hitting rock bottom
My roommate goes rock climbing every weekend, and she’s been trying to get me to go with her. After a month of excuses, I finally went yesterday. Caught up in the euphoria of the perfect weather, the amazing scenery, and just being away from “it all,” I was pumped up and ready to go.
I strapped on my harness, slapped chalk on my hands, and set off. It wasn’t easy or the least bit pleasant. I had to utilize every muscle in my body, all five of them, and have collected an array of scrapes and bruises on my climb up. Eventually, I made it to the top, and it felt absolutely sublime. I took a deep breath and smiled at the thought of being “one” with nature.
Then, I made a dreadful mistake. I looked down. I hugged that rock for dear life and just froze.
“Just LET GOOOO!” The distant scream came from the bottom.
“III CAAAAANN’T!!!”
But of course I couldn’t stay up there forever. Coming down was even worse than going up. I felt like I was falling backwards into nothingness, and on my way down I got to see all the hard work I put in to climbing up pass me. On the ground, I was right back to where I started, just more beat up.
“I was once in the newspaper for being the richest Korean man in Southern California,” my father said after a night of drinking. He chuckled then said, “It’s a long way down when you’re at the top.” His smile quickly faded into the frozen face- the same face he always made when losing the stack of chips that took so long for him to build. The same face that made me follow my brother and move out.
