The Space Station

Suddenly I am aware of my ability to be broken; what it is to have your bones break and muscles tear. The wind howls and accentuates the height from which I look down. I hear Dad's words echo in my head: "Never climb up what you cannot climb down." I should have listened to him. I am not that far up, only twenty-five feet or so. But numbers don't matter when your gut is in a knot the size of your miniscule mortality.

I have been climbing for twelve years and have never bothered with free-soloing (climbing without a rope). There was never a desire to be above the earth without the security of 10mm rope between you and the forces of Gravity. Yet, at the moment, Gravity is chuckling and tugging at my faith in climbing shoes, taunting me as pebbles trickle past me into the air.

Then from behind the wind comes the words of my little sister, whom is perched comfortably next to me. She tells me to only focus on my next move. Breathe.

My life, when looked upon from where I am, seems too big, too real, and entirely incomprehensible. There are too many choices just in front of me that could lead to pain or to a shattering of my existence as I know it. Am I looking too far ahead? Why do I feel that whatever I choose next will be my downfall?

Joshua Tree has always been a place of clarity for me. I come here expecting to feel refreshed and renewed. But as I look down at the granite below and picture my broken body in a bloody mess, I don't feel clear-minded.

I don't know where I shall go in life. By the Laws of Time I am projected forward into my future whether I make a choice or not. So...

I scoot forward, heels pushing my back into the rock behind me. I watch where my little sister (mountain goat that she is) places her feet, her hands. Tears make it difficult to see, but there is no going back now. The wind dies down like a gift of courage. My toes reach a ledge wide enough to stand on and I do: I stand. Relief washes over my face in hot little streams. My sister hugs me, confident and beautiful as always. Joshua Tree is still our home, not our deathbed.

What next? I am not ready to answer that question yet. I can say that I will make it through whatever comes at me; when I do make a choice I will live with the consequences. One day I truly will face my mortality and I will succumb to it: that day was not today.