2015 words about fights and fears

Nope. It wasn’t easy. It was scary, vague and intimidating.

I was crying, shouting and swearing sometimes.

But eventually I stopped and than took the step.

Some years ago there was a minor accident with a deep impact.

I was having fun and enjoying white water rafting as part of my birthday present, when the two ladies sitting at the front of the boat and who were supposed to set the tempo stopped rowing. Naturally, right after the first waterfall we fall over. But no worries, there was a solid rescue plan. To stay calm, lay on your back and to try to reach the bank of the canal as soon as possible. Or if it doesn’t work out, than to stay quiet and slide down through all the rapids. Afterwards splash into the calm water at the end with a smile on your face, hopefully elegantly enough for a picture as your profile picture.

Thanks to the patience of my big sis I am a good swimmer.

Well, unless the current is too strong.

Unless I can’t come up between the cascades for long enough to take at least a shallow breath between two long and painful coughs. Unless the rescue crew who was supposed to help us out if a very unlikely situation arose takes a pleasant walk and don’t notice the people falling into the water. No, the 10-year old little girl neither. After this unpleasant experience and several childhood memories about my mum having near death experiences when accidentally my head got underwater even for a brief time, even if in shallow water, Scuba Diving seemed like a quite crazy idea.

As you might guess, it didn’t go well.

I was at the tropical and friendly island of Mabul next to Borneo, swimming between huge but peaceful green turtles, admiring lion fishes, happy little Nemos and a long sunk fishing boat housing entire families of marine creatures. Together with professional, well trained and enthusiastic teachers who did their best to make me comfortable in the water again. However, the routine task to remove my mask, taking deep and calm breathes through the regulator while my face stayed uncovered, than after a minute trying to slip the mask back on my head with hair getting in all the wrong places just scared me out. I tried again, yet I was unable to finish the day with the rest of the team.

I felt like a complete failure afterward. I blamed myself for getting scared. Than I blamed myself for getting sick the next day. It didn’t help neither, when my teacher told me about the fears and panic she felt when she was on her first dive. I stopped believing I can go on and can complete all the tasks after I get well.

The mantra “Don’t panic. Panic kills, water don’t.” didn’t seem to stick at all in my mind.

Instead of my breakdown I got a certification. I became a Scuba Diver instead of an Open Water Diver. The same way as 10 years old kids do. But this thought, which others believed would sooth me down didn’t make me happier at all.

Even if going underwater didn’t seem like my thing, just two days later I set my mind to a different challenge.

The 4095 m high peak of Mt. Kinabalu was the next point to conquer. I really pushed myself to reach the highest point. I got up at 2 a.m. to be up on the summit in time for the sunrise, slept in an ice cold bungalow with a bunch of strangers and payed 250 dollars for the experience and a guide who knew the way – but only very few English words.

Later, when I was slowly and carefully trying to get down the mountain,

slipping here and there on the wet, sharp rocks,

my knees still hurt from all the falling and continued to do so for several days.

As the temperature rose with the sun getting stronger and with me descending, I started to feel again my frostbitten, red and swollen fingers. Some days later I had to throw away my hiking boots, but while on the mountain, two bags were enough to make me happy and isolate my feet from the wet and cold socks and shoes.

The least to say, the weather conditions weren’t ideal. After falling several times on my knees because of the strong wind I tried to take a rest between some overlaying rocks forming a natural shelter, but even my remaining energy was slipping away. Only 50 meters below the spike I decided to turn my back on the mountain and never ever to return.

After successfully transferring my bead shop to its new and enthusiastic owners, I was supposed to take a rest.

Everything seemed fine. Summer was around the corner. Two of my friends just left their old jobs and we were looking forward to a long break together before we were planning to return to the everyday workday regime again. We talked about hikes, swims, talks, beers and dogs. But instead of taking the restart of my life slowly I immediately jumped into new projects. I registered at least six new domains and set up four new blogs. My friends and family tried several times to persuade me that I am lucky and smart to be able to move from a job which didn’t make me happy any more and should reward myself with a little time off. But I got frustrated right from the beginning of my new paths, and the career change didn’t seem like a huge success.

Than it came to me when I found myself alone at home.

It was a shock, and it wasn’t the last cry I had.

