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Photo by Gail Harvey, no reproduction without permission
Capilano My first trip to Vancouver a few years ago didn’t really count in my mind, since it lasted all of four hours and zeroed in on Granville Island Market. I’ve always loved markets, but to say my visit there gave me any sense of the city proper at all would be inaccurate. I’d flown over the Rockies a couple of other times, en route to Victoria and California, so I knew something of their aerial majesty. But this time, possibly because the destination was more charged with happy personal significance the mountain view, both from the air and on terra firma, truly blew my mind. The wee undulations of hill in Prince Edward County seem so tiny now.
When we decided to spend Easter with my wife’s family, it also meant celebrating my 40th birthday on the west coast. This possibility really appealed to me. Not only would I get to see where she grew up, and thus see the city with a genuine Vancouverite guide, but I’d be able to enter my forties on the Capilano Suspension Bridge. Aside from entering a stand-up comedy contest in my twenties, I couldn’t think of anything more terrifying than crossing a suspension bridge. To me, that was the kind of stroll one took in nightmares where no other options existed and someone chased you and the thing snapped just as you reached the middle, in a high wind, etc. Etc. In fact, once we booked our trip west and I mentioned this Capilano plan to a couple of friends, I discovered that my terror of suspension bridges wasn’t mine alone. I began to wonder if one of the Disney flicks of the seventies featured a really bad bridge scene that imprinted a number of young minds. Or should we look to Bridge Over The River Kwai, or Stand By Me, where a trestle bridge incited cinematic panic?
One of the best techniques for making sure you make good on goals is to tell others about said goals. At least, it’s a method that works for me. Because I do not want to be the kind of person who comes home from the trip to Vancouver and then has to admit that after all that preparation, she decided to skip crossing the bridge. Chickened out. It’s not about caring what other people think as much as it is caring about what I think of me. I’m a proud person and more important, I hate the concept of giving in to fears. So if I make a goal of this insane-seeming sort, I like to tell a few people beforehand. To ramp up the nerves and goad myself toward seeing it through. What others think of me matters little. If I ran my life according to that obsession I’d be miserable. But hearing myself saying “I will” out loud works a charm. Hard to explain, but it really does work.
I was really terrified of the IDEA of suspension bridges. And have been, all my life. The swinging and swaying and the possibility of I don’t know what, slippery planks and prankster kids pushing and shoving, it was all very dramatic in my phobic imagination. Helpful people reminded me of the news story wherein a woman dropped her baby off the very same bridge. I’m a lot heavier than the average baby, I told myself, plus I always felt there was more to that story anyway. On my fortieth birthday, and precisely because I had always been afraid of such a walk, I wanted to cross the Capilano Suspension Bridge. Rain or shine. Wind or no wind. It seemed like an excellent way to put the first 40 years of life behind me and march bravely, crazily forward to the next 40.
We arrived, bought tickets, breathed in the lovely cedar scent of the forest and moved toward the bridge. Based on my fear-factor, I think my intrepid ally was prepared for any number of anxiety-related reactions to the experience. I’d joked about appearing on the evening news [which shows my age: news is no longer a six o’clock phenom] and about her having to peel me from the mid-point of the bridge. Hell, I pictured crawling on my hands and knees weeping prayers to heavenly dispatchers I don’t believe in as I hyperventilated my way back to the car.
Maybe it’s because I’d already had a much scarier physical experience earlier this year when we climbed a Mayan ruin at Coba. Nothing like slippery ancient stones on a steep angle in scorching Mexican sun to remind you that you may be a Ram but you’re no mountain goat in the speed-climbing department! Maybe it’s because a year ago I did something else I was afraid I’d never manage, which was to quit smoking with ZERO withdrawal. Crossing the Capilano was actually quite pleasant. The phobia had been, as all phobias are, all in my mind. The bridge did swing and sway, but even when some kids ran past, no death-plunge felt imminent. I was almost disappointed in the lack of terror and tried to bring some on by looking directly over the handrail down at the swirling water below. Nothing but pleasure and amusement. Don’t look down, someone had advised me. I looked down repeatedly. And backwards and forwards. I posed serenely for pictures and took lots myself. At the risk of sounding like Peggy Lee, I found my brain wondering, Is that all there is? It was great, delightful, a moment of pride and certainly an awesome metaphorical way to celebrate my 40th, but it wasn’t scary. No paramedics, shrinks or animal trainers required. A supposedly scary thing I did. Bring on the category 6 roller coasters!
Perspective is crucial. People in war-torn conflict-ridden countries don’t need to seek out ‘terrifying’ situations in order to invigorate signature birthdays. They’re simply grateful to be alive, period, never mind the narcissistic boo-hoo of ‘getting old.’ I was mindful of this as we sat in North American luxury afterward, feasting on spumoni gelato and stiff espressos in a coffee shop on Commercial Drive. Sun shining, cherry trees laden with blossoms, sky blue over those thrilling mountains. We watched a little girl skipping down the sidewalk just as my wife once had, the very same street. Mountains looming large over new childhoods, today, looming and reminding: down here, we’re small yet powerful in our own right. Capable of so much good courage. So much good.
Reading: Only Child, Andrew Vachss
Listening to: Bettye LaVette
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