It had been a while since I last thought to take a nap. But upon seeing the soft hammock laced with color, softly swinging back and forth in the gentle October breeze, I decided I’d give it a go. As I approached the hammock, tall grass dancing around my ankles, I could already feel peace flooding in. Or was it stress leaving? I got into the hammock, lacking balance at first but eventually becoming steady. I lay back and closed my eyes. The calm was almost shocking at first; every muscle in my body relaxed and my breath found its way into a slow, steady pattern. I let my arm dangle off the side of the hammock so that my fingers brushed against the grass. However, as hard as I tried to fall asleep, I remained awake. My mind hasn’t ever really stopped thinking before, so I never took naps regularly. On top of this, I hadn’t done anything especially tiring that day, so instead of taking my siesta I opened my eyes and decided to surrender to the endless thoughts of my mind.
I find reminiscing to be a nice, peaceful pastime. A lot of times reminiscing can be considered a very emotional thing, but that’s not always true. I think it’s mainly a way of escaping where I am to experience a moment to which I already know the ending. It’s a source of comfort for me. Looking out at the fluffy white clouds drifting over the bare mountains, I filed through happy memories. I felt the corners of my mouth tilt upwards to form a little grin. It was nice. I finally landed on one particular memory that I still think about quite a lot of thought to this day. I shut my eyes again to relive the cold wind piercing through my skin, the lack of Earth beneath me, and me feeling the most alive I’d ever felt. I wasn’t plummeting to my death, although it felt at first like I might. Instead, I was soaring. I soared over mountains, I soared over cars that looked more like ants, and I eventually soared over the cerulean sea which sparkled like a thousand diamonds. I know that paragliding doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that an acrophobic would do, but my fear of heights just disappeared with the ground underneath my feet. No, it wasn’t pleasant finding out that I would jump off a cliff hundreds of feet in the air, or waking up that morning, or driving up the mountain. However, my memory after that feels as though it’s trapped behind a dreamy cloud. Being strapped into the parachute, running at lightning speed towards the edge of a cliff, and tucking my legs into a sitting position as we left the ground all seem cloudy to me now. But as soon as the realization of what I’d just done set in, the picture in my memory becomes vivid.
For a long time, I’ve struggled with the concept of fear. More specifically, my fear of heights. Can I one day stand on clear glass and observe a city from below without my insides dropping and my legs tingling? Is it wrong if I can’t conquer my fear? Will I be like this forever? As I sat on the hammock, I contemplated these things. I never really understood why, despite my fear, I was able to paraglide-- and enjoy it. Although, how could I not? I’d always wanted to fly, wind in my hair and sun on my skin. As I glided over sunny Montenegro, I felt nothing but freedom and happiness. Nobody, except the pilot with whom I was tandem riding, could see me. Nobody could hear me. I had escaped the conventions of society with my body hundreds of feet in the sky and my shrill screams of laughter. I was in my purest form, and I loved myself that way. I was free. Free in the place I would be scared the most. Had this meant I wouldn’t fear heights anymore? Was it even possible to do that? Lying on the hammock, I thought about this. After several moments of pondering, I decided that yes, it was possible to conquer a fear. Had I done it? Well, no. I realized how possible it was to conquer a fear, however difficult. I just hadn’t been able to. It was still puzzling, though, how I’d had fun, felt free, even, while paragliding. I thought that it was supposed to fix my fear. And then I remembered something a woman had told me a long time ago.
I was attempting to rock climb, something I hadn’t ever been able to do. It wasn’t that I didn’t have the physical strength, or anything. As usual, I had my paralyzing fear of heights to thank for it. Frustrated, I sat on the bench and took off my shoes. Due to the humiliation and defeat I felt like crying. I explained my feelings to my mother, with whom I was sitting, when an older woman sitting on a bench next to mine said, “It’s okay to be afraid.” I looked over and saw her gearing up. She looked strong. “You know, I used to be scared of heights, just like you,” the woman began. “One day I decided I would go paragliding in Brazil. It was terrifying, going off the cliff, but soon it became fun. I haven’t been afraid of heights since.” She explained how she just went and did it and found that there was nothing to be afraid of. When I went paragliding in Montenegro, I thought for sure the same would happen to me. I would realize how amazing it was, forget my fear, and move on with my life without fearing heights ever again. I was wrong. Then all at once, a light bulb went off.
I had spent my life believing that we were meant to conquer fears, but we're actually meant to feel them. While it is possible for someone to get over something they’re scared of, like the woman who went paragliding in Brazil, it’s not necessary to life. Fear is not pleasant, nor is it easy to overcome; I’ve never done so. But there was something in the fact that I was able to enjoy a moment without it that brought me comfort-- the comfort I expected to feel when defeating my fear-- and I realized that was okay. So, as I sat in the colorful hammock reminiscing, I thought about the time I soared through the sky. I thought about the time I laughed during a moment which would normally cause my muscles to stiffen and panic to shoot through my body; the time I was closer to the sun than I had ever been, taking in the astonishing view below, and whirling around in a parachute hundreds of feet in the sky. I thought about the time I was free. Now, any time I’m in a somewhat high-up location, I become tense and begin to hyperventilate. My family never understands why, considering I jumped off a cliff willingly, but I suddenly do. I didn’t conquer my fear, and that’s okay.It’s okay that I was able to find a moment of peace without it. Now, when I feel unaccomplished, I can close my eyes and remember when I jumped from a mountain, leaving the Earth-- and my fears-- far behind.
2020
