Choosing Gratitude for the Hand I Was Dealt

Sometimes shit happens and you get dealt a bad hand. I’ve been dealt a few of them in my life. But being a wildcard has never been about controlling the cards I’m dealt. It’s about deciding how I’m going to play them.

An acronym I coined that has helped push me through times of discomfort is remembering L.A.U.G.H. (Love, Absolution, Understanding, Gratitude, and Hope) Gratitude is the state that is sometimes the most difficult to generate. It’s really easy to fixate on the things that don’t serve you then remind yourself of the things that do. And it took some time for me to feel gratitude for what was shared with the audience of Alone, because I was so fixated on what wasn’t. 

There is so much you never saw in terms of the things I made. You never saw my basecamp, where I had enough firewood stocked for weeks in a lean to. You didn’t see the sawhorse I built without cordage that could hold my entire body weight, my anvil, the hooks I created to hang my tools, my admittedly half assed chair, and the ladder I built to reach my food cache, a log that locked into two neighboring trees. You didn’t see many of my fishing systems, the trotline stretched across the crescent of my shoreline, the various fishing poles, reels, and lures I made from buttons, or the constant experimentation that went into holding my snare loops open with horsetail and strands of hair. 

You didn’t see my foraging pantry of fireweed, artemisia, arctic dock and coltsfoot; the digging stick I made to uproot them, the berry picker I fashioned from wire, the many containers filled Labrador Tea, the Z drag from paracord to move trees, my boots filled to the brim with berries, the collection of birch I acquired, my backup fire methods like char production and bow drill material, or the hair comb I made from fish bones. I wish you all saw the mantras I wrote on my arrows and the photo of my students I took or the collection of rabbit feet I acquired.

There were so many moments you missed as well. You didn’t see how difficult simply accessing parts of my parcel could be because I had been dropped on a cliff, the joy I felt when I found my shoreline and my shirt, my medical checks or the medical treatment I received when injuring my eyes, the fear I expressed when seeing Grizzly tracks on my shore, or the admiration for the owls and other birds like grey jays and ravens that would visit me. You didn’t see exactly how much weight I lost (53 lbs) or my final food procurement numbers displayed on the screen (13 hares and 11 fish). You didn't see when parts of my multitool started breaking off because it was so cold it affected the integrity of its metal. My breaking through the ice with my axe and deploying six ice fishing tripods with wishbone sets were not shown either. And the many other songs I sang and wrote out there. There was an entire physical and emotional experience happening beyond what could possibly make the final edit.

There was so much creativity, problem solving, building, failing, adapting, and trying again that I wish I could have shared with you.

Was leaving much of that out a disservice to me as an educator? Was it a disservice to me as a woman? I don’t think so. My livelihood is teaching these skills, so of course part of me wishes more of my capabilities had been shown. I knew I had a lot on the line entering this competition as someone who owns a wilderness school. I wanted people to see what I could do, and I know I displayed far more skills out there than could ever fit into the episodes.

But just like every other hand I’ve been dealt, I get to decide what I do with this one.

I can spend my energy wishing I had been dealt different cards, or I can play the ones sitting in front of me. I can focus entirely on what wasn’t shown, or I can choose gratitude for what was. Any maybe, just maybe the producers chose to highlight the part of me that shined the most. A part of me that maybe I didn't know was so strong and is the best skill you could possibly have out there.

Because what was shown was arguably one of the most important survival priorities of all: mindset.

It turns out I’m a hell of a shot with a bow. I successfully foraged. I built a productive trapline. I made an absurd number of nets. I demonstrated skills, even if many of them never made the final cut. But even more, what people were given the opportunity to see was who I am. They saw the lessons I had accumulated throughout my life and the lessons the wilderness continued teaching me. These lessons in emotional freedom, vulnerability, leaning into joy, a positive mental attitude, connecting to a higher power, and learning to L.A.U.G.H. are pillars in developing a mindset that can flip a terrible situation to one easy to manage.

If you watch Alone solely for the skills, I understand why parts of my story may have disappointed you. But Alone is also about story and an exploration of the human condition. It asks what happens when comfort, distraction, community, certainty, and control disappear. And sometimes survival isn’t about being dealt the best hand. It’s about what you do when you’re dealt a difficult one. For those that watch for story instead of sport, then I hope you listened openly. I poured my soul into that camera and willfully pressed the record button during the toughest and embarrassing of times not just because we are required to but because I wanted to invite you into my world. If you watch the show with the mute button on, you will jump to your own conclusions as to my level of ability. But if you actually listened then you will know I belonged there. I believe the secret ingredient to resilience is capability and vulnerability. But vulnerability without the context of capability can tell a very different story. And I know what I did out there. 

I don’t need an edit to tell me what I’m capable of.

I went into this competition wanting the adventure of a lifetime. And I did. 

That might be another lesson in all of this. We don’t always get to control how other people see us. We don’t control every card that lands in our hands. But we do have control over what we do next. We can allow someone else’s version of our story to define us, or we can pick up the cards, take ownership of our narrative, and keep playing.

Maybe I didn’t get every card I wanted. Maybe there were moments when viewers questioned my grit. Maybe there were moments when I questioned it too.

But you don’t have to be dealt the winning hand to walk away having won something.

Sometimes you just have to know how to play the hand you were given.

And if there is one thing I know I carried with me for all 62 days, it was this:

A whole lot of heart.

And I am so grateful you saw it.