|My younger sister, Heather and I in Salt Lake City, UT, appx 1982|
When I was about six years old, I went camping with my mother. We lived in Salt Lake City, Utah. As my mom was building a campfire and setting up the tent, I began climbing the mountain.
My mom told me not to go further than I could see the campfire. I was concentrating so much on climbing, that by the time I looked back, all I could see ware trees behind me. I was not afraid, though. I could see how close I was to the top of the mountain, and I could not turn back. I kept climbing.
“No matter how strong I am, I am constantly reminded that I am not a man.”
Yet, I think of this time and again, when I see people that are stuck. It could be a bad relationship, a stifling job, or an unrealized dream. I can clearly see the steps that they can take to rectify the problems they are complaining about, but are unwilling to take. Fear can have devastating consequences, but for some reason, people would rather cling to the evil they know, then the uncertainty of the alternative.
At this age, I find that I consider things more than I once did. I feel the slight trepidation when I climb a ladder. I may reconsider following a dark road. I look around a bit more when I am walking to my car. These are exercises that I used to find silly, but the realization that I know that some boogymen are real grants me a bit more natural caution. I tend to feel betrayed by this fear, though. I feel betrayed like I do about my eyesight that is beginning to falter, ever so slightly. I begin to have the barest sympathy for my elders, as I realize that I, too, may find myself fearful one day.
One day, maybe, but not today!