But after some hours of bitterness and perplexity I decided that it was the last night of my life which found me whining and complaining. Moaning over situations I can’t change, over steps which aren’t easy to take, a path which isn’t straightforward. There will be no more looking for somebody else to blame and finding excuses for every tough situation and obstacle. The pill from the doctor which was supposed to calm me down, remained intact on the edge of the table, together with a glass of water.

And I decided that night, that the glass of water will always be at least half full from that time, no matter what. In the morning I got up tired and pretty exhausted.

The first thing I had to set straight was my own mind.

There was no more room for self-pity or self-doubt. Exercises and a bit later yoga entered my life. I started to have healthy, regular meals and quickly getting into shape again. I was learning to be only by myself and also to speak up my mind. I turned 30 earlier and I was going through my first job interview when I was the one trying to impress, not the one who is asking. After six years as the owner and CEO of a rapidly growing company I found myself in a student club tapping beer and happy.

Partly because it was my job to draw and write something nice

on the chalkboard every morning,

and partly because my own chalkboard was finally empty and clean again.

Even if it hurt like hell to get there.

In the meanwhile I finished my training as an Open Water Diver. I swam between corals in Cambodia and saw vibrant colored sea slugs and other cool stuff under the water. I jumped into the sea from a boat in my full dive gear. (It turned out that my teachers were right and I won’t sink instantly to the bottom, but after some brief seconds come up to the surface, float easily, laugh and be happy that I took the step. Currently I am planning a trip to Indonesia and would like to continue as an Advanced Open Water Diver. Among else I would like to be specially trained during night dives, wreck dives and drift dives. Because it will be fun and yes, I can do it.)

I didn’t return to Borneo and Mt. Kinabalu again, but together with three other friends I tried myself at a Via Ferrata in Austria.

The Italian words mean “iron road”. And even if it’s not made entirely from iron, you better have iron muscles to walk it. And most importantly: iron will. The purpose is to get to a high-mountain environment without the technical skills a mountain climber has and without the dangers he or she has to face. Yes, it’s possible, even if it’s not easy. The main difference between real climbing and Via Ferrata is, that on Ferratas you have different grasping to hold onto and bridges to cross the rifts which are too wide.

But sometimes you have to jump.

The graspings are far from steps, and the bridges are mostly only cables.

That being sad, you are all the time safe. At first it seemed a bit complicated, and I didn’t want to believe that the knots I tied with my own hands will last. (I tie a lot of knots every day. But usually they have to hold only tiny beads, not myself hanging from a cliff.)

Somehow I found myself between the last ones again. My friend crossed the bridge. Our guide crossed the bridge. (And in the middle he hanged a bit upside down.) And when I didn’t have any more pretensions to wait more, I took a step. After a seemingly very long time, I took two or three more. And at that time, already above the edge, it seemed to me that I will not be able to take any more – or to move ever again. The time was passing, and a too familiar and too comforting thought creeped into my mind. It was quite convincing: tell them that you can’t do it. Admit that you suck and want to turn back – again. They will tell you they understand. That it doesn’t matter. It’s completely fine to be weak.

Against this too well known voice in my mind somehow I managed to continue. There was no sudden realisation, that I am not a sissy, that I can do whatever I want, and my inner voice is sometimes stupid and limiting. No shouting “freedom”, no big words or thoughts. I was focusing only on the next step. I had a grimace on my face full of fear and scepticism, and eyes linked into the eyes of our guide on the other side.

Even if slowly and without the professionally looking moves of the others, I took one more step.

And one more, and one more.

Later that day, I was hanging from a cliff well above a mountain spring. I jumped through a gap between the rocks, and was helped up with a rope, when my hands refused to hold on any further. Once I lost the ground under my feet, and managed to acquire the biggest blue (and later violet and yellow) bruise on my thigh. But I didn’t feel a pitch that time. More than once I wanted to scream that it was enough, that I was silly to come here, and don’t want to hang on to any more grips and walk on any more cables. But well, I didn’t have a choice. I had to move on, and do so quickly, before getting even more exhausted – both mentally and physically. All I was able to think about was: “take one more step”. It was a struggle, and not an easy one. But sometimes I was able to notice the crystal clear water running under our feet, and a flower or two at a highly improbable place.

And later this year, after more than a month of experimenting I found my new and true calling.

I work hard and will continue to do so.

On this page you can see, what is it good for.