Climb the Tree:
How the Courageous Help the Cautious
Can a person’s cautious temperament, at times, impede the individual by becoming a fear of the unknown? All experiences were new to us once and for cautious natured individuals, myself included, we benefit from a push from someone on the opposite end of that spectrum from caution to courage. We need someone who is bold, believing confidently in their ability to succeed in all matters. One who chooses to see us as an extension of their success and therefore chooses to believe in our abilities as well. Those individuals can push us past our insecurities and help us succeed.
I have always pushed caution in my children. “Watch out! Don’t climb up there! You will fall and split your head open!” I would frantically yell at my kids, when they were younger and not the teenagers before me now. I guarded them with love in my heart, following that all too maternal instinct to that which I had given life.
I remember scolding myself severely for the one time my son, Craig; had as a toddler, wandered twenty feet from my side and discovered a hornet’s nest on the tail end of his grandfather’s trailer in the backyard. I still hear his cries in my head when I think about the incident and tense up, as if it had happened yesterday. I should have prevented this trauma in my mind. I still hold myself accountable all these years later. Craig is fourteen now and remembers nothing of the experience of being stung by those vicious flying terrors.
Being stung and bit by various flying insects; from bees, to wasps, to hornets, as well as non- flying critters like spiders and beetles. Spending most of my childhood in a very rural area, I wandered through the woods almost every day, exploring. I caught tadpoles from streams, cupping the murky water in my hands to see if they had started to sprout their legs before dropping them back into their watery homes. I also was very fortunate to have my best friend who owned a horse. We fed, rode and even shoveled its manure. Maybe that is why I was so surprised when Craig was instantly afraid of horses at twelve years old. It was unfathomable to me.
My son, daughter, and I were visiting a stable where my niece, Sarah, had started horse lessons. Sarah wanted us to come see her ride. I knew horses could be dangerous so I had prepared my kids with the directions. I instructed them not to walk behind a horse, as it cannot see them and may kick, and to watch the horse’s ears as the ears convey the horse’s mood. If the ears go back the horse is grumpy. Leave it alone! My daughter knew these rules and was not dissuaded. She pet every horse she came to and told all of them how very pretty they were. My son wasn’t going anywhere near those horses. He was glued to my side. One horse caught my eye. It was in its stall, lazily peaking its big tawny head out with half-open eyes, conveying a certain boredom with the whole kids in the barn situation. With my coaxing, Craig had slowly reached his shaky hand out to pet this horse, watching it closely for signs of his impending doom. The sound of a door opening peaked the horse’s interest. Its ears went up and it casually blinked and turned its head to the side. Craig jumped.
“I just can’t. I don’t have to. Do I?” he complained, retracting his hand.
“I think I just don’t like horses” he said.
Coming home that day, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of sadness. No child should be so afraid of a horse. Horses were, in my mind, beautiful creatures of nature. Thinking back on my childhood, I realized I had once been afraid of many creatures in nature. I hadn’t always been the free woods roaming spirit. Once I had been too afraid to even climb a tree. But, someone believed in me and pushed me to believe in myself. That person was Christine.
Christine was the same age as me, but since she was in a grade above me, in kid speak she was a year older than me. She used this to persuade me she knew more and I should follow her advice and suggestions. The truth is she was bossy. But I didn’t mind. I was a passive kid and had no real desire to be the leader of the pack. Besides Christine always had great ideas and we had the best adventures together. She was a 4’10” battery of incessant creative energy and she knew she could achieve anything she put her mind to.
One day Christine decided she and I were climbing a tree that stood at the top of the hill in front of her house. She hadn’t climbed it before, but she knew it would be fun.
I, however, was less convinced of this promise of fun. The tree was a good thirty feet tall, looming over me. Its branches swayed in the wind. The leaves rustled as it released a long, low creak like the wooden floor of an old house would when you walked on it. Christine must have seen my face drop because she immediately insisted I go first. She had a plan. Slowly, I climbed up the first few branches with Christine close behind me and then stopped.
