Mountain Climbing
The boulders were huge. Fashioned by time and the elements, they stacked on one another like a huge, precarious mountain of Jenga blocks. Dare I try climbing to the top?
The trail had been fairly easy until now. Well-marked, with clear directions from my guidebook, I enjoyed a leisurely hike on a beautiful autumn day. Now it was time to make a decision. Should I take the roundabout route or ascend by climbing the mountain of boulders in front of me?
I could take the easier route, I reasoned to myself. I'd still be climbing and I'd feel safe. It wouldn't be scary. But then I won't know; I won't know if I could do it. I won't test my limits and stretch. I might feel safe but sorry.
So I approached this mountain in the same way I've met other challenges in my life. I took a deep breath and searched for trail markers. Then I looked at the boulder straight in front me, assessed how to mount it, lifted up my leg and began to climb.
About halfway I made the mistake of glancing down into the chasm left between two huge rocks resting at a 45 degree angle. I began to feel queasy, slightly nauseous and faint. Recognizing these signs of fear I quickly looked away, took some deep breaths and consciously relaxed while taking in the beautiful expanse of multicolored hills and mountaintops around me. I pressed on.
Why did I continue in the face of my terror? Why not turn back and descend, take the easier route around rather than up the mountain? What was I trying to prove?
I briefly asked myself these questions and knew there was no turning back. It was just as difficult to negotiate the rocks below me as those ahead, so I chose to continue.
There were few others on this climb. One group consisted of parents and their two young sons. I saw them near the top and could hear the parents' encouragement as the lads clambered up. What gives youth such enthusiasm and fearlessness? Was it ignorance of life and/or belief in themselves that endows them with such confidence?
Another group below were more similar to me, middle-aged and slower to ascend. One of the women was so terrified she began to cry and her husband needed to boost her up while calling out words of praise. In this instance, however, his words were not riding waves of natural confidence but trying to stem a tsunami of fear. She too continued to climb.
Each of us proceeded at our own pace and eventually scaled the ridge of Bonticou Crag. What joy! What a magnificent view! We congratulated each other as we relaxed on the mountaintop.
Next: The descent.
The trail had been fairly easy until now. Well-marked, with clear directions from my guidebook, I enjoyed a leisurely hike on a beautiful autumn day. Now it was time to make a decision. Should I take the roundabout route or ascend by climbing the mountain of boulders in front of me?
I could take the easier route, I reasoned to myself. I'd still be climbing and I'd feel safe. It wouldn't be scary. But then I won't know; I won't know if I could do it. I won't test my limits and stretch. I might feel safe but sorry.
So I approached this mountain in the same way I've met other challenges in my life. I took a deep breath and searched for trail markers. Then I looked at the boulder straight in front me, assessed how to mount it, lifted up my leg and began to climb.
About halfway I made the mistake of glancing down into the chasm left between two huge rocks resting at a 45 degree angle. I began to feel queasy, slightly nauseous and faint. Recognizing these signs of fear I quickly looked away, took some deep breaths and consciously relaxed while taking in the beautiful expanse of multicolored hills and mountaintops around me. I pressed on.
Why did I continue in the face of my terror? Why not turn back and descend, take the easier route around rather than up the mountain? What was I trying to prove?
I briefly asked myself these questions and knew there was no turning back. It was just as difficult to negotiate the rocks below me as those ahead, so I chose to continue.
There were few others on this climb. One group consisted of parents and their two young sons. I saw them near the top and could hear the parents' encouragement as the lads clambered up. What gives youth such enthusiasm and fearlessness? Was it ignorance of life and/or belief in themselves that endows them with such confidence?
Another group below were more similar to me, middle-aged and slower to ascend. One of the women was so terrified she began to cry and her husband needed to boost her up while calling out words of praise. In this instance, however, his words were not riding waves of natural confidence but trying to stem a tsunami of fear. She too continued to climb.
Each of us proceeded at our own pace and eventually scaled the ridge of Bonticou Crag. What joy! What a magnificent view! We congratulated each other as we relaxed on the mountaintop.
Next: The descent.
posted by Dr. Spiegel at
9:38 AM
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