Colorado: Part Two
Today, I want to talk about fear. I've always been an anxious (see: paranoid) person. For the longest time, wherever I went and whatever I did, I expected the absolute worst to happen. I slept on my parents' bedroom floor for a good four or five years because I was convinced that someone would come into my house and kidnap me if I was alone in my bedroom. Even now when I stay in hotels, I have to have the bed farthest from the door. If I was riding a ferris wheel, it was going to break and I was going to fall to my death. I could go on and on with this, but I won't.
So, you might guess that I'm afraid of heights, too. I can stand at the edge of a cliff (assuming there's a railing of course), look down, and I'll slowly back away knowing that I could easily fall to my death. Yet, there's something about climbing up the side of a mountain at 11,000ft that seems to make that fear drift away to almost nothing. It'll tickle the back of my mind maybe, but when you're looking down at the floor of a valley that is thousands of feet beneath you, it doesn't even matter. Sometimes, I wonder if part of my love for the mountains comes in part from the satisfaction of conquering that fear.
People say that the best things in life come when you face the things that you're afraid of. I don't know who these people are, but I think they're right. And if I was the kind of person who regretted things, I think I might regret wasting so much of my life being afraid. Thankfully, I'm not that kind of person. All I can do now is try to live as much as I can beyond my comfort zone.