“I’m done. I’m coming down.” I said, defeated.
“But we haven’t climbed the tree yet!” Christine insisted.
“I can’t. I don’t think tree climbing is for me.” I said looking down at her from my perch. Her brows furrowed as her determined brown eyes met mine.
“ You’re gonna climb the tree, Annette, ” she said, following it a firm push to my rear and then giving my leg a good poking with her pointer finger,“ Climb the tree!”
I did climb the tree that day, nearly to the top. We could see the grayish black roof shingles of her parent’s house from up there and all of our hop-scotch and four square chalk drawings for games we played etched onto the concrete cul-de-sac. The combination of a tart yet sweet smell of persimmons blew through the wind from the neighboring trees. A feeling of excitement swelled in my stomach. The adrenalin rush of pushing through the experience and the pride of conquering it felt amazing.
Afterward, I had told Christine how scared I had been and how I hadn’t thought I was going to make it into that tree. She casually told me she knew I could climb it and that it was no big deal. She said if she could climb it then I could climb it. How could she know so strongly what I was capable of doing? She believed in me in the same way she believed in herself.
The memory of my tree climbing adventure with Christine spurred me to sign Craig up for horse riding lessons. Sarah adored her instructor and I was determined to help Craig overcome his fear of horses. Craig had watched Sarah ride in the indoor arena many times with me and had become a bit more familiar with horses. He could bring himself to pet them if they were securely in their stalls and had begrudgingly accepted he would have to, at least try a riding lesson. Craig had also met Kristi, Sarah’s instructor, and had heard Sarah’s praise of her.
The day came when Craig had his first lesson. The car ride to the barn was quiet with Craig’s responses to my efforts of conversation becoming one or two words at most. His elbow was propped against the window ledge with his hand in his sandy blonde hair. His green eyes looked out the window, his face expressionless. When we arrived, Craig walked slowly with his hands in his pockets, looking at the ground. Kristi cheerfully called him into the arena where she held a chestnut brown horse by its bridle next to a plastic stepping block. He quietly entered the arena. As Kristi began explaining to Craig how the lesson would go, I couldn’t help thinking how her exuberant energy and positive, driven attitude reminded me of someone. Craig looked up from the soft dirt ground and timidly met Kristi’s eyes. Kristi smiled and told him how she had rode horses for years and assured him he was going to do great. Then, with no pause for him to object, she led him onto the step and helped guide his foot into the saddle stirrup.
As I watched Craig saddle up for the first time, I saw the tree again and my memory of Christine. Her brown eyes looking up at me with that determined confidence, I could hear her voice, “Climb the tree, Annette. Climb the tree!”
Craig’s face, though pensive during the beginning of the lesson, slowly relaxed as he walked the chestnut gelding in large circles. He pulled gently on the reins and stopped the horse when instructed. When Kristi would compliment him on his progress, he would crack a small smile.
Unlike the car ride to the barn, the car ride home Craig was very talkative.
“Did you see me? I used my heels and got that horse to walk!” Craig beamed, smiling from ear to ear.
“You did wonderful, Craig!” I cheered.
“Did you know the horse I rode is called a gelding? His name is Gizmo. Isn’t that a funny name? But I like the name Gizmo.” He rambled excitedly.
Two years have passed since Craig’s first ride on Gizmo. While the horse he rides now has changed to a different gelding named Dandy, his instructor has not changed. Kristi is still here, pushing Craig past his insecurities and helping him succeed each step of the way. She has taken him from trotting to cantering, to most recently bringing the horse to a full-out gallop. Kristi is passing her bold courage, like a torch, to Craig and helping him take on new challenges, just as Christine helped me to climb trees. I can’t help but smile and think how fortunate Craig and I are to have these courageous women in our lives! They are the driving force that pushes us past our struggles with our cautious nature.
