The Modern-Day Illusion of Safety
Steph and I had a long day on Middle Cathedral Rock last month. We knew the climb would take the majority of the day. Rusty and out of practice, we made several small mistakes in the morning and didn’t start climbing until after 9am. We began missing time markers but repeatedly chose to continue, choosing to finish in the dark.
On days like this, we constantly assess risk. We think of hazards as either subjective or objective. We have control over subjective hazards like how well we manage our rope and whether we pack enough water. Objective hazards are inherent to the environment: rockfall, thunderstorms, and other climbers trundling rocks from above. One can't control objective hazards. Ironically, the biggest objective hazard on a Yosemite weekend is the drive there and back. Thousands of unpredictable people in metal boxes moving at 70mph. The only things keeping us from head-on collisions is luck and two yellow lines painted on the pavement. Adding to the objective hazard are cell phones and impatient assholes who can’t wait for a passing lane. Nobody thinks to themselves “Maybe this time I’ll die” when they set out on a road trip, but it’s always possible.
When we share climbing stories with friends who don’t climb, they say things like “But you’re not actually in danger because you have a rope, right?” The truth is, we’re constantly in a position to make a mistake that costs us our lives. We pay attention to every step, double-checking each other as we go. We’ve gotten pretty good at managing subjective hazard as a team. But even if we do everything right, there’s always the risk that someone above will trundle a microwave-sized rock. Objective hazards are low-probability events, but they're always a part of the equation. Just because it’s never happened before doesn’t mean it won’t happen ever.
We all take risk in our day-to-day, usually with the ignorant illusion of safety. We feel entitled to safety. Many of us even flirt with risk, assuring ourselves that bad things only happen to other people. Those other people are all less prepared, less astute, less capable of managing risk. So we break the speed limit, build houses on ocean cliffs, and make Taco Bell a habit. We're dumbstruck when we cause a traffic accident, the ocean takes our beachfront property, and we're diagnosed with coronary disease.
In a world of padded surfaces without consequences, outdoor adventure reminds us of our vulnerability. It's a reminder that life is a raw, fragile experience. But life is most fragile in the living of it. Lost in screens, we fail to notice as the irreplaceable, fleeting opportunities to live in the moment crumble away. The illusion of safety is the same as the illusion of immortality. The illusion that we won't get hurt, that we won't die. That life is only cut short for other people and we have all the time in the world to get around to living.
