I have an irrational fear of heights. Not the exhilarating, rollercoaster kind with safety harnesses clicking into place and people screaming in unison. I’m talking about real heights—the ones where your stomach drops into your shoes as you imagine yourself toppling over the edge of a cliff, arms pinwheeling like a bad slapstick stunt. My knees turn to jelly just contemplating standing near a balcony railing, and let’s not even talk about Ferris wheels.
For most of my life, I was content couching this fear as a quirky personality trait. “Oh, I don’t do heights,” I’d say lightly, waving off invitations to rooftop yoga or hikes featuring suspension bridges. People usually laughed, finding it charming, like a rom-com protagonist who just happens to faint at the sight of spiders. But my turning point came one summer in Tofino.
Learning to Fall (Without Actually Falling)
Let me set the scene: it was a cozy, overcast morning, the kind Vancouverites know intimately. My best friend Maya and I were on a trip to Vancouver Island, breathing in salty air and mentally debating if surfing in Canada was objectively insane. The guidebook called it “glorious”—I called it hypothermia waiting to happen. But Maya, ever the urban adrenaline junkie, convinced me that no trip to Tofino was complete without conquering its famous skyscraping… trees.
That’s right—she signed us up for zip-lining.
Zip-lining might sound tame to seasoned thrill-seekers, but when I discovered it involved ascending platforms anchored to 200-foot trees (trees swaying slightly in the ocean breeze, I might add), I could’ve passed out purely from dread. To put it in perspective, it was like being asked to star in an action movie when I’d barely done a walk-on role as “nervous bystander” in my own life.
Facing Fear One Plank at a Time
The journey to the first platform was humbling. As I ascended the wobbly wooden ladder, I could hear my brain critiquing my choices with scathing one-liners. “Remember when you said you wanted to live a balanced life? This isn’t what you meant.” By the time I reached the top, I was sweating through my sweatshirt and mentally drafting my obituary: Local Poet and Pop Culture Junkie Falls Victim to Ambition While Dangling Over a Tree Canyon.
But something strange happened as I looked out across the canopy. Instead of sheer panic, I felt a flicker of curiosity. Not exhilaration—not yet—but something quieter. Call it a willingness to at least try.
A zip-lining guide, who could’ve doubled as a stand-up comedian, clipped me into the line and cracked a joke about channeling my inner Spider-Woman. I wanted to laugh, but all I could squeak out was, “Don’t let me die.” And then, with a shove that was both kind and mildly terrifying, he sent me flying.
The Freefall That Changed Everything
There’s a moment, maybe two seconds in, where the fear doesn’t just melt away—it evaporates. The hum of the zip-line, the rush of air past my face, the blur of green below—it wasn’t frightening. It felt free. Like that other version of me, the one too scared to climb, had been left up on the platform and replaced by someone a little braver. Someone who could fly.
By the time I hit the landing platform, legs slightly trembling, I couldn’t stop laughing. It wasn’t the adrenaline (though there was plenty of that). It was the realization that I had done something that, even thirty minutes ago, felt impossible.
What Flying Taught Me About Falling—Metaphorically Speaking
Here’s the thing about fear: it shrinks your world. In dating, in friendships, in work, in life—it convinces you to settle for the familiar and avoid the risks. Mine just happened to involve heights, but the lesson from this treetop experience applied to everything else, too. Here’s what I’ve learned about conquering fear—and why it’s so worth doing:
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Just Start Somewhere (Even a Baby Step Counts):
I didn’t sign up for BASE jumping. I signed up for a zip-line with safety harnesses and an encouraging guide. Small wins build confidence. Find the "starter version" of what scares you—ask someone out for coffee instead of dinner, admit to a friend that you’re nervous instead of bottling it up. Small risks snowball into bigger leaps. -
Let People Help You Leap:
I’ll forever be grateful to the zip-lining guide who didn’t let me hang back on the platform cracking nervous jokes. Sometimes, you need that figurative (or literal) push from a mentor, friend, or even your slightly pushy bestie. Surround yourself with people who believe you can do more than you think you can. -
Change the Narrative:
As I zipped above the trees, I realized how much of my fear was rooted in “what if?”—what if I fall, what if I fail, what if I look dumb? Instead, I started asking myself, “What if it’s amazing?” (Pro tip: This works for first dates, career shifts, and aforementioned adventures.) -
Let Go of Looking Cool:
Did I flail? Absolutely. Was my landing less “Catwoman” and more “awkward toddler at recess”? Without a doubt. But none of that mattered compared to the thrill of showing myself I could do it. Don’t let the fear of embarrassment stop you from trying, because the people who matter won’t judge (and the ones who judge don’t matter).
The Next Heights to Conquer
That summer didn’t just teach me that zip-lining wasn’t fatal. It showed me something bigger: fear only has as much power as you give it. It still creeps up now and then—when I’m expressing feelings that feel too raw, when change looms larger than I’d like—but every so often, I catch that flicker of curiosity: “What if it’s amazing?”
If you're reading this and feeling stuck—whether it’s a fear of heights, vulnerability, commitment, or just leaving your comfort zone—know that taking one small, ridiculous step is the best antidote. You don’t have to go zip-lining to prove something to yourself (though I do recommend it, jelly legs and all). Showing up, even imperfectly, is its own kind of falling and flying. And believe me, it’s worth the leap.
