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Starting The Rebellion

by Julia Southerland

As a child I feared most things; the dark, strangers, cars randomly blowing up, strange

food, planes crashing, nursery rhymes, etc. One of my worst fears was heights, and it contin-

ued to follow me as I aged. At 13 I turned down an opportunity to climb Uluru in Australia. My

brother did, and part of me was always jealous even though I knew I wouldn't survive the thin

walkway up a giant rock, never mind there were no restraints or safety nets. At every amuse-

ment park I stayed back from tall rides, went to retrieve snacks or held onto toys won at fair

games while the others had fun. My family has a farm in North Carolina and my father always

took me to Grandfather Mountain and the Swinging Bridge, only to look from afar as neither of

us could climb up it or get across it. It comforted me that I somewhat shared this fear with my fa-

ther, though it became clear I was much more worse off than him.

As I got older, my parents grew concerned as my childhood fears manifested them-

selves into full-blown teenage panic attacks. A shrink told me it was “generalized anxiety disor-

der,” a condition that meant I was pre-disposed to feeling extreme physical symptoms of anxiety

that could be triggered by fears, surroundings, or anything, really. It was like a small part of me

was always questioning whether what I was doing was going to put me in danger, and that part

of me was always capable of leaping to the worst possible conclusion for each scenario. That

fearful part of me manifested itself into an over-protective mother. The kind of mother who

homeschooled her only child as to never have to be without them, and did consistent back-

ground checks on the neighbors. She’d unwrap every piece of her child’s candy on Halloween

to check for poison, and most likely holds a picture of them to her chest each night, afraid that if

she discontinued this routine her child would certainly perish in a freak accident. She always

had my best interests at heart, but paranoia always outranked logic. I knew she was part of me

and I felt defenseless, doomed to her interminable discipline.

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At 21 I had the opportunity to zip-line in Costa Rica with my father, step-mother Mary,

and boyfriend Doug. Actually, my father booked two separate zip-lining trips, for some ridicu-

lous reason that I protested. However, Mary and Doug were both much more adventurous in

this area and were quick to argue in its defense, and I decided to accept the challenge knowing

the amount of safety measures taken for this type of activity. The first place we went to stood

high in the mountains near Arenal, one zip line cable being 656 feet above the ground. It was

raining steadily that day, and we were in a group of 20-25 tourists which consisted of mainly

over-weight women travel agents on one of their many free vacations doing “test runs” for their

clients. This did cause me to reconsider my career path, if only briefly. As we geared up for the

zip-line I noticed just how high up we were, and immediately I felt a wave of heat go through my

body, sending a nervous shiver down my spine. I gripped Doug’s hand for courage as I felt the

tears coming.

It’s important that I tell you I have the emotional capacity of your average Kristen Bell.

On the happiness scale of 1-10, if I am anywhere between 1-3 or 7-10 I will be crying. Both

sadness and happiness at these extreme levels cause me to go into panic mode, especially if

sprung upon me in a surprise fashion. As I performed breathing exercises and closed my eyes

imagining myself at sea level, I decided to focus on the guides as they explain the safety mea-

sures hoping that might help calm me. I quickly realized the extent in which this company went

to keep you locked in tight. They used one of their own as a demonstration, and after strapping

him in he looked like a rainforest astronaut with a bulky helmet, thick gloves, and 6 or more

buckles locked into the wire. I tried to convince myself that the straps weren't going to break,

but I still couldn’t shake the impending anvil that was starting to press itself onto my chest. I

heard the over-protective mother tap me on the shoulder and whisper words of panic into my

ear as she pointed down towards the valley beneath us.

I quickly smiled showing teeth in an effort to fake happiness, a trick I used during my

customer service days. One man chickened out at the last second, he shouted “No! No! Nope!”

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loudly at the tour guide as he backed away and threw his hands up trying franticly to unbuckle

himself from the straps. I could see him shaking from 10 feet away. He was then forced to walk

miles down the mountain with his tail between his legs, his back flooded with disappointing

glares from friends. His embarrassing exit provided a small distraction which lifted the anvil a

few inches, and I took a big breath.

The rain was relentless that day, it poured for hours on end. The droplets felt like thumb

tacks on my cheeks as I flew through the air. Even if I wanted to open my eyes during flight,

they’d only be met with the piercing sting of a cold rain drop and a view of ash colored fog. I

turned my head, shut my eyes, and held my breath through each zip if only to survive the pelting

rain. The excursion went very slowly as we had to wait a long time in-between each zip for the

rest of the group. Get stung by rain for 20 seconds, stand cold in line for 20 minutes, repeat.

This place was the epitome of giant over-priced shitty action adventure businesses that care

more about quantity than quality.

