Let's Just Get to the Top
The Storm That Wouldn't Quit
The weather on our Iceland vacation was absurdly, comically bad. We had left the Northeast and the Nor'easter that pummeled our area to arrive to a wind and rain system that lasted the entire time we were there.
On our second to last day, we drove down from our Airbnb to the famous waterfall down the road. There were dozens of buses and hundreds of visitors, and not a single place to park. Neither of us love crowds, so we looked at each other and went to plan B, a lesser known waterfall down the road.
When the Trail Disappears
We walked the half mile trail to begin the climb through the canyon to the falls, but the downpour had washed out the path in, and we couldn't reach the waterfall without wading in up to our calves. We were determined to see the falls though, so we found a trail straight up the grassy hillside, likely made by sheep, and headed up above the canyon.
It was still pouring ass rain and our rain gear was soaked within minutes. We persevered up this very wet, very steep hill alongside the canyon, searching for a view down to the waterfall we couldn't reach, and when we found one, we looked down and appreciated it from some 300 feet above. The views from this hill were epic as the wind and rain picked up.
I sat down with my back against the rain and we huddled there on the hillside like the sheep across from us, hoping the pelting rain would pass. As we sat looking out at the geology and the sheep also with their backs turned away from the rain, I suggested we return to the car. Geoff cheerfully offered, "let's just get to the top!" (a favorite phrase of his). And we were in Iceland, our second to last day, so I agreed begrudgingly. We continued climbing the steep and muddy trail.
The Waterfall Nobody Else Found
We climbed another 800 feet to even more incredible views down into the canyon, while Geoff explained the astonishing geology to me. Around a corner, we saw a waterfall that had not been visible from the trailhead, nor from the spot we'd been sitting on a moment ago.
I was thrilled, it was more beautiful than any of the ones in the brochures, and now it was my turn to convince a reluctant Geoff to head down into the canyon to reach it. We had to climb over another crest and then down into the canyon, but I picked up the pace and scrambled over the creek into the basin of the 90-foot waterfall. It was just us and the cascading water.
We were soaked to the bone and shivering toward actual hypothermia, a condition we've apparently both gotten good at recognizing in each other and too comfortable enduring, tired from 1100 feet of elevation over a mile. Not very far, but steep, rocky, and slippery the whole way.
What the Climb Was Really About
If it had been up to me, we would have returned to the car; if it had been up to Geoff, we would have stayed high above the waterfalls. By challenging each other in different ways, we reached what each of us found thrilling. That is the partnership we have built, and this experience reflects how it works.
When you want the good stuff you gotta do the work. You have to get uncomfortable. Cheesy and obvious, I know, but the reminder was ringing in my ears all the way back down shivering, so I share it here. Because even the experts sometimes need the reminders.
The Steep Muddy Path at Home
Our relationship itself is sometimes that steep muddy path. Sometimes it's the argument about the dishes, or the decision about how to take care of each other. It's always easier to just return to the car and skip the walk in the rain. Couple after couple I work with make the choice to skip the hard conversation, calling it bad timing, or no energy, or too long a week.
But that three-day fight is never actually about the dishes, it's sustained by neither person feeling heard, which usually means neither person is actually listening. In my office, I force those hard conversations anyway, and even the mundane ones yield something real once both people stop performing and start listening.
Out there on that hillside, soaked and shivering, I would have turned back. Geoff wanted to stay put at the top. Instead we kept moving toward each other, and that's where we found the waterfall nobody else got to see.
What That Climb Keeps Teaching Me
You will want to turn back, and that's not a sign you're doing it wrong. Every climb worth anything has a point where quitting looks reasonable. The trail doesn't care if you're ready.
Someone pulling you forward is not the same as someone dragging you. Geoff didn't talk me out of my doubt, he just kept moving and encouraging me, and I decided to follow him. The best partners don't convince you of anything, they just keep walking toward the thing that scares you a little.
The real view is never the one from the parking lot. We only found the second waterfall because the first one was mobbed and the second one made us earn it. That's as true of waterfalls as it is of the conversation you've been avoiding for six months.
Getting there together matters more than getting there your way. I wanted to turn back. Geoff wanted to stay at the top. Neither of us got exactly what we wanted, and what we got instead was better than either version.
If You're Ready to Climb
I used to say yes to just about anyone who wanted help. Thirty years in, I've gotten pickier. I'm not interested in people who want someone to agree the trail is too wet and they were right to turn around. I want the people who want the real waterfall, even when getting there means wet socks, a wrong turn, and a little bit of arguing about whether to keep going.
That's exactly who Fire It Up Marriage Accelerator is for. It's not a weekend tune-up and it's not couples therapy with better lighting. It's self-paced, which means no one's going to make you do it, you have to actually want to. Start here if you're ready to do this on your own terms and your own time.
If you'd rather have an actual person yelling "let's get to the top" at you in real time, I also work directly with a smaller number of people, therapy clients in Massachusetts, New York, and Washington, and coaching clients anywhere in the world, no passport required.
Reach out and we'll figure out which hillside you're standing on.
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