Lynne, our most excellent office manager, sent me these thoughts the other day.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the period right after my son was born and my first time away from him. I remember driving down my mountain road thinking that I couldn’t protect him like I did when he was inside of me. I think about this because I’m looking for a new car.

My son will soon receive his driver’s permit and it will be my car he will learn on and later drive the most. The vehicle needs to fit my 5′4″ frame and his 6′2+” growing body and have decent gas mileage, so size is important. I’ve studied on-line car ratings and consumer comments and visited dealerships. I thought a “pre-owned” car would give me some balance — not as much concern about keeping it in pristine condition.

But the newer cars have the curtain air bags, the vehicle stabilizers for skids, etc., etc. for safety. I’m becoming a little crazed in my search but want to make a decision because my current vehicle is becoming unreliable and because of my soon-to-be expert new driver. So thoughts about protecting him still dance in my head. Did I mention he had a head concussion playing football this past fall? Pass the bubblewrap!

I totally agree! Sometimes teenage sons seem programmed by nature to plunge headlong into every dangerous thing they can find. And moms are programmed to protect. We start when we hold them in our arms for the first time, doing all the right, careful things to keep them health and safe. How do we turn that off when they don’t need us anymore?

My son is a little older than Lynne’s and he’ll be leaving for college next fall. And no matter how logical, reasonable, and sane he sounds when he’s talking to me, I know when he’s out with buddies, it’s a whole different ballgame. And yet, can we hold them back from being what they are? Or learning those hard lessons? Or teaching us the lessons we need, too? Not a chance!

I have found myself on an exposed ledge no wider than 5 inches. The air around me is hot and sticky. Sandstone cliffs rise above my head giving way to blue skies. Thousands of feet below me, a vast, barren landscape of waterless, desert valleys drop away. I am gripping to the rock for dear life. I have no rope, and to my knowledge, there is no one around to hear me if I yell out for help. I am painfully aware that the next step I take could very well be my solo launch into oblivion. I am frozen with fear, tears are rolling down my cheeks, I am starting to break into a nervous sweat and I am at a desperate loss for what to do next. I feel as if I am about to die. Suddenly, I wake up. I am sweating in real life, but I am in my bed, not on a cliff looking into emptiness. I have had this dream so many times since I was a little girl. I often wondered if, in my waking life, I would find myself in this place.

I got fed up with wigging out any time I found myself on a curvy road with steep drop offs, a ladder cleaning the gutters on my house, or a trail that was even the least bit exposed. I grew tired of the fear. Not just the obvious one of falling but of the unknown and of change, I grew tired of making decisions out of fear. Everything in my body, spirit and mind was screaming at me to face these issues head on. I couldn’t ignore it any longer. With the encouragement from my friend, I decided to take a class at the climbing gym. Maybe within those walls, I would find the strength to push my inner limits.

This little step freaked me out. While reading all the “risks” involved that I can’t hold the gym responsible for, I nearly walked out in the middle of signing all my release forms. What’s a belay? A carabiner?, It sounded naughty, where does that go? Why are my toes curled under my feet and I’m walking like a cowboy in ballet shoes? Is it really necessary to say “climbing”? Isn’t it obvious what I am doing? I was by myself, I was intimidated by all the testosterone around me and nervous of making a fool of myself not to mention, flat out scared. I mustered everything in me, and stayed for the course.

Nerves and shaky legs aside, to my absolute dismay I had a blast. At the end of class, the woman I got partnered with and I decided to stay for another 4 hours and play. This was just the beginning. We became quick friends and started climbing regularly at the gym, and each time I got a little more comfortable in my own skin and mind. I also learned I could take my shoes off when not on the wall.

Slowly, I began to climb outside. Single pitch climbs that felt just like the gym, but with fresh air, eased me in to multi-pitch adventures. A little bit too long of a gaze downward, and I was convinced that this was it, this is where my dream becomes reality and I fall into nothingness. At a difficult move, crying hysterically was a better choice than actually dealing with the task at hand which was to get to the top as fast as possible. While wildly trying to find my next hold, I made promises to myself I would never do this again. What was I thinking? Surely there is a better way to conquer my neuroses than this. Perhaps a soft couch in a doctors office sipping a hot cup of tea? Eventually though, I would get to the top, a patient friend there to receive me, and all was right again. Fear mixed with elation. I could reflect and be proud of my accomplishment, embarrassed by my meltdown and remarkably, able to appreciate the stunning views around me. The peaceful silence or the swish of a bird flying by, were reminders of my love of the outdoors. I found a deep strength developing.

This past September, I climbed Cathedral Peak in Yosemite. Not the most difficult climb, but a long, exposed, 7 pitches to the summit. A perfect granite slab that slims as it ascends towards its tiny summit.

A cold wind passes by the rock face, giving me the shivers. I am on a ledge, not moving. Several hundred feet below me, is a lake reflecting like a mirror the peaks all around me. Gray rock leads to hazy blue skies. I am waiting for the bottleneck of other climbers to clear so we can head up the chimney. I feel so peaceful as if I could hang there all day and watch the ghost like shadow of Half Dome in the distance. I feel blessed to have this bird’s nest view of the world around me. I realize that this is the place in my dream. The sandstone walls, dry valleys, and feelings of desperation have now been replaced by a simple smile and feeling of exhilaration. There is still fear but it doesn’t grip me or own me anymore.

I climb because it takes me to beautiful perches on mountainsides, it feeds my soul and I enjoy it. It encourages me to keep that commitment to myself that I made so long ago to embrace that which I am afraid of. It reminds me how precious life is, how beautiful the world can be, and that I can call up the courage I need to be fully engaged in life. From this small effort of taking a climbing class have come lessons bigger and more powerful than I had imagined. It is all this that keeps me coming back for more.