At the end we were soaked and disappointed; our faces were pink from each painful

sting as we attempted to warm ourselves in the common area where tourists bought spicy hot

chocolate and Doritos. My father reassured all of us that the next time we will be zipping in the

canopy, this new company has higher ratings among travel critics and other websites as well. I

rolled my eyes so obviously it hurt, prompting Doug to give my leg a reassuring squeeze. How

do I tell them it’s hard to enjoy these experiences when you have an anvil hovering over your

chest, never knowing when the rope will break and you will be crushed? I felt ashamed. I was

handed once in a life-time opportunities to see so much of the beautiful world around me, but

the over-protective mother in me refused to loosen her grip.

A few days later we were staying in a tree house lodge and headed up the mountain to a

different zip-line company, the first perk being that this experience was private for my family

only. I had also planned differently this time. There were two shots of tequila taken in tandem,

Donna Meagle style, before this excursion. I remained mentally numb as we rode up to the first

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zip. The new guides told us that after this first ride we would occasionally be walking to the next

zip and to be cautious of animal activity. This excited me as we enjoyed the occasional animal

visitor, and we were clearly going to be much closer to the ground. My father and I share our

fear of heights but we also share our love of animals.

My father studied Ecology in Costa Rica back in the 80’s for his P.hD, and he has been

talking about taking us there as long as I can remember. He raved about beautiful toucans,

fuzzy sloths and striking geckos. He knew just how to convince me, though much convincing

was not needed. Back when I was 11, my father took me and my brother to The Galapagos and

Ecuador, where I witnessed special ecosystems that exist no where else in the world. Along

with the blue footed boobies, snot-rocket blowing iguanas, and singing finches, I found myself

falling in love with the rainbow colored quetzals. Every morning as I ate breakfast overlooking a

valley in the El Choco rainforest, a quetzal would come and serenade me in the warm summer

sun. All my dad needed to say was that I had another shot to see one in Costa Rica.

The first few zips provided stunning views of the canopies. Today the sky was clear and

the air was calm. A slight breeze began to push west as we soared through the trees. With the

comfort of mother nature and my loved ones, I slowly began to trust the complicated contrap-

tions holding me to the wires, keeping me from becoming a screaming pancake on the forest

floor, not to mention allowing me to actually open my eyes and enjoy the views.

After one zip we headed down a dirt trail that ended at a hollow Centennial tree. Mary

and Doug quickly began inspecting the tree awaiting instruction, while my father hung back a lit-

tle more hesitantly with me. I gazed up to see its infinite expanse into the canopy, staring life-

lessly the guide swiftly grabbed my shoulder throwing me back into reality and told us to head

up inside. There was a ladder we had to climb to get to our next point, which of course he had to

mention so vivaciously how beautiful the view was since it was their highest platform that took

us from one side of the mountain to the other. I followed behind Doug and Mary as they rushed

up into the tree. I braced shortly at the bottom, looking around at this massive hollow structure

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that seemed fragile to me from the inside. Small wooden planks were nailed to one side of the

tree creating the ladder for us to climb. One guide stayed below to hold our ropes as we

climbed, like one of those shady guys at carnivals when you're climbing a fake wall covered in

graffiti and trying to grab a dirty pink plush rabbit at the top.

As I started my ascent, I paused briefly again to touch the seemingly fragile wall, only for

it to give me a sense of reassurance, being firm to the touch as any solid tree would feel. I

breathed in deeply through my nose and whistled out, a common strategy of mine to lower my

heart rate. I could feel the sun begin to warm me the closer I got to the top. I saw the opening

above me and shielded my eyes as they adjusted to the bright sunlight. I stretched my right

hand out to find the platform, but was met with nothing as my hand groped the air then flailed

nervously back to the ladder in the tree. There was no platform.

Through squinted eyes I looked left, right and Doug was gone. I began to panic un-

aware of what to do next when I looked up, and noticed the ladder continued without the reas-

suring tree to surround me. The trunk had begun to curve to the left, leaving the last 10 planks

to be held together by two ropes that were free from any grounding other than the tree beneath

it and the platform above. I anxiously looked down at the guide holding my rope for reassur-

ance, only to see it loosely laid over his shoulder as he leisurely checked his cellphone. He

seemed to have more faith in my ability to climb than I did. I felt helpless, like an infant un-swad-

dled and laid in a crib to cry. The breeze began to push me this way and that as I clung desper-

ately to the last wooden plank inside the comforting hollow tree.

