s the nature of the biz.

Social media is an obvious place to build an audience, though froth with competition and potential rejection. Needless to say, I think, I've encountered people on social media who are demeaning and willing to hurl vile. I suspect everyone encounters that at some point. There’s always someone ready to p*** on your ideas or feelings, or the fact that you're breathing their air. I work to avoid those people as best I can, knowing that sifting through the dirt and rubble may be required to find the empathetic, supportive souls out there who want to read my work.

Though, I don't attend a support group to deal with my writer's rejection, I have and do utilize feedback from other writers in critique groups and writer's conferences. I take those opportunities to hone my material, learn the ins and outs of writing craft and inoculate myself regarding further submission rejection. Those attending 12-Steps support group are doing much the same regarding utilizing support from like-minded individuals to hone their better selves and reduce their destructive behavior.

When I face rejection, I've learned I need to take personal responsibility for my reaction (Step 10), though I'm not perfect. I work to avoid an unhelpful trip to Rantville. I take a breath and remember that my reaction to others’ rejection of my ideas, or whatever, is my trip, all my trip, and nothing but my trip. More importantly, their reaction of me is their trip. I may want their acceptance, but I need to sleep with myself every night, and that's what really counts in the long run.

With that, I continue along my healing journey and chosen path.

Walk in beauty.

(Photo Credit - gettyimages)

A Few "Lesser Known and Obscure" Facts (I've Learned) About Iceland

Bottom Line: Travel enriches the mind and spirit, in spite of any intent to the contrary.

Song in "The Tank" (disused

fish oil tank, that is) in Djúpivogur.

My wife and I visited Iceland this past June, after two previous trip cancellations. Once we’d shelled out our pesos, we ran the gauntlet of COVID requirements (vaccination and negative PCR test verification) to board our Reykjavik flight. Then, during our Viking cruise circumnavigation of the island, we surrendered daily spit samples for rapid testing each morning, and as well, donned tracking devices, in order we be “notified,” if we came into proximity of anyone discovered to be a carrier. (And though some individuals might run away from these requirements complaining like a cat facing a bath, I considered them reasonable and the results well worth the effort.)

We arrived in Reykjavik the day before boarding our cruise ship, everything according to Hoyle. That evening, however, our trip headed southward when primate turned violently ill. Long story short, my symptoms improved over the next two days . . . and Janet experienced the same problem, though her symptoms trailed mine by a day. Jet lag didn’t do either of us any favors, either. However, with daily improvement, we rallied mid-cruise and enjoyed a strong finish.

My inner writer squirmed and my fingers twitched, finally compelling me to sit and write . . . something . . . anything. The realization dawned—step 10, "Continued to take personal inventory. . . ."—my own “stinking thinking” fear of rejection had created my virtual dead-end.

Here are a few tidbits I learned in Iceland that I hadn’t previously known, or given thought beforehand (but since I’ve learned these more obscure facts, I have given them thought and included links in places to kindle your curiosity):

1) Iceland is a small country. With an area of 103,000 km² Iceland is more than twice the size of Denmark, or about the same size as the US state of Kentucky.

A scale model of Iceland in

Reykjavik City Hall, looking

east to west. (Note the rugged

topography on the less populated

eastern coastline.)

2) Iceland is roughly centered along the 65-degree north latitude, about that of central Alaska and southern Scandinavia, and straddles the Eurasian tectonic plate to the east, and the North American tectonic plate to the west. Indeed, Iceland exists because of the plate spreading along that rift zone (at about three centimeters per year, give or take a few millimeters).

A short segment of the rift, Europe (right),

North America (left). (Though it wouldn’t be

credible to say that you can stand with one

foot in Europe and the other in America!)

3) Volcanoes, barren lava fields and ash cones blanket the landscape as a result of Iceland’s creation from the up-welling of magma along the rift zone. And the Icelanders are familiar with volcanic activity, you might say that it’s in their bones, and they don’t deny the reality of their situation, in fact they embrace it. They warm homes and generate electricity with thermal water. Tourism of late has boosted their economy, particularly to observe volcanic activity. Seems people ogle with fascination at flowing lava and flying ash. In 1973, an eruption aside Vestmannaeyjar—don’t ask, I can’t pronounce this, I don’t speak Icelandic—threatened to block the town’s harbor, its lifeline to the sea. The town isn’t connected to the rest of the country by road. Fireman from several countries set up water hoses to cool and harden the lava flow. Meanwhile, a portion of the town was buried under ash. (I cheated and googled a news release about this eruption: https://icelandmag.is/article/when-residents-vestmannaeyjar-woke-discover-a-volcano-erupting-outskirts-town)

A number of buildings disappeared under

ash in 1973. This one wasexcavated and

enclosed in the Eldheimar museum.

