Fear Not

My brother Mike and his friend climbed the cliff ahead of me. They scurried up the loose rocks as if they had done it a million times. But I hadn’t. I was ten and it was new to me. I looked up and saw them walk over the top of the ridge and disappear into the woods.

I slowly turned my focus to the railroad tracks eighty feet below. It might as well have been a thousand. Fear gripped me. I started to whimper and panic began to consume me. I had a solid grip on the rocks above me and yet the sheer drop didn’t give me much comfort. I took a deep breath and pinched the tears away. Mike was long gone. I couldn’t stay there forever, so it was either make it to the top or fall to my death below.

This was old school climbing. I had no rope and no gear, just free climbing with bare hands and Red Ball Jets (claimed to let you run faster and jump higher). That’s how we did it when I was a kid. I would climb a hundred foot fir tree and not bat an eye. It was easy. The limbs were like rungs on a ladder. Hand over hand, foot over foot, till I reached the top. At the top of the tree I would sway in the wind and look over the glistening blue of nearby Oswego Lake. Neighbors passed by on the road and I called out to them. They stopped and looked around our yard, unaware of my presence. I laughed. “I’m up here! In the tree!” The looked up to where I was waving with one hand and curling the other around the thin tip of the tree. They shook their heads and walked on. After enjoying the view and the solitude, I climbed down as easy as I came up.

This was not like a tree. There were no limbs to get a grip on, no bark to keep my footing steady. It was time to move up this unstable dusty cliff. I envisioned my next move as tumbling down to the bottom like a rag doll. I wanted to cry, but crying is for sissies—and I knew it would only make me feel worse. I had to leave. I let go of my left hand and right foot, then pushed up with my other leg--less security, only choice. I tickled away the loose gravel until they gave way to the edge of a solid stone. With my little muscles I pulled my right knee up until it hit my stomach to find a new place for my foot. My right foot was able to find a flat spot--it crumbled beneath my weight. My stomach flipped and yet I found the strength and quickness to pull my body up where my left foot found another solid position. I moved quickly and put out any ideas of doom from my mind. Pebbles and stones tumbled to the ground below but my momentum propelled me upward and onward to safety. I scraped and clawed at the dirt and juniper saplings to get to the top. Within a few moments I was laying with my belly on the summit.

I pushed myself from the ground and bent over with my hands on my knees, breathed deeply, then stood up and walked to the nearest tree. Taking hold of a sturdy branch, I looked back down at the railroad tracks below and understood how narrowly I had dodged death. I was too shaken to feel proud of myself. Wanting to be with my brother, I ran into the woods and out to the clearing where Mike and his friend sat talking.

Mike stood up. “Where’ve you been, Gary. You okay?”

“Yeah.” I wasn’t about to tell him that I almost fell off the cliff they had just scaled without a sweat. I’d ruin all credibility as a reliable brother.

“Let’s go then,” he said.

Off we went to play outdoor games. I never spoke of my near-death to him. I would have been thought of as a wimp. At the time, I was sure I was a wimp. Nevertheless, it was an event that shaped me into the man I am now. In my young marriage, I stood on the edge of a cliff at Multnomah Falls and looked fearlessly straight down into the fall’s pool hundreds of feet below. My wife seized up with terror when I did such things. It’s careless of me to think that I couldn’t have slipped into oblivion. And it’s careless of me to think that my actions do not affect others.

Day in and day out we all walk the line between carefree selfish pleasures and responsible behavior. I lean toward the hazards of self determination and sometimes cast off the potential fears others have. I believe climbing out of near death experiences gave me an odd sense of accomplishment. Then again, I could have just as easily perished, never to have lived another moment or spoken another word. And yet here I am. I cannot change the past and how it has affected me—I am who I am. But that doesn’t mean I cannot change.

My past has a way of dictating my actions in the present. The future, however, hasn’t been written. Each day is an opportunity for a new start. If I as a kid could scale a dangerous cliff at ten, certainly as an adult I should be brave enough to face other things like a mortgage, or rejection, or saying “I’m sorry” when offending another. Many times I’ll let these fears grow until they are like boulders of burden, to climb around as I live life. But instead of accepting these boulders as part of life, I should clean them up. The initial push on the boulder (our choice to change) requires great effort, but once it’s rolling, the momentum takes over. Soon the burden moves aside and a sense of peace is restored. We hold tremendous power to change the future of our own tomorrow. Be strong, be bold. The time is now.