The highest mountain peak in Europe is Mont Blanc at Chamonix, France. To enhance my many shifting paradigms, I decided that a trip to the top was in order. My mother hated high places. My first recollection of her fear was on a vacation to the Grand Canyon. My dad was teasing her by driving dangerously close to edges of the road unprotected by guardrails. All my life I have carried a fear of heights…an irrational and debilitating fear.
The decision to go was relieved by the comforting possibility of a storm that would shut down the gondolas. The storm did not come and I hesitantly began my trip to the top about noon. No one else in the car seemed moved as I was inside. They were laughing and talking as if they were at their own dining room table on solid ground. To me this was a huge step that no one else was sharing….except my family back home who were befuddled at this out-of-character activity. My husband watched me hit the ground in tears at the Grand Canyon as he took my son to peer over the edge of a deadly dropoff.
My anxiety slipped away after the first few yards up the mountain. I was comforted by the calm faces of the people….most especially an oriental man who stood in front of me in the corner of the car. The scenery is difficult to communicate with most of my available adjectives.
I stayed at the top for about 45 minutes and then descended to the midway point where I enjoyed a glass of wine and hiked among the rocks and wildflowers. I am not sure that my fear is gone…at least it has been challenged and I feel a greater courage in me that I think will serve me in other aspects of my life.
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