I took a step back down into the tree, and noticed my dad using sloth-like patience and

diligence to navigate the tree ladder. I decided not to break his concentration. Knowing that I

wasn’t going to turn around with him beneath me, I attempted to climb upwards, slowly. I put

one hand in front of the other, and shakily gripped each plank edge with my shoes and fingers

as if I was on the side of the Empire State Building. The ladder vibrated with each nervous

shake, swaying as the breeze began to push upon it. My entire body became rigid, every mus-

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cle contracted with fear as I begged myself to un-kink and move forward to free me from this

nightmare. It was then the over-protective mother started screaming at me, scolding me for

even daring such a ridiculous excursion. How could you think this time dealing with heights to

be any better than the last, or the time before that, or the time before that? You are going to get

hurt! You will never learn.

Still frozen in time, like an ice-man dug from the arctic freeze, I slowly looked down to

see my dad had reached my feet. He was at the top of the tree and was looking up at me with a

determination I began to envy. He nodded at me with stern flat lips, his eyes desperately trying

to persuade me to be brave while they struggled to hide his own fear. “Dad,” I choked out softly,

my eyes beginning to swell with tears. I pouted at him hoping that maybe he wanted to leave

too, that maybe we could climb down together and we could forget this ever happened. As my

breaths got shorter, the anvil got heavier, leaving less and less room for my lungs to expand.

Instead, he looked up at me and took his right hand off the wooden ladder clasping his pointer

finger and thumb together to flash me an “OK” sign.

That seemed to revert me back to a toddler-like state where the only approval I needed

to try the stairs or go down the slide were the comforts of an “‘OK” sign from dad or a thumbs up

from mom. My father was never a very emotional man, but he always had a reasonable answer

for everything, something that I highly respected. He taught me logical reasons to why the sky

was blue, or even why my hamster swelled up and stopped moving in his little house. He always

had a truthful response to any question I had for him no matter how tough the answer would be.

So today, climbing this swinging ladder, he knew the only logical response to this problem was

climbing up the damn ladder and zipping our way down. Franklin D. Roosevelt told us that “the

only thing we have to fear is fear itself,” because even a man faced with a world war, the holo-

caust, and starving citizens knew the only thing that could prevent him from succeeding was the

fear that he wouldn’t. One cannot be present and live in the moment constantly questioning the

future.

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As I clung there, stuck between the ground and the sky, I found my muscles relieving

their tension and steadying me on the ladder. I again began to place hand over hand, and

watched as the planks began to vanish beneath me. I no longer looked down or up, I just

climbed. I knew it wasn’t fast but it felt invigorating. I reached the platform and smacked my

arms onto its floor, pulling myself to victory.

I jumped up triumphantly and placed myself in the front of the line before anyone else

could protest. I flashed our guide a smile and breathlessly told him I wanted to go next as my

heart rammed into my ribcage. He smirked to himself while he strapped me in, and without hes-

itation he gave me a push and I started to fly.

For the first time I leaned back into the air, picking up speed I turned to the left and was

struck with a sight i’ve never seen before and will never see again. Everything around me was

alive. The mountain had broken and I was suspended between two giant peaks. The sky was

gently scattered with puffy white clouds, slowly drifting through emerald canopies. The valley

beneath me flowed down with lush foliage, coming to meet a still blue ocean that looked miles

away. As I tried to absorb all this beauty before me, a quetzal swoops up from below and finds

itself fitted into my line of sight. It matched my speed so perfectly I felt that we were stopped in

time together. I gazed at its powerful green and red wings out stretched in a glide, small feath-

ers flittering on its back. Its tail at least twice the length of its body, I felt I had seen a tropical

phoenix rise from green ashes. As both of us came closer to the canopy I watched it disappear

into the forest effortlessly, silently perching itself upon a branch. After being disconnected from

the wire I gathered myself up, stumbled onto the tree supporting the platform beneath me and

sobbed.

After a few moments I could hear the zip line coming in like an over-sized zipper and

wiped my tears. Doug was disconnected and walked over to me with concern on his face. “I saw

a quetzal! It flew with me into the trees” I told Doug, squeezing his hand as he extended it to

me. He smiled acknowledging my tear streamed cheeks, but knowing that I always preferred

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him to ignore and move on from any emotional outburst I have, he didn't speak. As we made

our way to the next zip, I waited patiently as the guide hooked me into the wires. I felt Doug

give me a playful push with two fingers at the center shoulders causing my body to sway past

the platform edge. I turned my body to face him and pushed off the platform, using his momen-

tum to propel me into the air. I flashed him a cheshire grin that rivaled the stunned look on his

face, forcing his lips to curl into a smile. I can’t lie and say that the over-protective mother in

me wasn’t stomping her feet and ripping out her hair as I leaned and flew over the platform

edge. I can’t lie and say I didn’t feel some air escape my lungs that forced me suck in a deep

breath. What I can say, is that I climbed a swinging tree ladder and flew with a quetzal, and it

feels like only the beginning.