Heights

The other day, I was at the top end of a stepladder and it was only when I was trying to come down that same ladder that I realized how much more challenging it is to descend than it is to ascend. This gave me pause. 

On my own, I had been able to get the ladder, place it and climb it quite easily. Being on the roof and completing my task of securing a few loose shingles was also straightforward, but getting back down was a different story and that’s where it all fell apart. 

The ladder was positioned such that I could have, in theory, just climbed down. After all, I had climbed up easily enough. However, stepping off the roof and onto the ladder was too scary for me. The risk of falling seemed enormous. Even though the height between me on the roof and safety on the ground was not more than 12 feet, it may as well have been 100: The ladder was standing on the deck and the deck stands about 20 or so feet above the lake (hence Clifftop Cottage). It was my imagination that did me in. And also my brain. 

My imagination was stymied by the depth to which I could, potentially, plummet — down the ladder, bounce off the deck and land in the lake. GAME OVER! My brain kicked in and said my life insurance payout wasn’t worth it. STOP! Val agreed and, with great effort, erected the much more stable extension ladder on the road-side of the little cabin — about the same height from roof to ground but no mind-bending deep drop to the lake beyond. 

I descended that ladder placed there, safely and easily. All’s well that ends well. But the whole episode made me contemplate the reaching of heights versus the descending from heights and the cost involved in both efforts. 

When we are ascending a ladder — actual or metaphorical — we know what we’re aiming for step by step. However arduous the climb might have been, when we reach the top, it’s clearly the top and we take the next logical step, whatever that might be: onto the cabin roof, into the manager’s office, away from full-time work, etc. 

But when we are descending a ladder — actual or metaphorical — gravity pulls at us and the risk of getting ahead of ourself and tumbling down too fast can present untold danger. Whether physical or emotional, gravity can pull us down faster than we can keep up, so it behooves us to take stock: Pay attention to our surroundings, prepare well, and step judiciously.  

With luck (or good planning), we take that first step with a friendly hand to guide (or maybe to nudge) us. That step from the height we know to the next one down is maybe the biggest challenge: We must leave the safety of the familiar and step out into the (temporary) void. But take that step we must and down (out, across) we must go. From the known into the void and then, fingers crossed, onto the first step and then the next and the next…down (out, across) until we reach the landing spot we’re aiming for.

The other day, that void existed between me on the roof and safety on the ground. Val’s assistance helped me bridge it safely and get me back down to solid earth. As I look ahead to the next year and the ones beyond, that void stands between the I-Am-Working-Full-time me and the I-Am-Moving-Into-My-Third-Act me. I need to find a sturdy ladder, prop it up against a good wall, and find some steady hands to guide me.