I used to be fearless.

No really.

Alright you can stop laughing.

I was fearless. Then it suddenly seemed that one day I was a coward. I can remember clearly the exact instance it happened. I was standing at the top of a narrow stairway. On a step near the top I felt the carpet slide a bit under my left heel. In my mind, courtesy of my over active imagination, I fell. Left cheek to the carpet. Right knee striking the wall. Elbows twisted behind my back.

It's strange to be so afraid over something that never really happened. I don't know why I've let it go on this long.

Some things are going to change.

I went to lake Powell over the Memorial Day weekend. A good time was had by all. There was cliff jumping (this time I jumped), kayaking, and hiking down slot canyons. I slept under the stars in a sleeping bag that packs up into a teeny-tiny ball, and got up at 5 AM to paddle down Antelope canyon.

I've spent the last 24 hours telling myself I don't really need to go back next weekend.

I went to Moab for the weekend. I had great time. It was so warm and sunny. There was a car show going on, so everywhere we went there were these amazing cars. The red rock was beautiful, as always. I was hypnotised by it on our hikes. I couldn't seem to open my mouth to chat, with all that scenery filling my view.

We hiked out to Left Hand. It's this spot where people go cliff jumping. I'm deathly afraid of heights. Well, let me clarify that...I'm afraid of heights while I'm unrestrained. I'd be just fine looking over the edge of a thousand foot cliff if there was a two foot high railing, or rock climbing while roped in...but 5 feet is too high if there's nothing but my own sense of balance to save me. I say all this because I'm about to admit something. I didn't cliff jump. I was the only one that didn't. I'm a bit ashamed of that.

I miss Moab already. Well, I should say I miss that weekend in Moab already. Everything was just so perfect.