Tourists flock to check this out.

Who wouldn’t? And the Icelanders

are making money on this deal! (For

a virtual visit to the museum:

https://visitwestmanislands.com/tour/eldheimar-museum/)

4) The Norse began settling the island before the end of the first century CE (more than five hundred years before Columbus’ dad had a twinkle in his eye). Vikings—the term for Norse pirates—were a hardy bunch. Though perhaps not as blood-thirsty as depicted, on occasion they relished a pillage and ransacking of some unfortunate neighbor.

One of the wax figurine scenes

in the Saga Museum.

(https://www.sagamuseum.is/)

5) And when the Vikings embarked on a pillage and ransack tour, some, if not most or all, donned metal helmets. Most Vikings helmets didn’t sport horns, however. (That was a matter of personal finances.) It is believed the “myth,” backed by popular demand, that all helmets had horns, originated in the 19th century. (Here’s more information about that: https://www.history.com/news/did-vikings-really-wear-horned-helmets and https://en.natmus.dk/historical-knowledge/denmark/prehistoric-period-until-1050-ad/the-viking-age/weapons/helmets/)

Examples of Norse helmets in the

Saga Museum in Reykjavik. Note

the lack of horns! (For a quickie

visit: https://www.sagamuseum.is/)

6) Remember the pillaging and ransacking part? Icelander male lineage primarily derives from the Norse (coming from the surrounding territory enveloping the Baltic Sea) while female lineage, in large proportion, derives from the Irish (British Isles). Seems the Norse—at least their pirate brethren, the Vikings—liked sequestering their wives (slaves) from Ireland. Though I heard that the local British-Isles ladies, preferred the Norse fellows over the local Anglo-Saxon men. (Seems the Vikings were better groomed than their Anglo-Saxon counterparts. You know, combed their hair, bathed more, smelled better. Take a lesson gentlemen!) So, perhaps some intrepid gals went to Iceland voluntarily, more or less.

Side note: I had Ancestry.com check my genealogy a few years ago. According to those results, I hail from the region of northern Europe, Southern Scandinavia and northern British Isles. I’ve concluded I’m a latter day Viking! I suspect my wife might disagree, however, and claim I descend from the Anglo-Saxons, as occasionally, she says I need a shower, because I “smell bad.”

7) Iceland’s population is quite small, numbering 368,792 in 2021. However, the bulk of Icelanders, 233,034 of them, congregate in and around Reykjavik, the capital. Only five towns boast of populations larger than 10,000. Icelanders concentrate along the more hospitable western and northern coastlines, and where fjords provide calm harbor.

Here’s one such town, Eskifjordur,

situated along the opposite fjord

shoreline.

8) Ten percent of Iceland’s landmass is covered by several large glaciers, and with all that melting ice, waterfalls abound.

Gullfoss Waterfalls, which can be

visited via a “Golden Circle” tour

from Reykjavik.

The edge of the ice field which

feeds the nearby Gullfoss Waterfalls.

9) Iceland is relatively devoid of trees. What forests persisting before the Norse arrived soon became their housing material. Today, trees are paltry in number and height by North American standards. A favorite local joke goes, “What do you do when you get lost?” Answer: “Stand up.”

One of Iceland's "forests" near the

WW II museum in Reydarfjordur. They

appear eight-ten feet tall, but I didn’t

have the time to attempt getting lost.

10) Weather, along the southwestern portions of the country, is influenced by the relatively warmer Atlantic current from North American environs. The warmer waters historically supported abundant stocks of fish, though their numbers have declined in recent years from over-harvesting. (“Salmon farming” does occur in fjords in scattered locations, though controversial. What if the guy salmon escaped their pens, had their way with the local girl salmon and thus contaminated the wild genetic lineage with bad genes?)

A local Icelander models and talks

about fishing gear of the more recent past.

(Note that his gloves have two thumb

inserts. Turning them over provided

extended use.)

11) Fish served as a primary dietary choice of the first settlers—this should be of no surprise—and remains so today. Lamb and a few veggies, here and there, has supplemented Icelander cuisine. Very little beef was, nor is, consumed. Winter housing and feeding of large animals, such as cattle, proves prohibitive, both in supplying them warmth and feed. Sheep, on the other hand, fit the red meat bill, as they consume less, require smaller space to house and grow thick fur, perfect clothing for the sheep in winter and humans the next spring.

Side note: Don't eat the fermented shark! Though I'm open-minded, I predict you wouldn't enjoy its taste, either. Though now that I’ve mentioned it, some of you will be compelled to try it . . . you know who you are! Regardless, do get your veggies as you dig into a delicious lamb stew.

