Originally, I thought to begin this story in Medellín, moments after I ran down the Andes Mountain to jump into the wind without my fear of heights weighing me down. But the more I tried to shape this narrative with that moment as its beginning, the harder and harder it became. After years of intentional work, I’ve come to understand that some forms of resistance are redirections, and so I slowly accepted the fact that this story begins somewhere else, maybe a little closer to terra firma and home.
The Decision Point
Coming face to face with my fear of heights was not as painful as realizing how stagnant my life had slowly become. As 2020 came to a close, I was determined to shake off the dust and inject more adventure into my life, which took the form of weekend trips, hikes, and the occasional date. However, my side quest for adventure found me dragging my feet up trails and fretting with my NorthFace zipper as I neared outlooks and cliff edges. My fear of heights weighed me down. I had this fear my whole life, I had accepted it as a biological characteristic of mine, something deeply wired in my genes. I never challenged it. In fact, I was certain it was genetic, because my mother had the same fear, as did her mother. Who was I to argue with inherited traits? Or so I told myself, as I stepped back from gorgeous vistas, denying myself the beauty my legs and lunged worked hard for as I trekked up rocks in my pink Nike Pegasus trail runners. But my fear didn’t just affect how close I got to cliff edges and canyon rims, I also shied away from balconies, skyscraper windows, and, at the height of my anxiety in 2018, the escalator connecting the mall wings in King of Prussia. Not even my love for Free People and Anthropologie could get me on that thing! I felt powerless over it. I would find detours or take a step back towards safety, better known as my suffocating comfort zone. But in late 2020 into early 2021, two distinct experiences triggered embarrassment and anger, with anger, an emotion was slowly letting myself feel, become the biggest catalyst of change in my life yet.
On a date and out of breath after climbing the 190 feet above Deer Creek in Rocks State Park, Maryland to see the King & Queen Seat, I froze. All the determination that propelled me up that steep incline to see that rocky outcrop drained from my body once I reached the destination. My date continued his carefree strides to get the best view of the autumn treetops. I slowly tried to swallow my fear and steadied myself to take a few more steps forward, but my vain courage washed away quickly. Once again, I fell victim to the physical feelings of free, as I became flustered, anger, and ashamed. I envied those outdoorsy girls I saw on Instagram who seemed so calm on outcrops, cliff edges, and mountain tops. Looking back at me, and likely seeing the annoyed and flustered expression on my face, my date offered a hand and a single phrase of encouragement. He told me how he was once afraid of heights, until he moved to Colorado and started to rock climb with new friends. I handed him my dog’s leash instead, as my fearless little Frenchie mix had far more courage than I did on that day. But his light-hearted gesture planted a seed in my mind, one that would lay dormant in my frontal lobe until my next attempt to be an outdoorsy girl shook it free.
In April 2021, I took a camping trip with a group of strangers to Fayetteville, WV. It was an attempt to make new friends, inject adventure in my life, and get my pink Nike Pegasuses dirty. On the last day of our trip, the group happily strode towards an outlook not far from our campsite for that breath-taking view. I knew it well, I stalked in on Instagram daydreaming about seeing it first-hand and getting the photographic evidence that I was there. But when that moment came, I did not take another step forward. Rather, I meekly smiled and told the ladies my acrophobia was flaring. I sat down on a rock among the trees feeling defeated. I had wanted so badly to stand on the outlook drinking in the gorgeous morning view, and get my Instagram-worthy photo. The more I sulked about it, the angrier I became with myself. My embarrassment melted under the heat of my temper. This wave of anger came at the right time, for I was ripe for change. I was tired of self-limiting beliefs and determined to rewire every single one. And from the inner folds of my frontal lobe came the voice I heard that day in Maryland. I thought to myself: If he can change his fear of heights, so can I! I started to organize a new challenge for myself that wasn’t locked to calorie deficits or how many miles I walked in a day. I would face my fear of heights. I drove home through the mountains of West Virginia that day promising myself that I would return to Fayetteville and face its cliff edges and outlooks. I would get my Instagram photo, too (#outdoorsygirl). And in 2022, I did just that, and more.
The Plan
So how did I confront something that I once interpreted as an innate trait coded in my DNA? Well, I started with a concept I learned as a first-year grad student studying human cognition and linguistics: neuroplasticity. I fully believed (and still do!) that I could rewire my brain through controlled, sustained, and repeated actions. I also knew (and still do!) that the human mind is easily tricked, so I planned to intentionally influence my mind with images and imagined sensations (visualizations) and words (affirmations). I did, however, accept the fact that I might not be able to erase my fear of heights. Can we ever truly erase a phobia? Maybe, maybe not. But I settled for something else that seemed more reasonable and within my reach: Finding the confidence to face heights, even though I was scared.
For this experiment, I also pulled core lessons I learned from my years of practicing yoga. On the mat, I knew that I had to accept physical discomfort and limitation with a steady breath to calm my mind, relax my muscles, and slowly open my body to the posture. I spent hours on my mat for almost 4 years learning to be calm as I tried, failed, and eventually succeeded at postures that scared me (inversions, neck balances), that forced me to dig deep for my strength (arm balances), and that made me accept that even in stillness we wobbly but its the effort that sustains us (standing bow). And with that, I began executing my experiment safely. First in West Virginia, as I promised myself in 2021, then in Ireland, New Mexico, Costa Rica, and finally Colombia among the clouds with a mind so calm and quiet I had a life-changing realization. But we will begin this story on a solo road trip through the land of enchantment where I climbed wooden ladders to reach ancient dwellings that I once read about in books as a young girl thirsty for adventure and full of imagination. Along the way, I’ll share perfected itineraries, points of interest, visualizations, affirmations, and the mind-expanding effects of travel. ¡Vamos pues a New Mexico!