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Starting The Rebellion
by Julia Southerland
As a child I feared most things; the dark, strangers, cars randomly blowing up, strange
food, planes crashing, nursery rhymes, etc. One of my worst fears was heights, and it
continued to follow me as I aged. At 13 I turned down an opportunity to climb Uluru in
Australia. My brother did, and part of me was always jealous even though I knew I wouldn't
survive the thin walkway up a giant rock, never mind there were no restraints or safety nets. At
every amusement park I stayed back from tall rides, went to retrieve snacks or held onto toys
won at fair games while the others had fun. My family has a farm in North Carolina and my
father always took me to Grandfather Mountain and the Swinging Bridge, only to look from afar
as neither of us could climb up it or get across it. It comforted me that I somewhat shared this
fear with my father, though it became clear I was much more worse off than him.
As I got older, my parents grew concerned as my childhood fears manifested
themselves into full-blown teenage panic attacks. A shrink told me it was “generalized anxiety
disorder,” a condition that meant I was pre-disposed to feeling extreme physical symptoms of
anxiety that could be triggered by fears, surroundings, or anything, really. It was like a small
part of me was always questioning whether what I was doing was going to put me in danger,
and that part of me was always capable of leaping to the worst possible conclusion for each
scenario. That fearful part of me manifested itself into an over-protective mother. The kind of
mother who homeschooled her only child as to never have to be without them, and did
consistent background checks on the neighbors. She’d unwrap every piece of her child’s candy
on Halloween to check for poison, and most likely holds a picture of them to her chest each
night, afraid that if she discontinued this routine her child would certainly perish in a freak
accident. She always had my best interests at heart, but paranoia always outranked logic. I
knew she was part of me and I felt defenseless, doomed to her interminable discipline.

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At 21 I had the opportunity to zip-line in Costa Rica with my father, step-mother Mary,
and boyfriend Doug. Actually, my father booked two separate zip-lining trips, for some
ridiculous reason that I protested. However, Mary and Doug were both much more adventurous
in this area and were quick to argue in its defense, and I decided to accept the challenge
knowing the amount of safety measures taken for this type of activity. The first place we went to
stood high in the mountains near Arenal, one zip line cable being 656 feet above the ground. It
was raining steadily that day, and we were in a group of 20-25 tourists which consisted of
mainly over-weight women travel agents on one of their many free vacations doing “test runs”
for their clients. This did cause me to reconsider my career path, if only briefly. As we geared
up for the zip-line I noticed just how high up we were, and immediately I felt a wave of heat go
through my body, sending a nervous shiver down my spine. I gripped Doug’s hand for courage
as I felt the tears coming.
It’s important that I tell you I have the emotional capacity of your average Kristen Bell.
On the happiness scale of 1-10, if I am anywhere between 1-3 or 7-10 I will be crying. Both
sadness and happiness at these extreme levels cause me to go into panic mode, especially if
sprung upon me in a surprise fashion. As I performed breathing exercises and closed my eyes
imagining myself at sea level, I decided to focus on the guides as they explain the safety
measures hoping that might help calm me. I quickly realized the extent in which this company
went to keep you locked in tight. They used one of their own as a demonstration, and after
strapping him in he looked like a rainforest astronaut with a bulky helmet, thick gloves, and 6 or
more buckles locked into the wire. I tried to convince myself that the straps weren't going to
break, but I still couldn’t shake the impending anvil that was starting to press itself onto my
chest. I heard the over-protective mother tap me on the shoulder and whisper words of panic
into my ear as she pointed down towards the valley beneath us.
I quickly smiled showing teeth in an effort to fake happiness, a trick I used during my
customer service days. One man chickened out at the last second, he shouted “No! No! Nope!”

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loudly at the tour guide as he backed away and threw his hands up trying franticly to unbuckle
himself from the straps. I could see him shaking from 10 feet away. He was then forced to walk
miles down the mountain with his tail between his legs, his back flooded with disappointing
glares from friends. His embarrassing exit provided a small distraction which lifted the anvil a
few inches, and I took a big breath.
The rain was relentless that day, it poured for hours on end. The droplets felt like thumb
tacks on my cheeks as I flew through the air. Even if I wanted to open my eyes during flight,
they’d only be met with the piercing sting of a cold rain drop and a view of ash colored fog. I
turned my head, shut my eyes, and held my breath through each zip if only to survive the pelting
rain. The excursion went very slowly as we had to wait a long time in-between each zip for the
rest of the group. Get stung by rain for 20 seconds, stand cold in line for 20 minutes, repeat.
This place was the epitome of giant over-priced shitty action adventure businesses that care
more about quantity than quality.
At the end we were soaked and disappointed; our faces were pink from each painful
sting as we attempted to warm ourselves in the common area where tourists bought spicy hot
chocolate and Doritos. My father reassured all of us that the next time we will be zipping in the
canopy, this new company has higher ratings among travel critics and other websites as well. I
rolled my eyes so obviously it hurt, prompting Doug to give my leg a reassuring squeeze. How
do I tell them it’s hard to enjoy these experiences when you have an anvil hovering over your
chest, never knowing when the rope will break and you will be crushed? I felt ashamed. I was
handed once in a life-time opportunities to see so much of the beautiful world around me, but
the over-protective mother in me refused to loosen her grip.
A few days later we were staying in a tree house lodge and headed up the mountain to a
different zip-line company, the first perk being that this experience was private for my family
only. I had also planned differently this time. There were two shots of tequila taken in tandem,
Donna Meagle style, before this excursion. I remained mentally numb as we rode up to the first

