So You Know

Written the third week of March 2025

I talk about fear like it is some flimsy barrier to be breezed through for greener pastures. In fact, I pride myself on all the times I can remember pushing past discomfort, be it for a small recompense or a life-changing one. Small example, going up a thin metal staircase with decaying wooden steps to reach the roof three stories up with only a guardrail on the staircase. The roof itself is flat and open. The day was windy and though I am no lightweight I fear standing at the edge, taking a false step, and tumbling down to my demise or, worse yet, permanent injury. I was three steps from the top when I paused, breathing heavy, not from the effort of climbing the steps, but from the fear.

Ridiculous as it sounds, I insist upon the fact that I am afraid of falling not afraid of heights. Currently I have limited internet access so forgive me for not giving specifics, but I have been to the top of The Arch in St. Louis, Missouri. Not the tallest structure in the world, but nothing to sneeze at either. There at its peak (63 stories or 630 feet according to the internet access I later gained) there are windows to peer out of where you can see the tops of the city. You can also feel the swaying of the building with the wind. I was panicked thinking about going up so high in the air but time and time again I have proved to myself that I do not fear the height itself, but insecurity at such a height potentially leading to a fall.  So, I went up. (Thankfully in an elevator!) I looked upon the cityscape below and smiled behind my mask (for it was in a time these were still required in many public places). I was safe, the top of the building was enclosed, and though it swayed, I trusted the structure to be firm.

Three Steps from the Top

Three steps from the top, I froze, felt my knees begin to quiver. No one had ordered me to the roof. I remembered going up there on previous visits to this home and enjoying the view of the surrounding houses, fields, and trees. I wanted to experience this. I sought the height for my own enjoyment. Yet, I was stuck in fear. I lifted a foot to take a step down instinctively, to get away from what I feared, but I stopped myself. I focused on my breath that was speeding up, no  doubt to match the pace of my frantically beating heart. I reminded myself that I was in control and that I had chosen to take this staircase up. That I could retreat and return later. That there would be no shame in it. Also, I told myself that I was so close and that I was capable. That fear was the final barrier and though I faltered mentally, physically I had no reason to believe I would falter on the final three steps. Yes, there are always risks of anomalies, accidents, unforeseen events, but these would be impossible to prevent altogether and whatever happens is meant to. I could trip and fall off a roof as much as I could trip and fall at ground level.

All I could do was prepare, which I had, by swapping out my sandals for gripping barefoot shoes allowing me to feel the ground beneath me while maintaining a strong hold. I even wore a backpack to free my hands should I have to catch myself.  I had done all I could. What would be different if I returned at a later time? I thought of asking my dad to climb the stairs with me or simply have him as my witness. I had climbed a massive highway overpass without guardrails just the other day with him trailing behind. I wondered if he knew why I had hurried so much yet had taken such small scurrying steps? I could call upon him, but I also wanted to prove something to myself. That I could do this alone. Could I brave the last three steps though? Despite my trembling knees? Despite my fears? I wasn’t entirely sure as I took a step up.

Two Steps from the Top

Now two steps from the roof I noticed the final step did not have a wooden base, only the hollow metal frame. My stomach gave a lurch, but my resolve remained steady. I was committed to seeing this through. I took a short step up then a long step onto the roof, almost a small hop as I pushed myself from the railing then taking tiny, quick steps to the center of the roof. My heart was beatboxing. Erratic, modern rhythms I had not heard before, or at least not in a long time. I was getting lightheaded and the ground seemed to swirl and come up and around me. My mind began to panic once more. I shakily lowered myself to the ground, sitting cross-legged and avoiding looking out at the landscape below. I had made it up where I had intended, but it had not occurred to me that my terror would go beyond that. I wasn’t sure what to do next. I wanted to scream. I wanted to return to the safety of the room I was staying in. It had taken some convincing to get up here with a quarter of the panic I felt now. I did not believe I would be able to talk myself into going down those rickety steps as the world swam around me. I also did not want to call my dad for help. I still wanted to prove something to myself.

