Turning Over a New Leaf - February Newsletter

Suspended on a wall of granite, a woman works her way higher and higher. Her movements appear graceful and effortless as if she is dancing, embracing the rock as her partner. She reaches a difficult stretch, and her progress comes to a halt. She searches with her eyes, slides her hands over all the rock within reach, adjusts her feet. She stops moving, clinging to her position. One leg begins to quiver up and down, and the strain appears in her arms. When she speaks, her voice is tinged with panic. "I'm stuck!"

Through my own climbing experiences and teaching others, I have become intimately acquainted with fear as both ally and foe. Fear as the enemy may be easier to understand. We all spend a lot of time in life trying to soothe our fears and stop being afraid. The interesting thing about fear is that we can be as afraid of actual danger (an intruder in our home, for example) as perceived danger. Dreams, imagined confrontations, worries about events that haven't even happened, such as losing a job, are imagined situations that are equally capable of inducing the heart-pounding response we get from almost being hit by a car.

In high places, our animal brain starts screaming, "You're up high! Danger! This is not where you are supposed to be!" This is a highly functional and protective reaction; it is an instinct that preserves life, after all. When climbers say, "I'm afraid of heights," I always respond, "You should be! That reaction keeps us alive."

So, one of the goals of climbing is to train our minds to understand that the gear designed to protect us up high will actually do its job, and that we are quite safe in the high places. We have to learn to resolve what our senses are telling us about the physical reality (up high!) with another physical reality (safely protected by gear). When we learn to trust ourselves, the gear and our climbing partners, we can release the fear of being high and move into a highly functional state of being where fear becomes an ally. Our senses are sharpened, and we react quickly with assurance, trusting our instincts and not overanalyzing.

What climbers know is that maintaining a white-knuckled death grip to cling to our current position requires tremendous energy, even more than climbing, and we risk depleting the very stores of energy that we need to finish the climb. Fear becomes a foe when we stop trusting and start second guessing. We start thinking or even saying out loud, "I can't do this! I'm stuck. There's nowhere to move. I'm going to fall. I won't finish this. I have to come down." We face a crisis of belief, and we are at a crossroads where we choose defeat or perseverance.

So what are we supposed to when we get stuck, literally, on a rock in a hard place? Make a move. Any move.

The woman's climbing companions begin to shout encouragement. "Move your feet up! You can find another hold! Keep moving!" She remembers the rope, and that her climbing partner is ready to catch her in a heartbeat. She shifts her body and moves a foot up higher, feeling with her toes. Her shoe connects with a potential foothold, and she tests it out - it's good. Confidence returning, she moves her weight onto her foot and pushes up with her leg muscles, reaching with her opposite hand for the next hold - there it is! "Okay! Got it!" she calls, confidently in motion once again. She's on her way.

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Coaching Questions:

What current position are you clinging to, afraid to make a move?

How is fear your foe in this situation? How can it become your ally?

What is the "gear" you can trust as you move through the hard stretches?

Who do you trust to tell you, "Move your feet! Keep going!" when you get stuck?

What small move can you make to get moving again?

Copyright December, 2008: Jennifer Wilson, New Leaf Coaching and Consulting
Editorial Assistance by Shaun Perkins ~ www.journeyinwords.com