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zip. The new guides told us that after this first ride we would occasionally be walking to the next
zip and to be cautious of animal activity. This excited me as we enjoyed the occasional animal
visitor, and we were clearly going to be much closer to the ground. My father and I share our
fear of heights but we also share our love of animals.
My father studied Ecology in Costa Rica back in the 80’s for his P.hD, and he has been
talking about taking us there as long as I can remember. He raved about beautiful toucans,
fuzzy sloths and striking geckos. He knew just how to convince me, though much convincing
was not needed. Back when I was 11, my father took me and my brother to The Galapagos and
Ecuador, where I witnessed special ecosystems that exist no where else in the world. Along
with the blue footed boobies, snot-rocket blowing iguanas, and singing finches, I found myself
falling in love with the rainbow colored quetzals. Every morning as I ate breakfast overlooking a
valley in the El Choco rainforest, a quetzal would come and serenade me in the warm summer
sun. All my dad needed to say was that I had another shot to see one in Costa Rica.
The first few zips provided stunning views of the canopies. Today the sky was clear and
the air was calm. A slight breeze began to push west as we soared through the trees. With the
comfort of mother nature and my loved ones, I slowly began to trust the complicated
contraptions holding me to the wires, keeping me from becoming a screaming pancake on the
forest floor, not to mention allowing me to actually open my eyes and enjoy the views.
After one zip we headed down a dirt trail that ended at a hollow Centennial tree. Mary
and Doug quickly began inspecting the tree awaiting instruction, while my father hung back a
little more hesitantly with me. I gazed up to see its infinite expanse into the canopy, staring
lifelessly the guide swiftly grabbed my shoulder throwing me back into reality and told us to
head up inside. There was a ladder we had to climb to get to our next point, which of course he
had to mention so vivaciously how beautiful the view was since it was their highest platform that
took us from one side of the mountain to the other. I followed behind Doug and Mary as they
rushed up into the tree. I braced shortly at the bottom, looking around at this massive hollow

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structure that seemed fragile to me from the inside. Small wooden planks were nailed to one
side of the tree creating the ladder for us to climb. One guide stayed below to hold our ropes as
we climbed, like one of those shady guys at carnivals when you're climbing a fake wall covered
in graffiti and trying to grab a dirty pink plush rabbit at the top.
As I started my ascent, I paused briefly again to touch the seemingly fragile wall, only for
it to give me a sense of reassurance, being firm to the touch as any solid tree would feel. I
breathed in deeply through my nose and whistled out, a common strategy of mine to lower my
heart rate. I could feel the sun begin to warm me the closer I got to the top. I saw the opening
above me and shielded my eyes as they adjusted to the bright sunlight. I stretched my right
hand out to find the platform, but was met with nothing as my hand groped the air then flailed
nervously back to the ladder in the tree. There was no platform.
Through squinted eyes I looked left, right and Doug was gone. I began to panic
unaware of what to do next when I looked up, and noticed the ladder continued without the
reassuring tree to surround me. The trunk had begun to curve to the left, leaving the last 10
planks to be held together by two ropes that were free from any grounding other than the tree
beneath it and the platform above. I anxiously looked down at the guide holding my rope for
reassurance, only to see it loosely laid over his shoulder as he leisurely checked his cellphone.
He seemed to have more faith in my ability to climb than I did. I felt helpless, like an infant un-
swaddled and laid in a crib to cry. The breeze began to push me this way and that as I clung
desperately to the last wooden plank inside the comforting hollow tree.
I took a step back down into the tree, and noticed my dad using sloth-like patience and
diligence to navigate the tree ladder. I decided not to break his concentration. Knowing that I
wasn’t going to turn around with him beneath me, I attempted to climb upwards, slowly. I put
one hand in front of the other, and shakily gripped each plank edge with my shoes and fingers
as if I was on the side of the Empire State Building. The ladder vibrated with each nervous
shake, swaying as the breeze began to push upon it. My entire body became rigid, every

