Irony
A little over 3 years ago, my daughter and I headed down to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, and then we hiked back up again. We made this journey over 3 days, the second day spending time hiking at the bottom. You can read about our adventures in the following blog posts: Down, Don’t Look Up, and And Back Up Again,
After our adventure on foot, I decided to celebrate by sending myself up in the sky. We traveled a little farther south in Arizona to Sedona. There, I got up at 5 in the morning to head out in a hot air balloon. 18 of us traveled in a giant basket, suspended in the sky by a big balloon. It was eerily quiet and the views were stupendous. I took way too many pictures. During the experience I kept thinking, “Stop taking pictures! Just look at all the beauty!” I would stop for a few moments, just inhale the amazing views through my eyes, and then bring the cell phone back up to my face so that I could capture a few more incredible vistas.
A few weeks ago, That One Guy (TOG) and I were talking about what it is like in a hot air balloon. That morning here in SLC, the wind was blowing like crazy and he commented that it would be wild to be in a hot air balloon in that weather. I said, “Nope, not going to happen. Hot air balloons only go up at dawn and dusk, when the air is calmest. I have had rides I was supposed to go on cancelled because it was too windy.” I then asked TOG if he would go on a hot air balloon. He said probably not. He wasn’t interested in being blown around in a balloon that couldn’t be steered. I explained that there would be a follow car that would track the balloon and meet it when it landed. He asked, “Can the follow car steer the balloon?” “No, it cannot,” I answered. I proceeded to show him the photos I took while I was up in the balloon. He agreed that it looked pretty impressive, but he had no interest in climbing in a basket to go a few thousand feet up into the sky.
After sharing the pictures of the balloon-eye view, I decided to show him the earlier pictures. These were of my hike through the Grand Canyon. These views were also beautiful, but they were taken when my feet were on the ground. I explained that you had to go down into the Canyon and then hike back up. There was no way to start at the Grand Canyon from the bottom. I shared that you could also go down and up via a mule. I said there was no way I was going to get on a mule. “Why not?” TOG asked. I explained that on a mule I would be 3 feet off the ground. I couldn’t control the mule, like I controlled my feet when I was hiking. I explained that I would be spending the entire time on the mountain afraid. I would be afraid of not having control of where my body was going, just 3 feet off the ground.
TOG laughed. He said I was “cute.” “Cute? “ I asked. “Why does that make me cute?” “Don’t you see?” he said. “You think it’s fine to be a few 1,000 feet off the ground in a balloon that can’t be steered, but you are scared of getting on a mule that will only hold you 3 feet off the ground. I think that’s irony!” I tried to reason with him. I told him how I liked having control of my feet, how I preferred skiing to snowboarding since you had control of your two feet there, rather than having the two feet plastered to the same board. TOG wasn’t buying any of it. He thought my choices for fear were a little quirky.
I tried to think back to the two journeys. I remember watching those mules as we teetered on the edge of the canyon, sometimes 4,000 feet from the bottom. Still, I had control of my feet and those other folks, they were relying on someone else’s feet, not even another person. TOG had me Google “Deaths at the Grand Canyon by mule.” We couldn’t find any. There have been 70 deaths in hot air balloon incidents since 1964. Still, not a lot of deaths but more than by mule in the Grand Canyon. I don’t know why, I just couldn’t get my head around the balloon being more frightening than the mule. For some reason I felt perfectly fine floating in an untethered, non-steerable balloon. Granted, the sound of the gas expelling into the balloon scared me, and I wasn’t too crazy about being at the very edge of the basket, but still I was okay floating up in the air with no official destination.
When my body has a reaction to something, my stomach tightens and I feel unsure: that’s fear. I can’t control what my body is fearful of and what it’s totally comfortable doing. During the winter, I slide down mountains going close to 30 mph with 2 sticks attached to my feet. But when TOG wants me to go tubing on a giant inner tube down a hill in a local park, I get anxious. That feeling in my stomach shows up. But it’s a giant inner tube! I’m connected to the ground in what’s like an enormous air bag. I shouldn’t be scared! But tubing scares me when skiing doesn’t. Another one of my quirks.
I find it curious to observe my fears. Do my fears actually “save” me? Do they protect me from dangerous things? If you look at the data from the mule/balloon example, apparently they don’t. Was there an experience in my life that has led me to fear the mule and not the balloon? Not that I can remember. I’ve been on many hundreds of airplane rides. Perhaps that decreases the ballon fear? But airplanes are steered. Here’s the real question: are my fears valuable? Only if I would have been hurt riding the mule. But who knows?
