Fear Doesn't Live Here

I have this fantasy of myself. I like to pull it out once in a while and play with the fantasy, but really the reality of chasing my fantasy frightens me. I like to think sometimes that I am a mountain climber, scrambling up rock and ice to stand on a great pinnacle of the earth. I will view imaginary images of myself in glacier glasses and parka, skin weathered by the elements smiling for the camera. But I have this slight fear of stumbling and falling to my death or a rock slipping from under me and I fall to my death.

It's a fear that sometimes stops me from going further up the mountain.

It's a fear that keeps me from standing on a pinnacle, smiling for the camera.

Several years ago, I decided to do something that frightened me every year. Generally "the event" takes place on near my birthday. Several years ago I crossed a crevasse on my way to spend the night at Muir Camp on Mt Rainier. The next year I scrambled up loose dinner-plate sized shale to a view, just short of the top, of the Goat Rocks Wilderness. After that, my non-competitive self decided to run my 1st triathlon.

Through all I realized my fears were nothing to be afraid of.

Then I found myself hiking up to Tooth Saddle on my way to scramble Bean Peak. The final scramble was an option. I didn't have to go and thought that I wouldn't. I even voiced that I might just stop at the saddle. I'd have great views.

But then something inside me said why not?

Each step, each climb got me closer to the top. I stopped once & thought "I still have to come down this." A fleeting thought that was gone as quickly as it appeared.

Then it was one last wedge of the foot into a crack, one last handhold, one last movement - my arms, legs and body moving in unison to gain the summit.

The summit. I stood on a pinnacle of the earth enjoying the view, but oops, forgot the picture. Did get a pic of Trail Turtle though.