The Gift of Tunnel Vision 3

A WholeStep Wisdom Piece
By Shari Lash

I live in midtown Toronto where a massive excavation operation is underway to build a new subway. It has been snarling the streets, encroaching on parks, affecting local businesses and dirtying the sidewalks. The disruption stretches for 19 kilometers and while there is a crush of equipment and staging visible from the surface, most of the construction is taking place underground. Being out of sight, the progress of this undertaking is a mystery to most citizens.

As a board representative of the local residents’ association, I was invited to tour the underground site. It was a rare opportunity that most people would jump at. My only problem: I am claustrophobic. The thought of walking down seven stories into a crowded, muddy space made me catch my breath. What if I froze on the way down? What if I freaked out while I was there? The truth is that I really wanted to go. I needed to go.  So I harnessed my curiosity and trusted that it would guide me past the fear.

When the day arrived I was fitted with full safety gear and oriented to breathing equipment in case we ran out of air (!) I was also warned that the experience was not for the claustrophobic. I stayed silent. And I remained silent as I descended dozens of metal stairs with everyone else, taking one careful step at a time – down, down, down. From the moment my boots hit solid ground, I quickly surveyed my surroundings and was astounded.

The site was cavernous. Its entrance was filled with light, machinery and activity. As I walked further in the landscape narrowed, the tunnel came into view, stretching in both directions as far as my eyes could see. It was awesome. The excavation was raw and unfinished and it was dusty and dangerous. It was a marvel of engineering. Trusting my protective clothing and my nearby guide, my fear dissolved and I ventured further in on my own, captivated by all the details, until I was called to ascend again.

The experience turned out to be more significant than I thought. It stayed with me long afterwards and sparked some serious reflection…

Descending. Times of loss and transition ask this of us — to drop down and confront what lies beneath the surface, even if we’re taken there kicking and screaming. Divorce, unemployment, depression, major illness, death; these are some of the times when we’re called underground because superficiality is no longer an option.

Descending into the underworld is the stuff of mythology and legend. Dante, Persephone, Dionysus and Orpheus all ventured into the darkness only to emerge anew. Leaving the familiar behind to travel through the unknown to a place of renewal is what folklorist Joseph Campbell calls the Hero’s Journey. In simple terms, the only way out of a challenging situation is to travel through it, face the trials and collect rewards along the way.

So how could a state of the art subway tunnel remind me of these ageless stories? Because it represents so much more. We’ve all been at the precipice. We’ve all descended, often with fear, sometimes with pain, with hands shaking and voice trembling but we go down there because that is what we’re called to do.

An excursion through unknown territory rarely offers an express route. Successfully reaching the other side requires patience and the willingness to do three things:

Feel it

Start with where you are and give yourself permission to be there. If you’re scared be scared. If you’re angry be angry. If you’re sad, cry. Whether its one emotion at a time or a full spectrum, be with it. You’re leaving behind something big. Whether it’s a spouse, a professional identity or a loved one, a way of being, feel the grief and take your time with it. As much as you’d like to avoid messy feelings, honouring them is the first step. This is the invitation to the landscape of transformation. 

Suit up

You can’t face danger without wearing protective clothing. Know your supports. Other people, physical or social activities, books, music and self-reflection will all sustain you on the journey. Imagine these supports being in your knapsack, like a drink of water you can access whenever you need it. The hands that hold you will ground your wandering and accompany you through the upside-down times.

Get to work

When I was in the subway tunnel, I could see light far in the distance, but I also saw small lamps installed along the way. I saw heavy machinery and workers making slow progress on a huge undertaking. In a month from now, that tunnel will look very different. The same is true as you move through a transition. Take one small step at a time and keep working at it. Make use of your supports and learn as much as you can. Knowing there’s a light at the end of the tunnel is still a powerful metaphor. But there also are so many details to notice along the way.

For anyone who’s descended into the darkness and come out safely to the daylight, you know that getting dirty is necessary and it’s what makes the experience meaningful. When I emerged from that subway tunnel, ascending those same rickety stairs, I had clumps of mud on my hat, I was out of breath and my legs were tired. But I felt amazing, I felt like I had successfully tackled something that frightened me. I was excited and grateful and couldn’t wait to share about my adventure.

When we enter the tunnel, we rarely know how deep it is or how long it will be. The important thing is to start, to enter into the unknown to stay engaged and remember you have work to do. You are walking the hero’s journey and, in the words of Joseph Campbell, “The cave your fear to enter, holds the treasure you seek.”

Shari Lash is the owner and heartbeat of WholeSTEP. She is a writer specializing in crafting engaging professional bios. She is also a workshop designer, leader and stratgegy coach focusing on the transition process, resiliency and self-compassion. She can be reached at shari@wholestep.ca