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muscle contracted with fear as I begged myself to un-kink and move forward to free me from
this nightmare. It was then the over-protective mother started screaming at me, scolding me for
even daring such a ridiculous excursion. How could you think this time dealing with heights to
be any better than the last, or the time before that, or the time before that? You are going to get
hurt! You will never learn.
Still frozen in time, like an ice-man dug from the arctic freeze, I slowly looked down to
see my dad had reached my feet. He was at the top of the tree and was looking up at me with a
determination I began to envy. He nodded at me with stern flat lips, his eyes desperately trying
to persuade me to be brave while they struggled to hide his own fear. “Dad,” I choked out softly,
my eyes beginning to swell with tears. I pouted at him hoping that maybe he wanted to leave
too, that maybe we could climb down together and we could forget this ever happened. As my
breaths got shorter, the anvil got heavier, leaving less and less room for my lungs to expand.
Instead, he looked up at me and took his right hand off the wooden ladder clasping his pointer
finger and thumb together to flash me an “OK” sign.
That seemed to revert me back to a toddler-like state where the only approval I needed
to try the stairs or go down the slide were the comforts of an “‘OK” sign from dad or a thumbs up
from mom. My father was never a very emotional man, but he always had a reasonable answer
for everything, something that I highly respected. He taught me logical reasons to why the sky
was blue, or even why my hamster swelled up and stopped moving in his little house. He always
had a truthful response to any question I had for him no matter how tough the answer would be.
So today, climbing this swinging ladder, he knew the only logical response to this problem was
climbing up the damn ladder and zipping our way down. Franklin D. Roosevelt told us that “the
only thing we have to fear is fear itself,” because even a man faced with a world war, the
holocaust, and starving citizens knew the only thing that could prevent him from succeeding was
the fear that he wouldn’t. One cannot be present and live in the moment constantly questioning
the future.

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As I clung there, stuck between the ground and the sky, I found my muscles relieving
their tension and steadying me on the ladder. I again began to place hand over hand, and
watched as the planks began to vanish beneath me. I no longer looked down or up, I just
climbed. I knew it wasn’t fast but it felt invigorating. I reached the platform and smacked my
arms onto its floor, pulling myself to victory.
I jumped up triumphantly and placed myself in the front of the line before anyone else
could protest. I flashed our guide a smile and breathlessly told him I wanted to go next as my
heart rammed into my ribcage. He smirked to himself while he strapped me in, and without
hesitation he gave me a push and I started to fly.
For the first time I leaned back into the air, picking up speed I turned to the left and was
struck with a sight i’ve never seen before and will never see again. Everything around me was
alive. The mountain had broken and I was suspended between two giant peaks. The sky was
gently scattered with puffy white clouds, slowly drifting through emerald canopies. The valley
beneath me flowed down with lush foliage, coming to meet a still blue ocean that looked miles
away. As I tried to absorb all this beauty before me, a quetzal swoops up from below and finds
itself fitted into my line of sight. It matched my speed so perfectly I felt that we were stopped in
time together. I gazed at its powerful green and red wings out stretched in a glide, small
feathers flittering on its back. Its tail at least twice the length of its body, I felt I had seen a
tropical phoenix rise from green ashes. As both of us came closer to the canopy I watched it
disappear into the forest effortlessly, silently perching itself upon a branch. After being
disconnected from the wire I gathered myself up, stumbled onto the tree supporting the platform
beneath me and sobbed.
After a few moments I could hear the zip line coming in like an over-sized zipper and
wiped my tears. Doug was disconnected and walked over to me with concern on his face. “I saw
a quetzal! It flew with me into the trees” I told Doug, squeezing his hand as he extended it to
me. He smiled acknowledging my tear streamed cheeks, but knowing that I always preferred

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him to ignore and move on from any emotional outburst I have, he didn't speak. As we made
our way to the next zip, I waited patiently as the guide hooked me into the wires. I felt Doug
give me a playful push with two fingers at the center shoulders causing my body to sway past
the platform edge. I turned my body to face him and pushed off the platform, using his
momentum to propel me into the air. I flashed him a cheshire grin that rivaled the stunned look
on his face, forcing his lips to curl into a smile. I can’t lie and say that the over-protective mother
in me wasn’t stomping her feet and ripping out her hair as I leaned and flew over the platform
edge. I can’t lie and say I didn’t feel some air escape my lungs that forced me suck in a deep
breath. What I can say, is that I climbed a swinging tree ladder and flew with a quetzal, and it
feels like only the beginning.