.
How the Courageous Help the Cautious
Can a person’s cautious temperament, at times, impede the individual by becoming a fear of the unknown? All experiences were new to us once and for cautious natured individuals, myself included, we benefit from a push from someone on the opposite end of that spectrum from caution to courage. We need someone who is bold, believing confidently in their ability to succeed in all matters. One who chooses to see us as an extension of their success and therefore chooses to believe in our abilities as well. Those individuals can push us past our insecurities and help us succeed.
I have always pushed caution in my children. “Watch out! Don’t climb up there! You will fall and split your head open!” I would frantically yell at my kids, when they were younger and not the teenagers before me now. I guarded them with love in my heart, following that all too maternal instinct to that which I had given life.
I remember scolding myself severely for the one time my son, Craig; had as a toddler, wandered twenty feet from my side and discovered a hornet’s nest on the tail end of his grandfather’s trailer in the backyard. I still hear his cries in my head when I think about the incident and tense up, as if it had happened yesterday. I should have prevented this trauma in my mind. I still hold myself accountable all these years later. Craig is fourteen now and remembers nothing of the experience of being stung by those vicious flying terrors.
Being stung and bit by various flying insects; from bees, to wasps, to hornets, as well as non- flying critters like spiders and beetles. Spending most of my childhood in a very rural area, I wandered through the woods almost every day, exploring. I caught tadpoles from streams, cupping the murky water in my hands to see if they had started to sprout their legs before dropping them back into their watery homes. I also was very fortunate to have my best friend who owned a horse. We fed, rode and even shoveled its manure. Maybe that is why I was so surprised when Craig was instantly afraid of horses at twelve years old. It was unfathomable to me.
My son, daughter, and I were visiting a stable where my niece, Sarah, had started horse lessons. Sarah wanted us to come see her ride. I knew horses could be dangerous so I had prepared my kids with the directions. I instructed them not to walk behind a horse, as it cannot see them and may kick, and to watch the horse’s ears as the ears convey the horse’s mood. If the ears go back the horse is grumpy. Leave it alone! My daughter knew these rules and was not dissuaded. She pet every horse she came to and told all of them how very pretty they were. My son wasn’t going anywhere near those horses. He was glued to my side. One horse caught my eye. It was in its stall, lazily peaking its big tawny head out with half-open eyes, conveying a certain boredom with the whole kids in the barn situation. With my coaxing, Craig had slowly reached his shaky hand out to pet this horse, watching it closely for signs of his impending doom. The sound of a door opening peaked the horse’s interest. Its ears went up and it casually blinked and turned its head to the side. Craig jumped.
“I just can’t. I don’t have to. Do I?” he complained, retracting his hand.
“I think I just don’t like horses” he said.
Coming home that day, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of sadness. No child should be so afraid of a horse. Horses were, in my mind, beautiful creatures of nature. Thinking back on my childhood, I realized I had once been afraid of many creatures in nature. I hadn’t always been the free woods roaming spirit. Once I had been too afraid to even climb a tree. But, someone believed in me and pushed me to believe in myself. That person was Christine.
Christine was the same age as me, but since she was in a grade above me, in kid speak she was a year older than me. She used this to persuade me she knew more and I should follow her advice and suggestions. The truth is she was bossy. But I didn’t mind. I was a passive kid and had no real desire to be the leader of the pack. Besides Christine always had great ideas and we had the best adventures together. She was a 4’10” battery of incessant creative energy and she knew she could achieve anything she put her mind to.
One day Christine decided she and I were climbing a tree that stood at the top of the hill in front of her house. She hadn’t climbed it before, but she knew it would be fun.
I, however, was less convinced of this promise of fun. The tree was a good thirty feet tall, looming over me. Its branches swayed in the wind. The leaves rustled as it released a long, low creak like the wooden floor of an old house would when you walked on it. Christine must have seen my face drop because she immediately insisted I go first. She had a plan. Slowly, I climbed up the first few branches with Christine close behind me and then stopped.
