Ok – so here’s my odd phenomenon/revelation. As far as I can tell, it was a few Spring Breaks back when I developed a fear of heights. I had no idea I had one. Because I didn’t. Until I was hiking with my young children teetering over a ledge of a spectacularly deep canyon.
Their dad wasn’t worried. They weren’t worried. But deep in the depths of my maternal soul every inch of my being was instantly summoned to protect my boys from plummeting to their deaths.
And thus my fear.
Totally and utterly irrational. The boys are (as far as boys go) prudent. Their dad as well. They were in no danger. They were having fun. Loving the adventure (and the scenery).
I was on high alert.
This feeling has remained. Somehow all our vacations involve high mountains or deep canyons. And in one instance really, really long ridiculously high ladders when we explored Indian cave dwellings.
So this year in Joshua Tree National Park – home of one of North America’s premier rock climbing destinations I finally overcame my maternally motivated fear of heights.
No. We did not go rock climbing. But. Yes. We did hike up some very high scary peaks! No paths. Just rocks and upward momentum until the summit. Where upon arrival we perched over a 360 degree view of the world with only a few steps to a drop of doom. It was awesome! And thrilling. And freeing.
The difference this year? The boys were watching out for me. They were concerned for my safety and reassuring of theirs.
The perks of being a mom. Seeing your kids grow up and being darned proud of them.