Fear is all in my head, I know that. And yet, since I broke my hand 363 days ago, I haven’t really overcome my fear of falling again and breaking something else. It’s affected what I do to some extent, especially when it comes to exploring. What if I fall, what if I break something and I can’t be a vagabond? What if? What if? What if?
For a person who generally doesn’t deal in “what if” scenarios, this has been a challenging year. I’ve forced myself to take solo hikes, where I spent an inordinate amount of time looking down at my feet and the path ahead, determined to spot every rock and root that might trip me up. While you saw photos of forests, my brain mostly only saw this view:
Yesterday, I bought a book on the geology of Nova Scotia and found a nearby lighthouse with basalt cliffs that looked promising. When I got there, it was indeed beautiful.
The only thing was, I knew the best shots would be from down on the rocks below the lighthouse. Yeah, those rocks…
I slowly and carefully started to make my way down there, even scooting on my butt a few times when it was steep enough I didn’t trust my footing. And then I came to the impasse.
This was the other side, where all the good stuff was, I was sure of it.
Only problem? This little canyon between all those beautiful rocks and me.
I looked at it and part of me shrugged and said I didn’t want the pictures that badly. But the other part of me did. I stared at the rocks for a while, imagining a path across and finally took a first, hesitant step. Then another, and another, until I slowly made my way across to the other side.
I spent an hour scrambling across the rocks on that other side, standing on the edge of Nova Scotia itself, wind blowing, surf crashing against the rocks below. And somewhere in that hour, I lost the fear that had been my companion for the last year. I might fall again, or slip and scrape my knee. But the fear of that doesn’t own me any more.
I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.
Fear can be so paralyzing, and I truly empathize with your struggles. (I sometimes wonder if I’m in the same place, in other areas of life. Time will tell.)
I’m so proud of you for conquering this particular fear and getting your shot(s)! Totally worth it 🙂
Fear is healthy too–not always a bad thing. Falling tends to happen when we’re not expecting it, so your awareness is protective. I use walking sticks always now–have saved my butt on many a slip.
I have that fear sometimes now Anne – I read somewhere that people in their 80’s have a fear of falling – so that is me. I can run on grass without a problem and will try the trails in the local park this week where there are tree roots and rocks – but some pine needle paths – and I run looking down and not forward. For whatever reason – on the track I have become hopeless – I can trip over my own feet there, I have a very low foot pickup so catching a toe is not new and have a very difficult time running at all. Sometimes it hits me when I am crossing a street too – balance disappears along with self-confidence. It is age, not great balance, and lousy eyesight – not to mention fear of falling. I am making an appointment with a PT place that claims to work with people with gait problems – to see what I can do to deal with this issue – oh and did I mention – my left hip and knee are much weaker than my right hip and knee – which if probably a good bit of the problem. My left knee has a bit of arthritis too – sheeze – old age is not for sissies so I have read.
Mary, I know what you mean about foot dragging, that’s usually how I trip (and I’ve done it often enough running!), my toe just barely catches on something that almost isn’t there. I like to space out when I run so looking down for cracks and ruts and roots isn’t my preference.
A PT might be a good idea, balance is something to practice (like standing on one leg, then the other) and I know it helped my dad’s balance and agility over 80. And yeah, this aging stuff isn’t for sissies, but you’re showing me (and a lot of other people) how to do it with style and, yes, sass 🙂
Hi, Annie.
Good comments. Biggest survival tool is brains, and your comments, as always, reflect no short supply at your end. Would include, as a 30-year combat guy, that having communication keeps the isolation danger down. Obviously, a solo hike with a working cellphone is different than same without. If going w/out communication, & have to do, you have to tell someone when you’ll be back, even strangers. We have three survival back backs , 2 for hikes, one for remote crashes/breakdowns hikeout. All have first aid, space blankets, water etc. Hope this doesn’t sound preachy, but all it takes is a busted leg, isolation, and a little cold to be serious. See you soon.