Gerald Young. Yosemite, CA. November, 2016
I remember thinking as a young kid that I didn’t want to lose my sense of wonder. That it was important to me to be as adventurous, curious, and brave as I was as a child. I wanted to hold on to that same person inside of me that would run out without fear towards the farthest boulder in the ocean, or climb as high as I could go. I try to remind myself of that person as much as I can. I have these small moments of felling like I desperately miss that girl who would leap without looking- I’m worried that something in me has fundamentally changed and now I step more carefully on to those sharp rocks, and maybe only climb as far as I can reach where someone else might also be able to reach me. At the same time, I do know that I am still that girl. I do still take big risks and trust (or just flat out hope) that I will land true. Sure there are more synapses developed in the part of my brain that tell me that I should probably look before I jump. I’m a little more cautious with my safety than I was as a reckless, fearless child. What I am leaping towards isn’t necessarily as straightforwards as the next big rock, the next highest branch. But ultimately, I often still jump. Sometimes with what feels like both hands tied behind my back. I leap even when it’s towards a lot of uncertainty, new places in my life both physically and metaphorically. I think one of the biggest differences in how I leap is that I am afraid more often. I am not fearless. It may look like it from the outside in, but I try to not be reckless. Yes I jump, but I think about it a lot before I do. A big part of that is that I am more aware of how my actions affect others. I am more considerate of the people who may worry for my safety. Who may end up coming after me. I think that over the years I have developed a fierce sense of gratitude for those people in my life. Who let me run on the rocks, but were behind me (probably freaking out because they had at least a bit of sense where I did not), and willing to jump after me if I needed. I am so grateful. Dear Dad, thank you for 31 years of letting me jump. 31 years of climbing after me. Happy 61st Birthday. I love you.
This is from a bit of a photo mission with Hubert and John. We didn’t hike up the mountain that day, deciding instead to take the aerial tramway. It wasn’t snowing at home, so we weren’t well dressed for the weather change. Should have known better. Still, we did wander around the top, taking careful steps over steep rocks and trying not to slide in the ice and snow. I took a few shots of Hubert with his camera, and was pleasantly surprised to find that I had captured the snow coming towards my lens.
This One is Mine 