The Local newsletter is your free, daily guide to life in Colorado. For locals, by locals. Sign up today! Recently I found myself standing on a very tiny platform that was attached to the top of a very high telephone pole.
I was at one of those crazy ropes courses—high platforms, thin balance beams, ropes everywhere—at Colorado State University, where I sometimes teach, the teaching being something I love, the ropes course being something I had avoided, on the theory that I like living. But my exuberant co-teaching professor had set up this expedition, and I felt a good-natured obligation to go.
Some were crying. At that point, I decided that my primary role, as teacher, should be limited to cheerleading. Way to GO , I hollered. Excellent work! I meant it, too. My cheers were genuine. I was bubbly proud to see these fellow humans scale, plunge, dive, shake, cuss, scream, and giggle their way through difficult physical maneuvers. And I realized with relief that I could be proud on the ground.
But then this happened: One student, who was visibly shaking after climbing a tall pole and walking on a thin wire forward and backward and then being lowered on belay down through the long, long expanse of air all this, while being pregnant!
Pregnancy hormones. For better or worse—possibly worse—the one thing I probably value most is openness. Hence my career: Writing about deeply personal things is how I make my living. I also write because stories help me perceive and possess my life; that is, stories help me understand my life, and then live it better.