“I’m done. I’m coming down.” I said, defeated.
“But we haven’t climbed the tree yet!” Christine insisted.
“I can’t. I don’t think tree climbing is for me.” I said looking down at her from my perch. Her brows furrowed as her determined brown eyes met mine.
“ You’re gonna climb the tree, Annette, ” she said, following it a firm push to my rear and then giving my leg a good poking with her pointer finger,“ Climb the tree!”
I did climb the tree that day, nearly to the top. We could see the grayish black roof shingles of her parent’s house from up there and all of our hop-scotch and four square chalk drawings for games we played etched onto the concrete cul-de-sac. The combination of a tart yet sweet smell of persimmons blew through the wind from the neighboring trees. A feeling of excitement swelled in my stomach. The adrenalin rush of pushing through the experience and the pride of conquering it felt amazing.
Afterward, I had told Christine how scared I had been and how I hadn’t thought I was going to make it into that tree. She casually told me she knew I could climb it and that it was no big deal. She said if she could climb it then I could climb it. How could she know so strongly what I was capable of doing? She believed in me in the same way she believed in herself.
The memory of my tree climbing adventure with Christine spurred me to sign Craig up for horse riding lessons. Sarah adored her instructor and I was determined to help Craig overcome his fear of horses. Craig had watched Sarah ride in the indoor arena many times with me and had become a bit more familiar with horses. He could bring himself to pet them if they were securely in their stalls and had begrudgingly accepted he would have to, at least try a riding lesson. Craig had also met Kristi, Sarah’s instructor, and had heard Sarah’s praise of her.
The day came when Craig had his first lesson. The car ride to the barn was quiet with Craig’s responses to my efforts of conversation becoming one or two words at most. His elbow was propped against the window ledge with his hand in his sandy blonde hair. His green eyes looked out the window, his face expressionless. When we arrived, Craig walked slowly with his hands in his pockets, looking at the ground. Kristi cheerfully called him into the arena where she held a chestnut brown horse by its bridle next to a plastic stepping block. He quietly entered the arena. As Kristi began explaining to Craig how the lesson would go, I couldn’t help thinking how her exuberant energy and positive, driven attitude reminded me of someone. Craig looked up from the soft dirt ground and timidly met Kristi’s eyes. Kristi smiled and told him how she had rode horses for years and assured him he was going to do great. Then, with no pause for him to object, she led him onto the step and helped guide his foot into the saddle stirrup.
As I watched Craig saddle up for the first time, I saw the tree again and my memory of Christine. Her brown eyes looking up at me with that determined confidence, I could hear her voice, “Climb the tree, Annette. Climb the tree!”
Craig’s face, though pensive during the beginning of the lesson, slowly relaxed as he walked the chestnut gelding in large circles. He pulled gently on the reins and stopped the horse when instructed. When Kristi would compliment him on his progress, he would crack a small smile.
Unlike the car ride to the barn, the car ride home Craig was very talkative.
“Did you see me? I used my heels and got that horse to walk!” Craig beamed, smiling from ear to ear.
“You did wonderful, Craig!” I cheered.
“Did you know the horse I rode is called a gelding? His name is Gizmo. Isn’t that a funny name? But I like the name Gizmo.” He rambled excitedly.
Two years have passed since Craig’s first ride on Gizmo. While the horse he rides now has changed to a different gelding named Dandy, his instructor has not changed. Kristi is still here, pushing Craig past his insecurities and helping him succeed each step of the way. She has taken him from trotting to cantering, to most recently bringing the horse to a full-out gallop. Kristi is passing her bold courage, like a torch, to Craig and helping him take on new challenges, just as Christine helped me to climb trees. I can’t help but smile and think how fortunate Craig and I are to have these courageous women in our lives! They are the driving force that pushes us past our struggles with our cautious nature.
.