For Those “Timid of Heights” — This One Trick Keeps Me Climbing
I just came back from a weekend in the mountains. “Upstate,” the Long Islander in me insists on calling it, even though my partner, Jon, tells me no one in North Carolina says that.
The trip was sorely needed. I had expected the financial hit. But I’m no stranger to scrimping and canceling plans to the point of cabin fever. That, I could deal with. The blow to my confidence, however, was seriously bumming me out.
So we took a trip away from it all. Into the mountains. To climb a peak, as it turned out, we were sorely ill-equipped to climb. But along the way, I discovered what I needed to get out of my funk and keep moving forward on my author journey.
Get outta my head and into my car
I knew stepping away from marketing to make space for my author journey would come with side effects, but knowing and facing are two different realities. I went from overspending at restaurants to serving people who made enough to overspend at restaurants; from feeling like a peer and professional to feeling like the old-head among students decades my junior. They set off on their career trajectories, hoping never to have to come back and wait tables again. Like me.
Then, widespread economic belt-tightening made money even tighter than usual. And trying to market myself as an author on social media was draining my emotional battery. I felt trapped, caught up in my head, fearing the judgement of others and wondering if I had made the right decision.
So, Jon and I packed our bags and got away from it all. “Climb the mountains and get their good tidings,” said Sierra Club founder, John Muir. “Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees…while cares will drop off like autumn leaves.” That’s exactly what I was hoping for.
We had technically planned the trip months ago, but when it finally rolled around, the timing felt perfect. Our destination: glamping at an Airstream camper with a hot tub and steam jacuzzi in the mountains of Boone, NC. On our first visit here, we hiked the Daniel Boone Scout Trail to Calaway Peak. We powered through ladders, cables, and a mild fear of heights to do it, but came out feeling more confident.
“Next hike,” said Jon, “we can try something a little more challenging.”
For expert climbers only
Despite many trails in Grandfather Mountain we had yet to explore, we ultimately let our curiosity get the better of us and settled on a tourist trap. We parked at the Mile High Swinging Bridge and planned two hikes around it: an in-and-out on Black Rock Trail and a climb to McRae Peak before looping back around to the lot to see if the bridge was worth shaking a stick at.
Spoiler: it wasn’t. But McRae Peak ended up being a climb that had me shaking, stick or not. It was described as “strenuous and challenging,” and the website warns those timid of heights: “This trail is not for you.”
Still, we went onward with confidence. When we hit some crags, we scrabbled. When the climb got steep, we gripped the cables. Then, we got to the ladders.
The first one, we made up without any issue. By the second, the panorama was peeking through and we started to feel the height of our climb. The third ladder, however, went straight up, with the entire left side exposed to bare cliff face. I had to keep my eyes locked on the thick wooden rungs in front of me, terrified of turning my head to realize how terrified I was of falling.
When I finally got to the top, I banged my knee into a thick post, and my leg suddenly went dead. Jon was coming up right behind me, and I needed to make space for him at the landing. I didn’t want him to worry about my dead leg, so I tried not to make a big deal out of it, but that lack of control had me quivering.
“I can still do this,” I said to myself. Then, I looked up to the next ladder – nearly vertical and fully exposed on both sides. I knew the one I had just climbed would be my last.
Fear can be debilitating
Maybe I could have overcome my fear and kept climbing but, at that moment, I wasn’t ready. On the way down, I again focused on the rungs, but fear had so embraced me that I could barely move my legs. They felt heavy. Sliding my shins over each rung, I waited until I felt my foot touch firmly before applying my weight onto the next plank.
I refused to look to either side of me, absolutely certain that what I would see would frighten me beyond remedy. It was as though seeing evidence of the height would cause me to throw myself from it, or knowing it existed prevented my body from moving normally.
I’m not even afraid of heights. Or at least, I thought I wasn’t. Turns out, I’m afraid of heights higher than those I’ve experienced before. By giving in to that fear and turning back, I found out that going down could be even scarier.
My first instinct was to be disappointed in myself for giving up. And for a moment, I probably was. And I could have let that feeling dragged out into days of lamenting over what I missed out on. That moment of disappointment felt strikingly similar to the feelings I’ve been carrying about returning to waitressing and marketing myself as an author.
But then Jon reminded me of what we had completed: one of the hardest climbs we had done so far. And getting through that puts us one step closer to climbing even higher next time.
Gratitude is a choice
After hiking McRae and confronting my fears, disappointment, and self-confidence, I realized the only element in that situation that I could control was how I chose to react to it. In the face of fear, I chose to abandon the climb, but in every choice, there’s always an opportunity for gratitude. Focusing on the growth I experienced by hiking a harder trail than ever before forced me to stop choosing disappointment and make room for a more positive outlook.
Sometimes, choosing fear can be good, like when it warns: “This place/person/thing is dangerous. Proceed with caution.” I might also choose fear when my heart isn’t ready to bear the responsibility of stepping out of my comfort zone and being uncomfortable. And that fear can be good too, especially in tests of strength and endurance, like hiking, where it can be safer to learn with baby steps and patience.
But choosing fear can also hold me back. Fear of failure. Fear of exposure. Fear of what other people think. These fears can make me doubt myself and my choices without ever giving myself a chance.
In this way, there are times when my author journey feels like climbing McRae Peak. I’m a novice putting pressure on myself as though I were an expert and find myself stuck on a ladder, trying to focus, but my legs are dead, and I’m terrified. At that moment, I feel like there’s only one choice: give in or keep climbing.
But growth isn't about reaching every summit on the first attempt. It's about continuing the journey. It won’t automatically get easier the higher I climb. Nor will it get less scary just by going down. But staying paralyzed in disappointment over my choice is the surest way to fail.
Self-doubt thrives on what we haven't yet accomplished. I may not be ready for the summit today, but the mountain will still be there tomorrow. And the next opportunity will come. Every step I take is one step I should be giving myself credit for. This is not to say that the choice will be easy, or that it won’t take constant effort to sustain in the face of disappointment, fear or shame. But as long as I can choose to feel grateful, then the climb will be worth it, no matter the outcome.
