Entering my try-hard era

Looking for effortless, unbothered, or chill? You've come to the wrong place.

On The Cusp is about becoming the next version of ourselves. That means experimenting with the breadth of our interests, exploring the depths of anything that captures our imagination, and learning to embrace uncertainty along the way.

Welcome! This is letter #58.

Sea to sky, captured on Ilford HP5 film

As we rose high above Howe Sound from our perch in the gondola, I felt droplets of sweat forming on my palms. After all, we were sitting in a glass bubble dangling from a wire.

My boyfriend and I had stopped in Squamish on our way to the Sunshine Coast. It was his first time in this adventure town nestled between ocean and mountains, so riding the touristy but aptly-named Sea to Sky Gondola was a requirement.

We were greeted at the summit with jaw-dropping panoramas, an overpriced cliffside restaurant, a well-groomed network of short but scenic trails, and the crown jewel of the experience: a hundred-meter suspension bridge swinging over a gash in the earth beneath us.

The suspension bridge and Sky Pilot

We’d come up at dusk to avoid the worst of the crowds; still, we were far from alone. The other couples, friend groups, and families all chose a designated photographer, and the subjects would take a few tentative steps onto the suspension bridge, pause just long enough for a photo, then scurry back to safety.

I snapped that same photo of my boyfriend on instant film and watched impatiently as it developed in my hands, singing the OutKast lyric “Shake it like a Polaroid picture!” under my breath. Then, I lifted my eyes to find a new iteration of this scene unfolding.

A twentysomething woman in a ruffled blue prairie dress stood on the suspension bridge, adjusting her wide-brimmed hat and its ribbon bow. She started cycling through a series of poses as her boyfriend crouched nearby (a serious photographer, judging from the length of his lens). He stood abruptly, shuffling his feet left and right to work her best angles.

Bemused, we waited for them to conclude their photoshoot, then crossed the bridge to get a better look at the shark-finned peak called Sky Pilot. We chatted amiably with another couple enjoying the vista.

Suddenly, Prairie Dress ran into view, eager to take full advantage of golden hour—this time, twirling cliffside with Sky Pilot behind her—as Photographer Boyfriend hovered and snapped nearby.

By this point, all four of us were ignoring Sky Pilot in favor of the Instagram couple. “Do you think I should take an Instax photo of her?” I whispered. “I could give it to them as a souvenir. I bet they’d love it!”

But before I could raise the viewfinder to my eye, they were both gone, already jogging toward the next viewpoint. There was much content to capture before nightfall.

Later, as we stood waiting for a descending gondola car, I made a mental note to find Prairie Dress on Instagram; she would almost certainly be geo-tagged at Sea to Sky. I thought about how she and her boyfriend were the main characters in the story of our visit—despite not noticing us at all. And I considered how effortless their profound efforts were sure to look on social media.

Last weekend, we spent a twelve-hour day making progress on our DIY catio.

Measurements needed to be recalculated for the particular dimensions of my house; two-by-twos and two-by-fours needed to be cut and screwed together at right angles; pet-proof 2x3” wire needed to be staple-gunned securely to each section of the frame. And it all had to be finished, cleaned up, and covered before a rare western Washington thunderstorm rolled in. (We made it with five minutes to spare.)

Once the clouds lifted, I spent another afternoon rolling and brushing oil-based primer onto the frames we’d built from raw lumber, readying them for coats of Sherwin-Williams Urbane Bronze—the same color as my siding.

I have never crouched so much in my life. Until this work rendered them too sore to function, I’d almost forgotten that I have hamstrings.

Catio progress!

I tell you this because when I first mentioned my backyard catio build, I was surprised how many people asked me to talk more, not less, about the process. My inclination had been the opposite: downplay the blood, sweat, and tears that accompany what promises to be an Instagram-worthy outcome.

There’s precedent, of course: I would be following in the well-trodden footsteps of Prairie Dress and Photographer Boyfriend. Put in 100% of the effort, but cover your tracks. Allow people to imagine that it was effortless.

This year, I’ve entered what I like to call my “try-hard era.” Maybe it’s because I’m emerging from a season of grief and loss, but recently, I’ve been launching myself into projects that feel precariously close to the line between doable and not.

I’ve been growth-oriented all my life, but everything I worked towards in the Before Times (that is, before my five-year plan went up in flames)—earning a professional designation, planning a wedding, buying a house—was also, conveniently, a goal I was socially rewarded for reaching.

My try-hard era is all about the stuff I want to do for myself alone. And often, it’s the kind of stuff that doesn’t come with built-in social approval.

It’s weird to build—as my boyfriend enjoys calling it—an “outdoor jail cell” for your cats! It’s weird to film yourself making pizza! It’s weird to write essays and email them to people you’ve never met! Unlike getting married and buying a house, these are the types of things I used to avoid mentioning when someone asked, “So, what have you been up to lately?”

They also happen to be some of the most rewarding projects I’ve ever tackled.

Turns out, it feels good to spend twelve-hour days building a tangible thing with the person you love, to figure out how to seamlessly marry A-roll with B-roll and a soundtrack in Final Cut Pro, to finally hit “send” on an essay you’ve been workshopping for weeks.

For all the talk about “empowerment” that makes it sounds like a passive process, I can tell you that one of the fastest routes there involves taking on a challenge you thought was beyond your capabilities and simply not quitting.

Since entering my try-hard era, I sleep better at night. It’s actually more tiring to waste your life scrolling your phone than it is to labor at something that engages you—even if the labor leaves you with really sore hamstrings.

The last hurdle in entering my try-hard era, though, is publicly acknowledging how much effort I’m putting in.

It’s the highest hurdle for me, because it erases any remaining possibility that someday, someone, somewhere might think I’m cool. Cool is effortless, unbothered, chill. And if you’re under the impression that I am any of those things, I regret to inform you that you are mistaken.

But now that the illusion is shattered, I can get on with the unsexy work of living into my try-hard era. Most days, it’s an equal mix of tiring and frustrating. But then I reach a breakthrough, and am hit with a flash of exhilaration and the pure joy of accomplishment.

And that’s when I start to get excited about showing my work.

As always, I’d love to hear from you. What are you working hard on right now?

Warmly,
Maddie