3 hours ago
Five months ago, I was living in Panama on a sailboat. Two months ago, I moved to the mountains of #Colorado. Before and between those time markers, I knew I was afraid of mountains. My childhood memories of the Smoky Mountains include one of my younger brother running into the cabin, holding tight to this thumb that he had splayed open when his brand new pocket knife thrust straight into his soft flesh. A river of blood. I always felt hovering threats of life-altering danger. I felt very out of control. I also felt sad in mountains, and I never knew why. When offered a choice, “Beach or mountains?” I’ve always, without hesitation, chosen beach. And then I lived on beaches - literally on them, in a boat - for two years. But something told me it was time to reckon with mountains. At first, this meant forcing myself to go out into the mountains and sit there, overriding my fidgety impulse to run. But now, the mountains and I have a relationship. It’s just in its beginning phases, but I’m interested to see where it grows. Have you ever had to re-establish, re-wire your relationship to something?