Standing at the precipice of the unknown

Consistently standing at the precipice of the unknown has been the source for so many sleepless nights. However, it has also been the reason behind some of my best nights of sleep. Is the unknown something worth being afraid of? That is the question to ponder upon. No one wants to walk into a new and different situation blindly.

What do I view as the unknown? To me, the unknown is my fear, my insecurities, the territory outside of my comfort zone. The unknown is the place where I am forced to let go of what I think should happen and to accept what is actually happening.

I love to control each and every part of my life and anything that affects it. So as you can already imagine, the unknown is my least favorite place. But over the last few years, it has become my favorite place to be.

Standing up on the edge of a cliff about to dive off into a dark cold and scary place called the unknown used to scare the life out of me. Now it excites me.

Why?

Because I know that on the other side of fear is exhilaration.

I am afraid of heights. Extremely afraid. But I am in love with nature. Every time I hear fast-flowing water or see a cascade of mountain ranges, I am reminded that I am but a mere stroke in this amazing painting called life on earth.

A couple of years ago, I was dragged to hike up one of the many trails of the white mountains in New Hampshire. First of all, waking up at 6 am wasn't sitting well with me. I was grumpy the whole 3-hour ride to New Hampshire. I was so nervous I could not eat. The number of times I almost asked to turn back was too many. But I wanted to know what it felt like to hike up the white mountains. I had hiked through forests before. So walking in the wilderness was not my issue. It was the elevation.

I do not know if anyone else reacts this way to a drop in air pressure, but when I am in places with high elevation, I get massive headaches, and sometimes I even nose bleed. Well, this day was no different. By the time we got to the hiking trail, my vision was blurry. I could barely make out silhouettes in my left eye which is the eye that has a poorer vision. (By now, you all know I wear glasses. If not, I do wear glasses. I am as blind as a bat in certain situations.)

I went hiking with two friends, Pauline and Peter. They were hiking experts and they had the love for hiking to back it up. They both were so ready to hike up this mountain.

I was standing outside the car hoping one of them would say, "this is a bad idea, we should go home."

But all they did was change into their hiking shoes and get their water bottles. I knew it was about to get real when Peter said, "It will take us about 2 hours to get to the top."

"2 hours of what?" the crazy in me asked.

The next two hours were about to be the worst 2 hours of my life. All the possible excuses I could have made so I wasn't standing at the base of a mountain at this moment flashed in my mind. I pictured slipping off the side of the mountain. I imagined crossing a path with a rattlesnake. I even imagined an avalanche. It was 85 degrees in the summer. The white mountains and not snow-peaked mountains in the summer. It is mind-blowing the stories we tell ourselves and how much fear they can induce.

Before we went up the mountain, Peter asked me, "What do you hope to achieve by climbing up this mountain?"

The curated part of me said, "I hope to conquer my fear of heights."

It was at this moment he asked the essential question.

"Are you sure that is your truest intention?"

I went silent. I had to reflect on that question. As we started to climb the tree, Peter kept asking me about life. What I wanted to do next. What I hoped my impact would be. You know profound conversations are like my favorite conversations in the world. Any chance I can get to speak hypothetically and abstractly about phenomena larger than ourselves, I more than happy to listen and pitch in.

The first hour up the mountain was gentle. I had time to laugh as well as notice different things on the way up. Birds, flowers, small animals among many things. Once we got into the second hour, I started to climb slower. It was rather steep and it was 85 degrees outside. The humidity that day was ridiculous. It did not help that I had a throbbing headache and blurred vision.

An hour and a half into the climb, we had not seen a single person. I suddenly felt discouraged. I actually entertained the idea of finding a resting point and waiting for Peter and Pauline to get to the top and return. My sheens hurt worse than after my track practice drills. My head was pounding like a drum. I was extremely light-headed because of the extreme elevation. There are moments when I was on the verge of tears. I did not see light at the end of the tunnel.

Finally, we met an older couple coming down from the top. They were so excited. They talked softly to each other and shared laughter as we approached them.

"How far to the top?" I asked.

The gentleman said, "About an hour."

My face dropped. I couldn't take another hour of climbing. I was exhausted and in so much pain.

To reassure me the old man went on to say, "the next hour is the hardest part. It is going to suck!" He reached out to rest his hand on my shoulder and continued, "But the view when you get to the top, will leave you with absolutely no regrets."

I wasn't sure I was convinced by his words. But there was a sparkle in his eyes that I wanted too.

So we continued our trek up the mountain. We did not talk much the closer we got to the top. Each of us was on a journey and a battle to achieve what we hoped to at the end of this climb. Slowly the tree cover became less and less dense. I noticed it was just rocks and little shrubs. Cool air blew through my braids and I knew that I was near the top. I got excited. I was about to complete the trail. Then the fear of looking down crept up.

When I got to the top, I was so nervous to turn around and lookout. For someone that was afraid of heights, I did not want to look down. That was when the fear was at its worst. But I wanted to look out so I could have the sparkle in my eyes that the old an I met on my way up had. Once I turned around, the view I saw, I had never seen before. the limitlessness of the earth was evident. I would see the cascading white mountains of New Hampshire.

But what blew my mind, what that it was so silent. When I am on the ground, It is difficult to find the serene and silent environment I found at the peak of this mountain. I wished for my family to see what I was seeing. After a few minutes, my heart started to race. Not because I was scared but because I was extremely excited. I had made it. I had climbed up one of the trials of the white mountains.

You are yet to live life until you feel the exhilaration of taking a risk. The feeling of relief because you chose to take the path less trodden. The deep breath you take, when you realize that your greatest fear is really just a figment of your imagination, is one of the biggest releases EVER!

Once again, Peter's question came back to my mind. Was fear the only reason behind me climbing up this mountain? Absolutely not. I have always been the daring kind in everything I do except when it came to my fears. I absolutely could not even entertain the idea of facing my fears. For what reason exactly? I was perfectly content not knowing what was on the other side of fear.

Climbing up that mountain that day, was the first day of me being ok with diving off the cliff. Now, I look forward to standing at the precipice because most likely, I will choose to dive off into the unknown. Everything leading up to the cliffside is known to me. I might not be a master at it, but I am aware of it. What about the unknown? I would rather live in the know of what the unknown had to offer than live knowing that I will never know what could have been.

I chose to take the power away from the unknown. Fear had crippled me from living life to its fullest potential. So as Ralph Waldo Emerson says, "Do not go where the path may lead. Go instead where is no path and leave a trail." The unknown has no blueprint. It is similar to growing up. No one could tell you exactly how your journey will be. Because it is not assured to be the same as the person next to you. So take chances. Try out what the unknown has to offer so that you can attempt to make the blueprint for those to come after you.

If in this lifetime, you find yourself standing at the precipice of the unknown, choose to jump off the cliff. That leap of faith could be the key to what lies outside the box you have created for yourself. So leap, and when it gets difficult, remember that you have wings and use them. Flap them like your life depends on it. Before you know it, you will be soaring. That feeling of exhilaration will be one to remember.

Cheers,

Patricia.