Facing Mountains

(I wrote this in February when it was snowing, hence the reference to snow, sleds, and sledding.)

I looked down the steep hill glistening with snow, tightly packed by all those who proved brave enough to venture down in on sleds, on boards, on plastic- whatever they could get their hands on- and I feared it. With every fiber of being within me, I feared that hill. As I saw person after person fall off their sleds, come close to hitting a tree or a rock, flip, hit the ramp and become airborne, get bruised and beaten up, the fear began to grow as I continued to fear the pain that would ensue afterward. I couldn’t bring myself to take a sled in hand, sit down upon it, and nudge myself down that quarter mile hill, gaining speeds that I cannot even begin to imagine, as I’m sure my life would flash before my eyes before I smashed into one of the many obstacles that lay in the path- a ramp, a tree, a rock.

Before I even knew what I, myself, was even doing, I grabbed that “Lindsey” Property sign, strategically placed it at the top of the hill, sat down on it, and as I heard Erica say, “She’s not really going to do it,” I nudged myself enough to gain the momentum needed to begin shooting down that man-made sledding path in the hills of Fayetteville.

Half way down, I realized what I was doing, but it was too late to stop myself now. I stuck my feet out in front of me hoping that they would act as a break to the speed, but they only shot sprays of snow into my eye sight, preventing me from seeing what lay ahead of me. Preventing me from seeing what obstacles I might hit. I slid. And as my sled went one way, I went the other, flipping, turning, rolling, and sliding.

I got bruised. I got beaten. But as the night came to an end, I looked back on that experience not thinking, “Well, that was dumb,” but instead thought how that moment was worth every bruise my body encountered, every beat increase my heart faced, every obstacle I was just inches away from hitting. And thinking back, the only regrets I have is that I didn’t try that earlier, and that I didn’t do it again.

I took this bold jump in my life, not knowing what was going to lie ahead. Not knowing if I was going to break my arm, my leg, my neck, my life. But despite it all, I faced it head on and took on the challenge. I jumped. I leaped. I sprang forward into the unknown. The only moment I became blind to my surrounding was the moment I tried to stop myself.

This was a moment when I took charge. This was a moment when I put all fear aside and took a leap. And this was a moment when I realized, standing on the sidelines, scared of whatever it is I might be scared of that day (rejection, false thoughts, accusations, depression) causes me to miss out on so much in life. I just let opportunities pass me by and I watch them drift away in the distance.

That hill is a metaphor of life. Sometimes, despite the doubts people hold toward you, despite the obstacles that lay in the way, despite wanting to put your feet out to stop yourself, despite the fact you don’t know how it’s going to end, and despite the fact you will inevitably come out of it bruised, sometimes, you need to take that sled, you need to face your mountain, and you need to nudge yourself in order to experience the ride of your life. You will look back, and you will think, “I’m glad I did that,” even if you emerge a little beaten up, sore, and bruised. It adds character.

Take more chances. Face your mountains.