12) The bulk of Iceland, particularly the interior, is devoid of human habitation, and most everything else, as that land not buried under ice or aforementioned volcanic features, contains poor soil which is unsuited for agriculture. As a result, farming in Iceland has never been a popular occupation.

Though along the coastline (and

hence, not the interior), try farming on

that! Only a narrow strip near the water

may be suitable to grow grasses and shrubs,

and is subject to avalanche during winter

and general landslide year-round.

13) Reindeer roam wild in the island’s interior. However, Icelanders do not consume venison. They rejected that notion when Norwegian imported reindeer in the 18th century. (I gathered the Icelanders didn’t like the Norwegians “meddling” with their culinary preferences.)

14) The arctic fox is the largest indigenous (not introduced by humans) mammal on the island. One or more, no doubt, hitched rides to Iceland on ice flows long before the Norse arrived in their longships.

15) Turns out the longships, powered by oars and sail, and built with over-lapping wood planks which provided flexibility to withstand ocean waves, were quite sea worthy.

An artist’s representation of a

Norse longship in Reykjavik.

16) Icelanders, at least many nowadays, display wit and humor. Icelanders think that Iceland and Greenland should swap names, although I’m not sure Icelanders consider this a joke! At least around the edges (coastline) Iceland is clear of snow and appears relatively green with scattered indigenous shrubs, stunted trees and grasses.

Janet and I encountered this sign

while rambling the streets of Reykjavik.

However, not in the mood for pizza,

we didn’t check the assertion.

A trash receptacle in Vestmannaeyjar.

(A protest against nuclear weapons or

volcanic activity? Either way, you get

ash clouds.)

17) Icelandic forebearers had creative imaginations and likely suffered bouts of boredom during their long, dark winters, particularly without electric lighting. Huldufólk, AKA Hidden People, were believed to inhabit the countryside among the human folk. You know, elves, who lived in a parallel universe and showed themselves now and then. Most Icelanders no longer believe they exist, however. (See this Wikipedia link for more information: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hulduf%C3%B3lk)

A "Hidden People's" church

according to Icelander folklore.

18) Icelanders prize their lineage of horses. (Even though they're small, short and stocky, don’t call them ponies!) If an Icelandic horse is taken out of Iceland, for whatever reason, it cannot be returned. No ifs, ands or buts. The Icelanders don’t want an introduction of diseases or genetics to effect or alter their horse population.

One said Icelandic horse, though

not posing for me. (And no,

Janet and I didn't see the Northern

Lights while there.)(Photo Credit:

pexels – Evgeny Tchebota.)

Travel Tip: If you travel to Iceland, even for one day, I recommend a “Golden Circle” Tour from Reykjavik, which will provide you the best of what Iceland offers.

PS: This, my most ambitious blog to date, could contain an error or two. So, please let me know of any errors. Other comments welcomed, too.

Walk in beauty.

A Blistering Pace (PCT)

Bottom Line: Some boots aren’t made for walkin’, apparently . . . at least on my feet.

6/22/21 - My feet taped to minimize blisters—hopefully, avoid them altogether—Mark and I enjoyed a cooked breakfast, then dropped my car at marker 266.1, junction with Hwy 18, in anticipation of our day’s hike.

Been here, Prim8 said.

Last time . . . I hope, Prim8.

In Mark’s car, we arrived at the PCT junction with Polique Canyon Road.

“What time is it?” I checked my iPhone. “8:30 AM, not bad,” I said.

Cool morning temperature and an overcast sky bode well.

I hoped to avoid the sweat-fest of our previous hikes. Though trail elevation exceeded 6,000 feet, direct sun this time of year would generate sweat like a squeezed orange dripping juice.

The southbound PCT headed “eastward” from our location, though shifted direction as we moved along.

We came to a trail junction, observed a lake in the distance directly ahead, though only slowed momentarily before we turned onto the right fork.

“Which lake is that? What direction?” I asked.

Within a few feet, Mark halted and referred to his map. “That could be Big Bear Lake,” he said.

“Can’t be,” I said. Could be. “Is there another lake north of the trail here?”

“No, that’s got to be Big Bear Lake,” Mark said. “I think we’re going the wrong way.”

How could that be? “We headed east from your car,” I said. “Logic dictates north lies to the left and south to the right. Though without opportunity to see shadows, it’s difficult to tell direction.”

Of course, we’d carried compasses.

Mark indicated with his hand. “Compass direction shows north that way.”

“How did we get turned around?” I said. “We haven’t deviated from the trail.”

