Fear can show up at inappropriate times uninvited and unexpected, like a knock on the door in the middle of the night. We have all felt it. Sometimes, it can stop us from an adventure or getting into trouble. Sometimes, it can prevent us from living up to our potential or considering a new path. Sometimes, it can stop us from taking care of our health.
A few years ago, in the midst of a perfectly pleasant hike in Glacier National Park, Fear (yes, with a capital F) emerged. The bright July sun was shining on the snow as my family climbed the mountainside. Throwing snowballs at each other, the kids were distracted and running up ahead. With so many other hikers around us, I struggled to keep my children in sight. Then, we came upon a narrow ledge of loose gravel, 30-feet long, with a sheer drop on one side. Before I could stop them, my kids scrambled across the narrow ledge. And just like that, fear wrapped around me like a giant boa squeezing its prey.
Unable to move, I watched my kids disappear. My mouth became dry, my breathing shallow, my heart racing. My T-shirt felt damp from sweat. I was frozen — if I took even one small step, I might tumble down forever, the earth swallowing me up. I wanted to scream, but I felt muffled. Fear was consuming me.
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