HeatMarie

I am falling. My foot slipped on the wet stone and unlike all the other times before, I am unable to balance myself. I gasp for breath. My automatic reaction believes that the air in my lungs will cushion the ground.

I am alone. I have walked miles: down cobbled stairs, across the small creek, I gazed down upon the river and watched the current as I stood on top of the highest point I could find. I climbed down and continued to walk along the dirt path that made its way into the dense forest filled with pines and aspens. I smelled the fall air and listened to the crackling leaves beneath my feet.

Along the trail, I saw no one. At the time, I was thankful for it. The peaceful solitude gave me time to breathe and rest my over-active imagination (the best any writer’s imagination could ever be tamed).

I bent over the muddy puddles and took pictures of the trees that reflected inside of them. No one watched me as I struggled to get up the rocks nor laughed when I had to slide down them because I was too scared to walk. I didn’t have to be embarrassed when I jumped as a squirrel broke the branch of a tree that had already fallen to the ground. It could have been a bear, ya’ know?

Now, I am falling. I am falling and there is no one to catch me as I do. My muscles clench in fear, because they know this is going to hurt. This is going to hurt and there is no way of stopping it. My brain scrambles in thoughts. If for once it would stop asking questions, I would look up through the tops of the trees and see how perfectly the sunlight beams through the fall covered leaves and castes it’s rays in the reflecting muddy creek water.

Instead, I questioned: will I break my leg as I hit the ground? Will I have to crawl in pain back to my car? How long will it take? Will I run out of water before I get there? What if I am bleeding? What if I am bleeding too bad? Why didn’t I pack the first aid kit? Why did I take out that second bottle of water? How can I be so stupid?

 A bird whistles and I am sure it is flying over me, because I swear, I feel the wind from its wings. But in this moment, I don’t see him. If I could, I would see that perfect picture as the hummingbird, so tiny and colorful, put his long needle nose beak into the wild pink columbine flower that sits just on the other side of the creek.

But the questions never stop, my muscles grow more tense, and I wonder if I am done falling yet. I wonder when it will end and when I hit the ground will I hit my head? Again, will I bleed? Will I die? How long will I remain unconscious? How long will it take for someone to find me? And how damn embarrassed will I be when I open my eyes and stair blankly up at some stranger who doesn’t know my name? What if I forget my name?

I prepared for it; but I am still standing. I am cautious as my foot touches the wet stone and I brace myself on the boulder to the right. I never slipped, I never fell, I never hit the ground.  

My mind reels like old film. Images of the future are seen before the present has a chance to play out. I see what can happen before it does. And that is why I’ll never get too close to the edge of a cliff because I see the ground give out beneath my foot. Though I will try to force my way back from the ledge I will fall. I will fall forward, tumbling down through the air until I have fallen all 475 feet and I will die.  

Perpetual fears confine us all.  They keep us locked in our safe little boxes; preventing us from doing things we would otherwise enjoy. Staying locked in our fear coffins is an easy way to get through life. There have been many things I claimed not to like, just so I wouldn’t have to try it, such as eating fish. I actually like the taste of sushi, although my gag reflexes will make you assume something completely different. There was still that thought in the back of my mind as I ate tilapia that I hated it. The taste was actually pretty good. It is amazing the experiences we can have if we only let our fears subside and just try it.

There are ways that we can conquer our fears and give life a chance. We just have to be okay with getting uncomfortable first. I was once told, “I love pushing your boundaries, making you do things that make you a little uncomfortable.” And one day I will write that story, but not tonight. Hearing those words play throughout my head reminded me of sitting in a class where I was taught that we learn best when we are pushed out of our comfort zone and into that place that is a little uncomfortable.

The first time I ever hiked alone, I didn’t want to. Not because I didn’t want to hike but because I was scared. I feared what people might think, seeing me alone. I’ve heard stories of women getting raped or murdered on trails. Plenty of people would tell me never to go alone, bad things can happen.

Convincing myself that I should go alone was easy. I told myself bad things can happen anywhere at any time. You can’t stop doing what you love because someone or something bad might happen. If you don’t try you never give good the chance to win.

I found the courage to say, “I can do this alone.” That was the first step.

The next was completing the task. In my car, I sat in the parking lot for twenty minutes before I ever got out. I flipped through my phone, told myself I would regret it, fought back and forth about driving home.

However, when fear meets anxiety caused by potential embarrassment, anxiety wins. I thought about what I would tell people when they asked how my hike went or if I got any good pictures. I imagined my embarrassment when I would tell them I never got out of the car. I’m sure I could have found a good excuse like the trails were too muddy. Which they were. They were so bad I lost my shoe in a battle of me versus mud. That was another entirely embarrassing moment where I was thankful no one was around to see.

Taking that first solo hike I found a new world. I found a new me. I didn’t have to rely on anyone. I didn’t have to walk to fast or too slow. I could take my time where I wanted and rush through everything else if I saw fit. I learned things about myself. I learned that I need to drink more water and that nice people do exist.

I was hiking behind this family. We all had to form a single file line to walk across a thin plank sprawled out across the mud. I waited for them to cross. First the father went, then the kids, then his wife. The man held out his hand helping everyone across, including me. I thanked him and went on with my hike.

I spent four or five hours hiking. I took my time and explored. I was able to watch families work together to figure out how to cross the waters, dogs shaking the water from their coats, and couples sitting together watching the waterfalls. It was captivating to see the liveliness. And for the first time I got to soak it all in.

That day I found a way to fight against fear. My mind won’t let me forget the many possible things that can go wrong. It will play them out scene by scene. Only now, I don’t let the images stop me, or at least I try not to. I want to see the world and I can’t wait around for someone to hold my hand to do it. So, I’m opening up my comfort coffin and stepping out into a world where yes, I might get a little uncomfortable, but the potential view is far better than a life controlled by fears.