“I don’t know, but let’s backtrack to my car,” Mark said.

With that, we retraced our steps over the 1.2 miles to Mark’s vehicle.

After a thorough examination of Mark’s maps and GPS device . . . and our compasses, we concluded we’d been heading the correct direction. But, still. . . .

Once again at the trail junction, 2.4 miles later, “There’s the problem,” I said. “We should’ve read the PCT sign over there,” I pointed left, “not the post-it note there,” I pointed right.

And so, this time, we made a hard left, the trail almost doubling back onto itself.

“Now we’re on the right track,” Mark said.

“Simple mistake, easy to make,” I said, though surprised we both had made it.

The temperature remained comfortable, the sun obscured by overcast and our hike proceeded without problem, though I noticed increasing complaints from my feet, particularly heels.

More blisters?

The aches, pains, complaints from my feet eased when we paused for a thirty-minute lunch break in the shade of several conifers. The sun at full strength now, we noted our thermometers read 83 degrees.

“Doesn’t feel that hot to me,” I told Mark, though I anticipated the heat of full sun and accompanying sweat. I removed my boots and socks. “Yep, blisters. I knew it.” Nothing to do but soldier on.

Mark said, “There a chance of a thunderstorm with lightening tomorrow.”

Ugh. “Maybe, we’ll get lucky and outrun it,” I said. I flashed on my summit of Gannett Peak in Wyoming with Dr. Bobo, when he and I had piled our gear some thirty feet away before we hunkered out of the wind, after Bob had warned, “Yeah, you don’t want any metal on you with lightening nearby.”

We continued onward, me counting down the distance, wiping sweat, feeling the burn of foot-blisters.

By the time we’d arrived at my car, we’d decided to pre-position it at mile marker 292.2, leaving it overnight in order to save time the next morning . . . though we were yet to know if the OHV route there was passable.

Turned out, it was . . . and we did.

At the hotel in Big Bear, I hit the shower, didn’t remove tape, preferred not to look at my feet. Knew I’d have to examine them afterwards, though.

Yep. A large blister on my right heel. What will I need to do to prevent this?

I discarded those pieces of tape beyond salvage, then applied additional layers everywhere.

6/23/21 - 6 AM, bright and early, with drive-through coffee and breakfast Mc-sandwich from the Big Bear McDonald’s consumed en-route, we returned to the Polique Canyon Road parking turnout at PCT junction, mile marker 278.6.

Overcast, occasional slight breezes and a cool temperature bode well. The overcast sky appeared subdued.

“That’s see if we can outrun that thunderstorm,” I said.

Mark requested a photo by a tree at the road junction.

Me, one, too, Prim8 demanded.

Okay, but we need to get moving.

Prim8 hugs a tree.

We marched off at a fast clip.

Foot check. Okay.

Clouds in the distance behind us appeared dark, so we kept a steady pace, hoping to escape a downpour, though each of us carried gear to avoid a soaking.

As we marched along my foot complaints mounted, demanded more of my focus.

Damn, blisters. What the hell do I have to do?

All in, however, I harbored no intention of turning back.

Brief stops for a photo, or a wee break, here and there, slowed our progress only slightly. And, as has been the case while we have hiked, we swapped personal tidbits. Mark joked about and divulged the nickname of “Wrong-way” that he’d gotten on a field survey job.

"Wrong-way" Mark poses as

storm clouds roil above.

The wind increased, with short gusts to 80 mph, my best guess, and the clouds roiled and darkened as we progressed across a plateau strewn with boulders. Periodic checks suggested we could be enveloped by a storm any minute.

The sounds of scattered rain drops bolstered my resolve and though they soon stopped, I didn’t slacken my pace.

My foot-complaints increased in intensity, and as I limped along, I counted down the remaining distance to my car.

It’s out there somewhere, Prim8 . . . unless somebody stole it, cross your fingers.

Another hundred yards . . . around this bend . . . somewhere beyond those green trees . . . the stream is nearby.

I sighed with relief when I crossed a flowing stream. We’re close, Prim8.

And then I spotted “Wrong-way,” as well as my car, waiting at the PCT junction with Crab Flats Road, mile marker 292.2.

My feet gave thanks, even though I drove Mark to his car.

We discussed our respective drives back home and tentative plans for our next PCT trip.

“I’m taking 138 to Pearblossom,” I told Mark, “and I’m not missing that turn, again.” Come hell or high water.

Rain began to pour, when I found the Hwy 138 turn off.

Escaped the storm by the hair of our chinny-chin-chins, Prim8. But, I've got to figure how to prevent blisters.

(Prim8’s accumulated PCT progress: mile marker 292.2.)

Walk in beauty.