This essay is part of a series called The Big Ideas, in which writers respond to a single question: What do we fear? You can read more by visiting The Big Ideas series page.
I free soloed Half Dome, in Yosemite National Park, for the first and only time in 2008. I climbed alone, without a rope or protection, and reached the route’s first major difficulty, or crux, about 300 feet up the wall. It was a shallow corner feature that required absolute commitment and execution to manage without falling. I had climbed the wall with a rope before and knew that I was physically capable of doing it, but now, with my life on the line, it suddenly felt much harder. The footholds seemed more slippery, the body positions more tenuous. I was scared, and overgripped with my hands as a result, which only made me tire more quickly. My vision narrowed and my movements got jerkier.
Despite all that, I made it through the crux. I still had 1,700 feet to go.
Fear is an interesting counselor. There are times when it’s incredibly helpful, warning me that I’m not quite ready for a particular challenge. Climbing is inherently scary — even when I’m using a rope there’s some risk of injury, however small, and my body will often set off alarm bells when I’m high above the ground. This reaction comes despite having climbed intensively since childhood. Although my rational mind knows I’m quite safe, my body still reacts to the central fears of pain and death. Sometimes, though, my fear takes on a life of its own, trying to warn me about dangers that are only in my mind.
The key to managing fear is to remember that it’s always driven by a kernel of truth. The problem is that all fear feels the same.
I experience the same sensations in my body whether I’m facing down certain death or about to speak in public. In fact, one of the scariest experiences of my life was giving a TED Talk on the conference’s main stage in 2018. I spent some of my time talking about my experience free soloing Half Dome, yet, ironically, I was probably more afraid during the talk than I was hanging on a rock face hundreds of feet in the air. I’ve always been shy and introverted by nature, but the TED Talk required me to speak in front of an incredibly esteemed audience and, more frighteningly, to memorize my whole presentation. It was basically my worst nightmare, and it felt much scarier than free soloing a big wall.
Thankfully, my rational mind knew that I would still be objectively safe, no matter how scary being onstage felt. And in this case, my fears proved both justified and overblown: I was underprepared, and felt so nervous that I wound up forgetting an entire paragraph of my conclusion. But the audience was none the wiser for my slight fumble, and the talk seemed to be well received.
On my free solo of Half Dome, I got more uneasy as I climbed. By the middle of the wall, at the true crux of the route 1,000 feet up, I was so scared that I impulsively decided to change my path to try to bypass the difficulties. That decision led to a whole host of new doubts and fears stemming from having to adapt to a change I hadn’t planned for. Even though the new route worked, my mind continued to fray. By the top of the wall, I felt hollowed out. I’d been suppressing, managing and generally wallowing in my fear for far too long — much longer than the three hours it took to complete the climb. I succeeded, but it felt like a failure because I’d been afraid the whole time.
People sometimes assume that because I free solo I must not feel fear, or that I’m simply wired differently. But the truth is probably the opposite: I’ve just gotten scared so much that I’ve learned how to better understand my fears. I’ve done dozens of serious solos, like Half Dome, and countless easier ones. I’ve even lived through giving a TED Talk. Each one has been scary in its own way. But I know when to listen to those warnings from my body, and I’ve learned to differentiate between real, physical danger and general anxiety.
That, I believe, is the true gift of my experience as a climber. As long as I know I’m not in real danger, I have nothing to fear.
The post Learning to Live With Fear appeared first on New York Times.