... we all have them, some of which we readily, willingly admit, and others that will remain in the closet until death, when someone looks in that secret space we thought well hidden. I will not divulge what we found when confronted with the task of cleaning out my uncle's home in Virginia. I don't recall any interesting secrets when faced with the final emptying of drawers, closets, various confidential spaces in my parents' house. My mom had apparently done her own sorting before that ability slipped away.
My reference here is not so much physical items, but a tendency to balk when invited to enter a small space. I do not like going into narrow, confining places from which there appears to be no avenue of escape. I will not voluntarily enter, and will be profoundly antsy if forced to get into a place that requires turning sideways and wiggling to pass into the open again. Like the 'Fat Man's Squeeze' of the winding trail on top of Lookout Mountain when you are admitted to Rock City. No problem for me to take the stairs up and back down again to get around without hunching down and wriggling through side-stepping. Just too narrow and confining.
When anticipating boarding an airplane it requires either giving myself a stern talking-to, or deliberately not thinking about being cooped up in a relatively small cylinder traveling at a high rate of speed for great distances.Especially if this confinement also involves a great distance, and considerable time spent in that silver tube. Plus, even more limiting if you are smooshed in between two larger individuals headed in the same direction. This requires even more muttering and mumbling to talk myself down from the proverbial ledge, edging towards loosing my gumption.
Al this to explain why I have no intention of going into a cave, confining space. Crazy, but the pitiful truth. This has not always been a factor in my life as I recently told someone of going into a cave full of bats when traveling on a family vacation as a youth. My dad loaded us and camping equipment in the Ford Fairlane station wagon and drove to California. One of the stops was Carlsbad Caverns in NM. My brother and I went in the big dark hole without hesitation, after thousands of bats had come swarming out in search of their evening meal. Maybe I did not have a choice? Maybe I was foolhardy or gullible enough to believe paying for a entry, purchasing a tour ticket made it perfectly normal and safe? I cannot say. I only know I would not do it now.
All this to say: when I had to pull that 'dry suit' over my head, and it wrapped tightly around my neck to make a water proof seal, I knew it was not going to work for me. I later learned, after I had backed out, that the thing around your neck gets even more confining. So though I missed seeing the underwater sights, I am thankful that My Personal Sanity is intact. I am learning that it's no fun at all putting yourself in a situation that invites misery, and becoming fairly adept at prediction. Which also allows me to get over the being sad at missing out in a timely manner. If you know it's not for you, you know it's not for you.
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