Back in 2004, I found myself dangling my rear off a mountain in Skagway, Alaska—my legs were shaking, and I could feel a panic attack forming in my chest as I looked over my shoulder to see that I was thousands of feet in the sky. (Big mistake to look out, although a calmer me would have really appreciated the spectacular view.)
“Keep your knees straight. Hold on to the rope. Move it this way to let the rope out, move it this way to tighten the rope,” said the trained mountain climber who was trying to explain to me how to rappel backwards off this mountain wall.
I was in a tightly strapped harness tied to some ropes that he had anchored and was holding—he was ready to belay me. I was ready to cry.
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His instructions sounded to me like Charlie Brown’s teacher. Remembering how to do the rope and keep my knees was too much as I stood there paralyzed in fear by the view.
