When I was little there was a tree in my back garden. It was huge! Tall and lanky, it towered over the neighbourhood, when a wind kicked up it would sway and swing like a drunk leaving the pub. I used to love climbing it, it was my favourite thing, you couldn’t get me down from there. At first I used to hang around in the lower branches, safe in the knowledge that if i fell the ground wasn’t too far below. After a while, though, the lower branches lost their appeal, suddenly they didn’t feel so high after all. I started to venture further up and found, after the initial discomfort, the view was better from up here. After that I was hooked, everyday I’d venture a bit further than I dared.
One day the wind got real ferocious, I was about halfway up now and clung to the trunk fearing I might be blown away. I wasn’t, I weathered the storm and I found my resolve strengthened. The worst had happened but there I still clung.
Suddenly the swaying tree didn’t seem so ominous, now I’d met with it properly. I redoubled my efforts and soon enough I knew every branch on my ascent like an old friend and I would swing in the breeze at the top most with what felt like the whole world before me.