Guggen-heights

I'm not afraid of heights except when I'm somewhere that's up really high in the air. When I was little, I wasn't afraid of heights even then. I was afraid of elevators. I didn't trust them to stop themselves, and so I took the stairs--often dragging the rest of my family or at least one member with me--no matter how tall our destination.

My brother has always been afraid of heights and once stopped me from looking out at the top of a Look-Out we had summited together when we were small children.

"Get back, Rebecca!" he cried, throwing his arm to block me from approaching the safety railing. We went back down again without seeing anything.

I was reminded of this the other night at the Guggenheim. I'd never been there, and the spiraling, ascending design really was beautiful until I looked over the edge at the glittering gala-attendees below. After that it was terrifying. I saw myself plummeting the several stories to my death amid silver tray-laden servers passing chicken satay on sticks.

"Get back!" I cried, throwing my arm to block Tiffany and Rob from approaching the curved railing. I understood my brother's arm from so many years ago. If you love people, a fear of heights is like a blanket you can't help but throw over them to prevent them from seeing anything. It's why I'll never sky-dive. And why Tiffany never will either.

I wanted to laugh at myself, but I didn't see anything funny about our altitude. So I just took Tiffany's hand in my sweaty palm and we three walked on together.