I was not looking forward to getting up before dawn, piling on enough layers to handle 32˚ weather and climbing a mountain all by myself.
Which is exactly why I thought I should do it.

 

I was sort of surprised that I was nervous. I spent years traveling around the country by myself. But that was years ago, before the kids, and now I am less confident in my physical abilities.

The thing that sparked this idea to hike up a mountain was my fear of heights.

More specifically, my fear of falling off a cliff.

Six months ago I hiked around Bryce, Zion and the Grand Canyon National Parks. This phobia, which had been building since giving birth to my daughter, stopped me from doing a lot of fun things on our trip.

I didn’t go out on the ledge to take photos with my friends.  During one photo op, I was so afraid that they were all going to end up blown off of the outcropping down into the Grand Canyon to their death that I left them and started the hike back down the trail.  In my head I rehearsed the phone call I would have to make to their husbands.

Even in Las Vegas, where we had appetizers at the top of the Stratosphere, I didn’t join them one story up on the observation deck.

Watching Cirque de Soleil was torture. I was sure they would all fall to their deaths.

Lots of thoughts of death.

I was missing out on the fun because of a fear greater than the natural fear of heights that keeps us safe.

So last week I had a session with a coach who helps people with phobias and unconscious thoughts and beliefs. Thirty minutes later, I felt better about the idea of standing near the edge of a cliff, but I had no way to test it.

First, I thought to try YouTube videos.  Before the coaching, it was too upsetting to watch someone at a precarious height even on television. I typed into YouTube, “scariest cliff ever.”  I watched an hour of very dangerous hikes (BTW – China has the scariest places).

No problem.  I felt no fear.

It was time to try the real thing.

I am proud to say that I stood close enough to the edge of the cliff today to make several strangers worried for me. It was an overlook where a woman had fallen to her death two years ago.

A woman warned me of that fact with a screeching voice and with pointing fingers and arched eyebrows.  I nonchalantly said, “Oh yeah.  I know.”

I was there to test my fear.

I stayed three feet from the edge.
And I moved slowly.

I haven’t lost my sensibility.
But I have lost my fear of falling off a cliff.

The only fear I had today was of someone noticing that my base layer of clothing was reminiscent of “more cowbell.”

I can live with that.

 

My microadventure today had all the earmarks of a hero’s journey.

I didn’t want to go, but I answered the call of adventure.
There were many times I wanted to go back, but I persevered.
I had helpers.
I had mentors. (Thanks to the sweet couple who made sure I was in a controlled slide down the rock past the sign that said, “Warning: death happens past this point.”)

I have become someone a little more brave.

Today pushed me out of my comfort zone.

And I am better for it.