Facing My Fear With Forward-Facing

I'm afraid.

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Can I get there and back before dark? Now I’m in a rhythm, going fast, breathing harder, yet still able to inhale the Sedona beauty that never gets old. Last mile now. Steep ascent. Crisp air chilling. Sun descending.

*

I’m here before dark and yeah, it looks just as scary as the pictures did. I’m not afraid of heights but something about this is terrifying. I watch “maniacs'' take their turn on the largest sandstone bridge in the Southwest and like Sid the Sloth I tell myself “I chose life.”

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"Can you take my picture?" OK, well maybe I'll just run over to where it starts to jet out, where it’s still wide. I move deftly, decisive feet not wanting to inconvenience fellow hikers.

*

Solid ground greets me and it might be the most grounded my feet have ever perceived. “Why don’t you move to that Manzanita bush, it will look better there!” I move further out, to the very place that terrified me only minutes before. I can’t see the chasm below me, only the view before me, my new companions talking to me.

*

The human connection got me to face my fear, and no longer do I crave solitude. I return the favor and take pictures of others, pet dogs, and celebrate as others take their turn on the bridge.

*

Walking down alone now. It’s dusk and I’m alone but fear is gone. With my typical speed, I reach another hiker. She’s chatty and I sense has a need for connection. “You don’t have to stay at my pace.” No problem, I’m happy to walk with you. She’s walking so close that I'm glad I have my Covid antibodies.

*

Suddenly there’s lost balance, stumbling, pitching towards ground. My leg moves out, solid pillar of protective instinct, preventing her back and head from hitting the ground. “Oh Wow, I don’t know how you did that. Thank you!” Grateful I was here.

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