Risky enough to feel alive

Careful enough to survive

I’ve never felt more grateful or alive than the week after I thought I might die. I was backpacking in the Indian Himalayas with a college girlfriend in 2001. We were completely lost in the wilderness, without any sign of a trail or civilization. And we were out of food. Just when we had given up any hope, we saw a glimmer of moonlight reflect off a distant hut several miles away.

A few days later, we were well-fed, rested, and recovered in the holy city of Rishikesh. Up to that point, I had never experienced such a deep sense of gratitude for simply existing. What Michael Pollan calls the mind’s “reducing valve” opened up, and I was hyper-sensitive to everything: the taste of a banana pancake, the sound of a Dire Straits album, the gurgling of the Ganges River flowing by.

When we got lost, I was halfway through a paperback I had pilfered from a hostel. Veronika Decides to Die has all the expected cheesiness yet emotional resonance of a Paulo Coelho book. It follows the story of Veronika, a 24-year-old Slovenian who appears to have everything—youth, beauty, a stable job, and a comfortable life—but feels unfulfilled. She attempts suicide by overdosing on sleeping pills, only to wake up in a mental institution, where she is told that the overdose has irreversibly damaged her heart and she has only a few days to live.

Faced with life’s finitude, she begins to experience the intense emotions and experiences that eluded her comfortable, privileged life.

Sipping a hot cup of chai in Rishikesh in 2001, I felt like Veronika. I felt so good after nearly dying, I wrote a note in my journal to tell future-me that if I ever fell into depression, the antidote was to do something so difficult, even life-threatening, so as to remind myself of the magic of living.

Feeling alive at 18,500 feet

A couple of weeks ago, I met up with my cousin, Ian, and a longtime friend, Pablo, to climb Mexico’s highest peak, el Pico de Orizaba.

After a few hours of restless sleep, 14,000 feet above sea level, we got up at midnight to eat some pancakes to fuel our ascent. The first half was easygoing. By the time we reached the mountain’s last (and quickly disappearing) glacier, we strapped on our crampons, and our breathing became noticeably more difficult. We shuffled along slowly like old men as we neared the summit; fortunately, we made it just in time for a spectacular sunrise. We were on top of the world, literally and figuratively. Once I caught my breath and my heart rate subsided, I felt the same sense of hyperawareness and gratitude for simply existing.

On our way back down, we ran into “Tocayacsónfaib,”¹ our second guide. He was with an unfamiliar young woman who looked like she had seen a ghost. We learned that she had nearly fallen down a cliff to her death while descending alone. Another climber spotted her and screamed for help. Our guide managed to lower a rope and slowly pull her up to safety where she broke down sobbing, as did everyone watching.

She shouldn’t have descended alone, and her group shouldn’t have let her. Mountaineering is inherently dangerous and they made it more so. The week before, a young man from Monterrey (having watched too many YouTube videos methinks) tried riding his bike down Pico de Orizaba and flew off a cliff to his death. Even if you don’t tempt death, it can still find you on the mountain. Last year, four experienced climbers died on the mountain after getting trapped in bad weather.

The bicycle that belonged to the young man who died the week before our arrival. A vivid reminder to stay safe.

The danger makes you feel alive. So long as you stay alive. But why are we drawn to danger in the first place?

Why do men especially seek danger?

Over the next few weeks I plan on writing more about my work at the American Institute for Boys and Men and the observations of its founder,

Richard V Reeves

.

I’m pretty sure you’re gonna get sick of me agreeing with 99% of his writing, so why not start with my 1% of disagreement? On a recent appearance on the Theo Von pocast, Richard says:

50% of men across human history didn't have kids at all. They didn't reproduce. Now, there's all kinds of implications for that […]

And so if you're a low status man, there's a good chance that you're just not going to reproduce at all. Your DNA is not going to go anywhere. And under those circumstances, you will risk almost anything to raise your status.

Go to war. Go exploring. Turn to crime. Do anything to try and get yourself up that hierarchy so you have a chance of reproducing […]

And one consequence of that is men on average are more risk-taking than women, even today, which is why they go skydiving.

So just from an evolutionary perspective, if you're a woman, you are highly incentivized to protect your own body, right? You're the one who's got the future and you're going to have a kid.

I encourage you to listen to the whole episode.² Richard’s larger point is that there are real differences, on average, between men and women; and as a society we should channel those differences productively.

But since I’m pretending to pick a fight, does Richard really think that my cousin and I are drawn to risk-taking behaviors because we are low-status men desperate to spread our seed? My guess is that he will say “yes and no.” Not everything comes down to status and sperm, but research does associate higher testosterone with more risk-taking. And, men routinely cite risk-taking as a key trait of masculinity along with strength and dominance.³

It could be tempting to see risky activities like mountaineering, skiing, and cycling as dick-measuring contests. I don't doubt that the dynamic exists.

But my experience engaged in risky activities with male friends is anything but. We plan for safety, avoid unnecessary risks, and look after each other. We never push each other to take risks that we're not comfortable with. We’re not tempting death to impress the girl. Rather, we’re trying to get away from the stultifying mundaneness of screens, meetings, and commutes.

Nature heals. The risk of danger sharpens the senses. And knowing that your crew is looking out for your safety creates a special sense of solidarity.

And it’s not just for men. When I first started climbing mountains as a teenager, it seemed like 90% of us were men. But on Pico de Orizaba, at least a third of the climbers (including the guides!) were women.⁴

Whatever your gender, highly recommended.

Yours,

David

1. We called him ‘Tocayacsónfaib’—a bizarre, Mexicanized portmanteau of Tocayo and Jackson Five. Why? I have no idea.

2. It’s uncharitable of me, I admit, to pull an abbreviated excerpt from a two-hour podcast conversation.

3. As a result, men associated with traditional masculine traits are responsible for more car collisions and fatalities.

4. I have a hunch that — much like participation in sports — more women are getting involved while men’s participation is either holding steady or even declining. But more on that in an upcoming newsletter.