“You’re clinging to a face, left hand on a solid hold, right foot wedged sideways against an vertical line and the other stood precariously on a centimetre-wide ledge. Your right hand is above your head, feeling desperately for something to grasp, anything, but nothing presents itself. Your left arm is burning hard, and you can feel your grip weakening. A glance down shows the rope trailing away beneath you, the last anchoring bolt out of sight, and you feel the shiver of fear closing you down. Still nothing for the right hand but bare rock and empty air, and you think: shit.”
The paragraph above is all about climbing, about the fear of falling, and its not something you get when you have a rope already up and you know you won’t fall more than a few centimetres. It’s taking the lead, knowing that your grip and sweet all else is keeping you from plummeting off the side of a cliff, that keeps you focussed. It is primal and it is scary.
In a little over 15 months, I will qualify from my course and take on the weight of responsibility that entails.
I’m in a relationship that’s now getting truly committed, and it’s a new journey for me (tacky as that sounds).
After years of studentdom I’m now living in a financially precarious position on a mountain of debt.*
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