A lot of my fear is gone...

“There are a lot of men who are healthier at age fifty then they have ever been before, because a lot of their fear is gone.” - Robert Bly

I write this on the day before my 41st birthday. This 40th year of my life has been one where many of my fears have been exposed, stripped down, and freed.

I started my 40th year on a trip with my wife and daughter in the Sangre de Cristo range of SE Colorado. We woke up early to attempt a summit of Mt. Humboldt, a 14er in that range. In early June, there is still plenty of snow on the mountain which gets warm enough to melt and then cool enough to refreeze daily. It was across a patch like this that myself, my 13yo daughter, and my wife were attempting to cross. The summit to Humboldt takes a lot of switchbacks from 12’k to 13’k and we were near the top. It was about 3/4 of the way across this snow pack, with a 100’ slide down into a rock pile, that I heard my daughter slip and start to slide. Thankfully, she braced well and managed it fine. Me, not so much. I hadn’t felt that level of terror in a while, probably since my wife and I were in a car crash that totaled my truck and sent her into labor with our first kid. I felt powerless, responsible, and alone.

View from Humboldt Saddle

I’ve been terrified of heights since I was a kid. I remember trying to climb one of those electric poles in Boy Scouts and shutting down about 4’ off the ground. Climbing a ladder to get leaves out of the gutters still sent my knees wobbling throughout most of adulthood. It was after this panic on the side of Humboldt, on top of the saddle, that I broke down. I remember not being able to hold in the fear as my wife hugged me. My fear wasn’t the heights, but the terror of being alone and responsible.

Later that summer me and Bill took a group of men to Colorado for our annual men’s recovery adventure, starting with a rappel in Boulder and finishing with a summit of Mt. Harvard. Before we rapelled, I had been helping the guys process some of their fear that they needed to let go of, and then we were intentional about physically releasing that fear by rappelling down a 200’ bluff. They’d all gone and I was ready to walk down with ropes, but Bill, being the friend he is, reminded me that it was my turn. What did I need to let go of? In this moment, feeling like I had my whole life - that I was alone and it was all on my shoulders.

I’ve tried to summit Mt. Harvard, the third tallest peak in the continental states, three times. The first time, I had to turn around a few hundred feet from the top as my anxiety was making me dizzy. The second time, I made it up but I couldn’t even stand up on the summit as my anxiety kept me spinning. Then, last year, my fear was gone. Literally. I was able to look down and feel no fear. So what changed?

I’m starting to believe that I’m not alone and that it’s not all up to me.

This belief didn’t start out as such. It started with trusting it, even though I didn’t believe it. It began decades ago as I learned to trust others with my story. More recently, the belief gained more momentum as I started to let go of fear by letting others care for me up in the mountains.

A few months later, I was in the hospital for an outpatient heart surgery. Apparently, AFib has had my heart not working so well for years, and after med’s and other practices didn’t help, surgery was the best bet. Once again, it’s not up to me. Soon after that, my business model took a blow with some new rules and regulations that are being implemented. The fear of it being up to me, and shouldering it alone, has been nagging at me. Daily I have to remind myself that it’s not up to me, that I’m not alone.

Last month, Bill and I led another men’s group out at Sandrock. The two of us did some climbing beforehand, and at one point, as he was belaying me from above me out of my sight, I had to trust that once again, I’m not alone and it’s not all up to me. Later on that trip, on top of ‘knob wall’, I was able to look down from 80’, worried that I’d be terrified by the heights as I had been for 40 years, but to my surprise I wasn’t.

A lot of my fear is gone.

“Yes, transformation is often more about unlearning than learning, which is why the religious traditions call it “conversion” or “repentance.” - Richard Rohr, Falling Upward

What if this second half of life isn’t about being strong, more sure, or more confident? What if it has more to do with accepting our frailty and finding comfort in mystery. The old things are passing away, and the new things are breaking through, but they definitely don’t look like what I imagined they would. For this forty-first year, my hope is that I don’t try and scramble back to the old ways of feeling like I alone am in control, that I’ve got it together, that it’s all on me.

I hope, instead, to live with a lot of my fear being gone.