This morning I did a hike in the local park in the foothills of the San Gabriels. The sun hadn’t risen above the mountains so the sky was a soft blue and gray. The plants on the trail all glistened with morning dew. Birds were chirping to each other that they made it through the night. It was like a Mary Oliver poem come to life.
“it is a serious thing / just to be alive / on this fresh morning / in this broken world.”
― Mary Oliver, Red Bird
Having grown up in MN where I walked along wetlands and biked in the woods along former railroad lines that were turned into trails, the idea of hiking a mountain every morning is still a delicious, somewhat scary novelty that I try to take advantage of a few times a week.
When I first started hiking these trails I was terrified of P22 the mountain lion (RIP) jumping out from behind the bushes. Or that the occasional bear sighting, that is tracked and posted on the trail bulletin board, might happen to me.
What would I do? I have no idea. I grew up in the suburbs where the biggest wildlife mammal was a chubby rabbit and the most dangerous thing was the below-zero temperatures. And so I would carry my hiking sticks with me, grab a log, or when I was really freaked out, pick up two stones and carry them in my hands ready to chuck at the offending wildlife.
It has been a year of hiking without incident so I have relaxed, almost too much, about the dangers of animals on the trail. But what still gets me is my fear of heights. It really kicks in when I get above the tree line or the trail gets too narrow and I start to get visions of my demise: a loose rock, a slip of the hiking boot, or a panicked move that finds me floating down into the canyon.
But this morning I decided I would not let that get to me. I would stay present with my fear. What inspired this new perspective is I had, the night before, gone to my first ever, in-person 12-step meeting. I had spoken in front of dozens of hip Angelenos, admitting my addiction, then was forcefully invited to read the description of said addiction to everyone, a standard part of the meetings apparently. “But there’s so many of them,” I wisecracked. I’m not sure if anyone thought that was funny because I was busy steeling myself.
I can tell you that somehow reading this list was even more mortifying than if I had spoken about myself - which I did not do other than to introduce myself. The descriptions of the definitive behaviors were damning. I saw myself in them and boy, was it embarrassing. And to read them for the first time out loud while understanding that they were holding up a mirror to me, I all but left my body out of shame and anxiety.
But when I was done, it was a rush. Nothing bad happened. No one pointed at me and cried shame. I had walked through that small gate of fire and I was fine-ish.
And so this morning, I decided that I would do something else that made me uncomfortable. I would hike up the steep side of the trail and keep going until I reached the spot where I felt like it was too much. I did inevitably hit that point at a natural shifting point where the trail went from gradual switchbacks to a 30-degree hike up the side of the mountain. No thank you, I thought. But then when I stopped to turn around, I realized where I was. I was up high.
My panic set in and I could feel myself leaving my body. Fight or flight kicked in. The edges of the trail more narrow. I thought as calmly as I could about what I could do to sit in this panicked moment. I knew logically that I was not in danger. How do I calm the f*ck down and enjoy this beautiful view that I worked hard to get to?
The first thing that came up, as I sat there and focused on my breath, is that my logical mind was trying to override the part of me that was scared shitless. The extreme fight or flight response was getting activated because I wasn’t listening to myself, and so I felt abandoned, and as a result in even more danger. What if I accepted that I could be scared about something stupid, like being too high on a mountain trail, and acknowledged that I am not as tough as I thought I was?
I sat there fighting off visions of me falling down the mountain and said to myself, I AM UNCOMFORTABLE. I said it over and over again to myself while trying to acknowledge that part of me that really felt it. After about 30 seconds, my whole body relaxed. I sank back into myself and no longer felt like I was going to die of fear. My breathing regulated and I could look out at the surrounding landscape without imagining tumbling into it. I was up high and it was glorious.
Once I started hiking down, I mulled over how this practice might be transformative in more ways than just my baby mountain climbing expeditions. What things in life have I been putting off because I am scared to put myself out there? What fears do I need to accept in order to move forward, or even just enjoy the present more?
What have you been putting off because you, too, are scared shitless?
Growth is always, always hard. I'm glad you are pushing yourself. My biggest epiphanies always come when I'm uncomfortable. I've gotten adept at doing things that scare me. So many people think I'm brave, and I am, but I'm also scared of at least half the things I do.