Peaked
Digestively speaking, my body has trouble with the peaks in life. Since receiving good news, over a week ago, there has been a lump in my throat. I have a fear of heights that (as it turns out) extends to the metaphorical.
For me, height/success is not what it might be to some (lots of money, possessions, fame, world travel), it is simply, to be recognized for my work (my writing in this case). Inevitably, recognition requires that people will turn towards you, expect you to actually put down your laptop, leave the house (in something other than yoga pants), clear your throat and speak. You see, my fear of heights is not all that far up the mountain.
Climbing is good for people, it gets the heart rate up. Right?
I used to live in the mountains. While still in the trees, hiking along with friends, chatting, and wondering how long it would take us to reach the Big View, I was content. There were breaks, snacks and the occasional dive into the woods for a pee. Closer to the top, the trees got smaller, hardy little things that lean as if buffeted by strong winds, even on a calm day; a signpost of what life is like at those altitudes. Further up the mountain, there were fewer of them.
Closer to the top, the trees got smaller, hardy little things that lean as if buffeted by strong winds, even on a calm day; a signpost of what life is like at those altitudes.
Less and less living things populate the land of rock and snow, until the pointy bit (feel free to envision The Grinch here, peering down from the mouth of his cave with his drooping dog at his side). Here, scrambling is necessary, maybe even some colorful ropes and shiny metal clips (ooooh shiny things!). The wind pushes harder now, get down, get down you silly thing. And here is where I halt, and remember who I am, and that I belong among trees, where I am not taller than other things, where there are small, furry creatures and singing birds. I don’t need the Big View, I’ve seen it from another angle. I don’t need to see it all it once, I prefer life in vignettes anyway. Go on without me. Snap a photo. Vertigo, nausea, deep longing for a comfortable chair and a book.
And here is where I halt, and remember who I am, and that I belong among trees, where I am not taller than other things, where there are small, furry creatures and singing birds.
Then why come this far? All that plodding along with the dim hope of reaching something so close to the clouds should amount to something, screams my brain. But it’s not my mind that’s in charge up here, it’s the body that drops to the ground shivering, threatening digestive revolt and blackouts, if it must.
I have been known to get a bit shrieky near the top of the mountain, to cling in a most unbecoming way. But it’s not the peak that looms now, it’s the podium (or lectern); me, standing while others sit, speaking while others listen. And, I reiterate, I’m not talking about an international bestseller here, my first novel will probably sell modestly in this corner of the country, IF things go well. Still, there is an official contract and it says (in legal-ese) that I shall go forth and speak to people to promote The Work.
Author requires emotional guide dog to accompany her at all public appearances.
I wonder if I can bring my dog. That would help. Should I pencil that in the margins? Author requires emotional guide dog to accompany her at all public appearances. I always had a dog on the mountain. Instead of a podium, I’d have a couch and read to my audience while stroking my dog’s velvety ear. Scratch that, my dog is in the habit of jumping on people and stealing their mittens (this is Canada). The Reading would become The Apology.
It’s okay, this time I’ll make it beyond the treeline. I promise that I won’t scream or throw up. This is what I wanted (!) and others have walked beside me this far, I can’t let them down. What is the worst that can happen? I could fall/fail. No, that’s not the worst, is it? That’s expected. The worst, I suppose is to stagnate, plop myself down and move no further. Okay, here goes.
