I looked up at him from the floor, wondering how it was that he could climb so high with so little to hold on to.

The room had an extremely high ceiling. The walls were covered with artifical rock hand-holds. It smelled like sweat and Vitamin Water and chalk hand-dust. His green eyes flickered as he looked down at me, at the floor. His muscular arms searched the wall for something higher, something firmer to hold on to.

And I found myself, standing there with this rope hooked into my climing harness, wondering how he could trust me enough to hold his life in my hands. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to relax until his feet touched the ground, until I knew that he was safe.

I couldn’t bear the thought that I could ever let him fall, that I might one day let him down, let the rope slip.

And isn’t it such, with life? Everyone, clipped together, not with carabiners and rope but with emotions and shared experience and togetherness.

Trusting that the person standing on the floor won’t let us fall.