Mental Musings

As a child, I was extremely afraid of heights. I think it stemmed back to a time when my dad pretended he was going to throw me off the bridge of the ship when I was just a preschooler. I could climb a tree or walk across a low bridge, but there was no way I could stand on the edge of a cliff or stand at the edge of a balcony in a skyscraper. In High School I had the opportunity to go mountain climbing with a group in Wyoming. We had a guide that showed us how to sink anchors and use rope and carabiners to ensure we would not fall. I was doing good. I even took time to hang from the rope a few times so I could take some photos, but I wouldn’t look down. About half way up the mountain side I lost my camera lens cap. Of course, I looked down to watch it bounce along rock after rock as it fell. That was my first moment of terror as I realized just how high up we were and how far down the fall would be. After we reached the top, we all experienced an excitement that is diff