"Fear Sucks, Let's Ride"

"Fear sucks, let's ride" is a little mantra my dad made up for me about seven years ago. We were getting ready to leave for a family reunion down to Garrett County, Maryland. Even though we go there every year, sometimes twice a year, I was still scared of the drive and the fact that this county is about as far away from civilization as one can get. It seems silly, but right there is my biggest fear: open spaces and unknown places. My dad has a way of making scary things seem comical.; hence how this "fear sucks" thing came into place. Through the years we've struggled to remember the exact phrasing, (for some time it even turned into "Live free, die hard") but the mantra still stands.

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I've spent the past four nights, five days in the unfortunate town of Wells, New York, in the heart of the Adirondacks. An open space in an unknown place. We were finally playing out the trip that Jason and his friend had been planning for months. On the agenda was hiking, kayaking, caving, swimming, fishing, and whatever else the five of us could get our hands on. Day one brought us to a gentle trail that lead to a roaring waterfall known as Auger Falls. It was a hike, and it was a moderately impressive waterfall. Meh. Following that, we spent some time in aggressively cold lake water, and spent the evening eating, playing card games, and saying "bless you" about a hundred times to the guy sneezing across from their campsite. A good start to the trip-but nothing to write home about.

Day two is when it got interesting. Day two challenged me. Jason and I were leaving our cabin (seeing as how we opted out of camping) and heading towards Indian Lake to meet up with the rest of the gang. Around 11am we set off in our five little kayaks on this massive lake - 18 miles around to be exact. An open space. I took deep breaths and willed Jason to stay close to me but did not want to be the weight that held him back. With each paddle, I would nervously look behind me to see just how far from shore I had drifted. I was not even out five minutes before I felt my breathing go shallow, my arms weak, all accompanied by a wave of nausea. Stifling little screams, I paddled myself back to the shoreline. Jason followed me. He knew open spaces had been a fear of mine, so he was mentally prepared for this situation. Calmly he stayed by me until I told him I would be fine on my own, so he should go swim with the rest of our friends. He did and I was glad. It gave me time to sit and think and feel somewhat sheepish. Like a good graduate of Christian school, I put this situation in biblical terms. I thought of Jesus and the disciples when they were on the boat and the storm came through. I told myself, "Hales, it's ok. He's in your boat, too." But it did little for my unsettled mind. From afar, I could see Jason working his way back towards shore, alone. He came up next to me, pulled my kayak to his, and gave me a quick, "How ya' feeling, b?" I saved my breath of telling him to leave because I knew he'd stay with me regardless. He putzed around on the shoreline with me and talked about nothing in particular until he said, "c'mon. Let's go a little further down the shoreline and see what's there." So we did. He lead, I hesitated, but I followed. And soon enough I looked down at my phone to see that we've already been out on the water for four hours, caught many fish, and were proud owners of killer sunburns. And, I spent all those hours, caught all those fish, and obtained all that sunburn, further and further away from shore. Fear sucks, let's ride.

Day three I was on a high. I conquered a fear yesterday so what could stop me now? Chimney Mountain, that's what. We drove 45 minutes to our hiking spot that could only be reached by a dirt road. An unknown place. The first red flag for this excursion is that it required the hikers to sign in once starting the hike, and sign out once finished. Because, "it could save your life." Oi vey, for real. I put my brave face on, gave Jason's hand a quick squeeze, and braced myself for this two hour hike up a mountain. Ten minutes in I came to a freezing halt. Again, that shallow breathing, that weak feeling, and that wave of nausea overcame me and I stopped dead in my tracks. Same routine. Stifled shrieks. Claimed I couldn't do it. And just told everyone else to keep going. Patiently, the other three waited until Jason dismissed them and said "hey, we'll catch up." He hugged me, he told me not to sit on that log 'cause there was a slug there, he asked me what my dad would say in this situation. Fear sucks, let's ride. Slowly but surely, we worked ourselves up the mountain.This hike turned into a literal rock climb on about an eighty degree angle. But let me tell, once I got to the top; there was nothing like it. Mountains for days. More lakes than one can count on two hands. Absolutely unparalleled and unprecedented. And to think, had I given in to my own flesh and given myself to fear, I would've missed all that.

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"Fear sucks, let's ride." If you really think about that phrase, it doesn't make any flipping sense. But again, being scared of open spaces and unknown places doesn't really make any sense either. Each time Jason encouraged me through these anxiety attacks he would ask, "is there anything I could've done differently to help you?" But there really wasn't. He didn't pull at me like a stubborn dog on a leash. He stayed with me, prayed with me, let me choose the pace. Many a people have walked me through these panic attacks; and to each and every one of you I am grateful. Anxiety is a very real thing. And a "thing" I would never wish on anybody. I've tried the therapists, I've tried the deep breathing exercises. I've tried removing myself from the thing that is causing the anxiety. All leave me with embarrassment. All are temporary fixes. It won't be comfortable, facing fears never are, but, if you find your mantra, find your best friend, and find twenty seconds of bravery, and I promise, something incredible will happen.