Overcoming fear

Kathryn on elevated trail, Hobart, Australia

If you are at all like me, there are things that scare you.  Most of the time those terrifying experiences which elicit so much trepidation are in the background of our psyche - mostly because we avoid situations where we would otherwise encounter an unpleasant situation.  If you are afraid of snakes (you know who you are) you stay off certain paths in the summer.  If elevators are demonically possessed you take the stairs, and if heights fill your heart with terror you are close to terra firma at all times.  Not so my wife.
She is afraid of heights.  Not all heights mind you.  Standing on a step stool is fine; chairs are a little more daunting.  A ladder of any type causes palpations and sheer drops represent certain death.  These things are easy enough to avoid, but even then there are nasty little reminders of how gravity can suck you to certain doom.
A good example of this is the metal grate.  You know, those diamond cut steel plates used for walkways and reinforcing structures.  The problem is there are holes, thousands of them, and you can see through them.  That is their great sin.  It is also true for slats, struts, bars, beams, and so on.  Between the things that support you there is empty space.  It doesn't matter that there is no way your body mass could ever squeeze through that quarter inch hole.  Nor does it matter that the whole structure is over engineered and could support a column of tanks.  Hand rails, ropes, even a husband with a secure hand will not diminish the urge to run for the hills (low hills, that is).
So, it was curious to me why my darling would want to do the excursion to the "Sky walk," a tourist experience near Hobart, Australia where you can walk about the canopy of the trees.  There was everything there an acrophobe would detest.  Ladders, metal grates, and sheer drops all waiting to lead to your ultimate demise.  Yet it was with determination that we would do this.  And so off we went, me strutting jauntily while she crept slothfully, her hands clenching any solid secure object with great tenacity.  And she moved forward.
Now, I must admit to a certain fiendish temptation to hop about, especially to find the tonal frequency of the thing to really get a good swaying rhythm going.  I like being married and I love my sweetheart, so I buried such thoughts deeply away and kept them there.  She plodded along, pushing past her fears and accomplishing this great achievement.  Meanwhile, I am busily going about my business shooting photos and enjoying the awesome views.  Every once in a while I would look back to see her progress; she was doing a great job.
In any quest there comes a point where you have to ask yourself if something is really worth it.  There as an overhang; they called it the cantilever.  It was a wire supported walkway, no solid structure underneath it, projecting out into open space above a river.  I bounced out there joyfully; a truly freeing experience, did a couple of shots and even volunteered to photograph others with their cameras to prove they mastered this pathway to destruction.  All the time, I kept checking to see where my lovely wife was.  Would she master this challenge?
I found her, at the beginning of the cantilever, securely attached to a railing, waiting for me to return from the pathway of death.  She had accomplished a great deal, but nothing short of a heavy winch would encourage her going out there.  That was OK - I was proud of the fact she had done so much, and done it on her own.  What a super effort!
Her goal was simple; don't let your fears prevent you from enjoying life.  Each of us knows our fears, some of them we know are silly (bad luck superstitions may well be amongst the greatest hindrances to human accomplishments), others are very real.  But she set her mind to achieve this thing, and she did.  There was a suspension bridge to cross as well; two in fact - the long one being very impressive.  She successfully faced her emotional doubts regarding its integrity and physics and made the journey.  She was thrilled to have accomplished it, and equally relieved it was done.  At least until the next time.