High Point State Park.

In the needle Veteran Monument on top of High Point. A very friendly local girl manning the info table. Pictures of soldiers. Of historic moments from nearly a century ago. It reminded me of Shipka. Then a staircase spiraling up inside the structure. And then a panic attack, sweat, crawling. And the fresh fear, of heights, for the first time. The feeling of defeat- I, the mountain climber, am now afraid of climbing up a simple staircase.
My husband and my daughter rush in front of me unafraid. She takes my hand and says "come, come". I do. On all fours. I am sure I will fall. I am awake by this fear, suddenly everything seems so clear and near. Large drops of sweat and tears. The stale air inside millions of feet away from the breathtaking view 360 degree outside that I can't see.
"Yes," the girl downstairs says, "some people don't like how the stairs are."
I understand this focus on the self and on what I can produce is rather cowardly and purely selfish. What about the soldiers who died? What about all who sacrifice for something bigger than their own little needs? What about those who produce for the good of others/society? They are far worthier of time spent thinking than the obsession on the self and I hope that I can do more of.