I have a fear of heights. What’s strange is this wasn’t always so. I remember on one ordinary day, I looked down from the top of a boulder that I scaled in Lake Tahoe; it was the first time that I ever visibly shook from fear. I was shocked by my own reaction because until that moment, I had no idea that this fear of heights existed.
‘Tis the season of gratitude; well, that’s what they say, anyway. As I’m doubled over in grief, this is such a difficult concept to wrap my mind around. In truth, I want to crawl into a hole and lick my wounds until they heal, skipping the holidays altogether, but this isn’t how wounds heal. This is how they fester.
As I sit with my BFF (Best Friend Forever), we watch the rain bounce upon the pavement through his office window. Our hands are tightly wrapped around our ceramic mugs, not because it’s particularly cold, but more for its consoling gesture. With a subtle hint of wood burning in the air, it most certainly feels like fall. As I watch the sky heave, it seems to reflect how I feel as though Mother Nature is bearing the burden of my grief.
After my mother’s death, it took months before I could properly socialize. I was incredibly nervous about being around so many people at once, but figured that the first time would inevitably be difficult. With my favorite charity event around the corner, I decided to buck up and attend. Despite my initial reservations, I had a wonderful evening filled with infectious laughter and contagious smiles.
“What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger” - Friedrich Nietzsche. This quote is so ingrained within our society that it’s become a stock phrase for hard times. I know that I, myself, have said it and as much as it annoys me, there’s actual truth in those words. Yes, any time that I overcome an obstacle, a travesty, I am stronger, savvier. Here’s the thing, my point of contention, I’m so frigging strong as is who needs to be stronger?