(Though there are several friends and loved ones who may tell you that actually happened some time ago…)

I actually mean I climbed a mountain just days ago and got to the peak. I want to share how it felt with you. You may be surprised.

The hike up Mt. Kashevaroff will get you up 2,204 feet and the view you are rewarded with is... well, it is what the following images show, but fall so short of really capturing...

Some moments along the trail were a bit of a challenge, especially snowy areas too slippery so I had to make a way around, waaaaaay around. We stopped for lunch at a place we hiked off the path to get to, partly to get out of the cold wind that decided to become a companion. It was hard to shake the unwanted friend, and not surprisingly when we ventured back on to the path to resume the hike, the wind had waited for us.

Somehow we missed the path leading to the peak and continued past it for over a half-mile on our way to Center Mountain and had to return and head to the top from the back side. Dennis (husband) and Sasha (dog) went ahead of me and disappeared from view. At one point I lost a foothold and slipped a bit. Not to be a drama queen, but I looked around and saw only mountains and space between mountains, and for the first time ever I became scared of heights. My hands held the earth and I just stayed there, pressing myself as close to the mountain as I could and feeling an unnatural fear. I knew I was actually safe, but I also knew I was scared to death.

We have all experienced that before haven't we? The grip of fear that is strong and cold and overwhelming. Have you ever been brought to your knees, literally? It is not what we are designed for.

And that is exactly what I told myself in the smallest whisper I could muster there on the side of Mt. Kash.

"I am going to get up. I am alone and I am going to get up." I heard my heart louder than my voice. I thought "I came all this way, it is just a bit further...but where is the top?" I couldn't see it. I couldn't hear Dennis.
Couldn't see him or Sasha.

"What if the top is even smaller than this?" I wondered looking at the tiny piece of island in the sky.

It seemed like a long time, a long, long time. In reality it was 5, maybe 10, minutes.

I can not stand up, I remember thinking. I really can. Not. Stand.

But I can just hold on to the grassy earth and climb this way. Please don’t let anyone see me.

And that is fear's good friend coming into the story: shame.

I have lived through many moments I wish I never experienced. Oftentimes I have heard people say they are thankful for horrible things they have endured as it has made them better, taught them more. I am not that way. The things in my life that have brought me to my knees in fear and shame are moments I would gladly, and immediately, forsake without any embarrassment or regret.

This moment on Mt. K was nowhere in the ballpark of those experiences and yet it crippled me.

And I suddenly was mad. How dare this moment of no consequence press down on me and make me feel small? I started moving upwards a bit faster-- still bent over like a child crawling on my hands and feet (no knees, just doubled over). But I was going up.

And when I got higher I came to a point where there was plenty of flat space, the top was not scary! It was the getting there that was.

And so I sat my butt down and knit.

I earned the view.

Also, my legs were wobbly and I had to get that under control, lol.

I should mention here that going down on the actual trail rather than a path we blazed as an afterthought because we missed it...well that trail down was *not* scary! It was cake. And I am looking forward to heading back up Mt. Kashevaroff again hopefully in a week or two. (Cope Mt. and Sharatin Mountain are next on the list before we circle back around to Kash)

You and I were created to be amazing. And we are. We were not created with a spirit of fear. Own it when we feel it and then squash it.