On Top

So, I sat. I focused on the steady ground beneath me and how far away I was from any edge. Even the wind could not blow me over from my seated position at the center. Eventually my surroundings no longer moved without me. I laid down, eyes closed and tried to focus on my breathing as I have done many times before when meditating. The issue was that my breathing was not steady at all. It still hitched unexpectedly. When I felt it and my heartbeat begin to find a gentle rhythm again, I opened my eyes. Everything was blue and bright. I forgot where I was, and the panic returned in full force. Once my eyes adjusted, I determined that the blue I saw was sky blue and the clouds were the thinnest webs I had seen. Barely noticeable unless you took as close a look as I was then. I rode the terror. Allowed the fear to wash over me with its too quick heartbeats and breaths until I returned to my body. Then I sat up once more and noticed music. Odd, I thought. It was faint, but sounded to be music in English. Odd since I was on a roof in a rural Mexican town.

A few seconds later I remembered my backpack that I had slung down beside me. I’d brought a cellphone, a book, and a speaker. Through the speaker I had started some music before venturing up the stairs. I pressed the volume up button once and focused on the melody as well as the wind blowing my hair every which way. I got the peace I’d come looking for.

Too soon, my dad came looking for me. I heard him shuffle in the room below where I was staying. I inched my way to the edge of the roof overlooking the second story balcony. I was scared but less so, knowing if I fell it would only be one story not two. Eventually he went out to the balcony and I called and waved to him. He laughed and waved back saying he’d been looking for me for a few minutes. He climbed up the stairs like it was nothing and began walking back and forth on the roof. My stomach lurched every time be walked close to the edge. He was wearing sandals. He laughed when he saw me on the roof and commented that I am so adventurous. I laughed back knowing what I had been through just to make it onto this roof. It is odd to be perceived in this way. My childhood friend who I’ve known since being four years old, recently said the same thing to me. Something along the lines of me always having been the adventurous one.

Adventurous?

This does not seem accurate to me. I once was a hospitality major in university. I stuck out like a sore thumb amongst those ambitious, social people. They had dreams of starting businesses, catering to others, providing experiences, and traveling the world. I remember being one of the few that had no ambitions to travel. I sought security. I have, as long as I remember, wanted a home of my own. A place of safety. I played a lot of video games growing up. I wanted a save point. If I were to venture out, I wanted to do so only to return.

But I was already out. My childhood home did not feel like mine. It was one of uncertainty and would never be mine alone. It was my mother’s and father’s and brother’s as well as mine. Going to university in west Texas, 7 hours from the Dallas, Texas area where I grew up, that began to feel like home. Then Puerto Rico for my internship was what I called home to the annoyance of my roommate who refused to ever do so. Then east Texas where I got my first professional job. Now finally back to Dallas where it does not feel like home.

All this relocation, travel, leaps of faith, and adventures in love and trust have seemed sensible to me. I have hardly ever known the possible outcome at the onset, but so far, I don’t regret any. It is odd to be seen as adventurous when it took a lengthy self pep talk to climb a staircase.

Moral of this Story?

As usual this is not exactly the topic I planned to write about. It was meant to be about fear and not letting this impede life. Of pushing past discomfort. Of my failings to do so in the big things and my memories of successes in the little ones. How I have the training to have become a pharmacy technician and a medical interpreter but never took the exam to make either official. How I am one class away from an associates in teaching. How I don’t know if I would have taken the certification exam to become a dietitian (the career I now have almost four years of experience in) if it hadn’t been for my former roommate pushing me to try. Telling me it would be better to try and fail than to never know.   

It was supposed to be an apology for expecting so much of others. For seeing fear like a thin veil to shove others through when they too are stuck three steps away from the top. It was supposed to be an apology to Ivy.

Ivy who I invited into my first solo apartment. An apartment I lived in alone for only a week before she joined me. Ivy who made it more of a home than I had ever had before. Who I asked the world of. Who I learned to live with. Eventually, who I learned to lose.

Things are complicated. The world is much more interconnected than it used to be. I remember coming out to this rural ranch in Mexico to get away. Most years my father and I would come out here for two weeks. He would spend the day working on the logistics of the house or chatting with his brother or going to the nearby towns for food or supplies. During meals he and I would chat and in the evenings we would watch movies. It was peaceful. During the day I would spend my hours reading, singing, drawing, or playing solitaire. No internet to connect with the outside world. The only time I felt like nothing was expected of me. The only time I felt like I could take full breaths in.

Now, there is internet and I have choice. It has been five years since I was last here. It feels so different yet largely the same. Now it will only be a week, as I must return to work and would like to save some vacation days for later in the year. I can always use more rest these days. 

Moral of this drawn-out story? Probably none. This is real life and the only thing I know about life is that we each create its meaning.