Rock Climbing and the Ritual of a Harness Check

Photo Credit: Sebastian Wong

Between the age of 13 to 16, I was pressured by my mother to rock climb. Knowing that I had a natural inclination towards cameras and computers, she pushed me to develop other aspects of myself that would one day be useful as well.

Rock climbing was the only physically demanding Co-Curricular Activity (CCA) that was interesting to me at the time - even if I was afraid of falling. Actually, especially because I was afraid of them.

*Note: I do make a distinction between failing and heights - the latter which I am not afraid and rather enjoy.

I dreaded going for my CCA sessions. A day after homework and studies -  you would think a boy deserves a drink and some computer games - but every Wednesday and Friday, we would be at the indoor hall doing pull ups, looking up at the rock climbing route - tackling the challenges of the day.

But what made it worse was that as I looked up at yet another futile attempt to reach the summit, I was not looking forward to my eventual fall. That moment of zero-gravity; of total non-control. My palms are sweating as I type this...

Due to my fear of falling, I meticulously checked my gear every time. That my harness was as secure as can be. That my shoes were in order. That my figure of 8 knot was done properly; That my carabiner - the sole piece of equipment that literally connected myself to a lifeline was functioning well.

I checked on them because I relied on them to feel secure - because I will fall, even if I reach the top. It is the only way to get back down.

But why am I reflecting on such memories today? Perhaps just as I am afraid of falling, so too am I of failing.

Every attempt to produce successful works in my Documentary life has been akin to rock climbing. I know I will enjoy the view. Yet, I know I will dread my way there. But I do it anyway. I check, both purposefully and in frustration, the elements that will keep me alive in the process.

But after a point in time - it simply becomes a ritual to prepare myself for the journey I willingly signed up for. A journey that will result in falls. But analogies aside for a moment - the stakes are higher and painfully real.

There are palpable costs to taking risks - and as my projects become more ambitious to justify such costs in a journey, so do the implications of others involved in the work. Falling/Failing feels heavier. Though the view at the top is still spectacular - I ask during a brief rest if I knew what I know now, would I still do it?

The summit does not allow me to stay for long to ponder such a question - and the journey down is laughably short compared to the ascent. So now, back on the ground, the same question attached into my mind like a leech, "if I knew what I know now, would I still do it?"

Perhaps fortunately, I have a rather short memory of the pains of the ascent. Though I acknowledge them, emotions are fuzzy at best in recollection. An unintentional coping mechanism? I am not sure, but it is surely a convenient one.

I overheard someone once describing courage as not an act by one who does deeds that others fear - but one that does not yield to the forces for which he fears. - Perhaps this is what my mother was ultimately trying to teach me.

I am preparing for my next ascent.