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Thailand’s lush landscape is immensely beautiful. Bathed in a sea of green, the aroma of fresh rain, moss, rotting wood and moist soil fill my nostrils. The air is alive with the harmony of birds chirping as they communicate our presence below. The crackling of twigs is heard as we move through the dense forest. My mind wanders, causing me to fall behind the rest of the group. My thoughts are on the many species that inhabit this area. From the birds overhead, to the monkeys swinging through the trees and occasionally peaking through shrubs, ready to snatch up any morsel of food we may drop on the ground. I move forward, following closely on the heels of the person in front of me. I hear something rustling among the tall grass. I freeze in my tracks. I turn back to look, and see nothing but a path of trampled leaves and disturbed earth. My gaze returns forward just in time to see the group disappear between some fern looking foliage that swing back effortlessly, blocking them from view. My heartrate quickens in unison with the pace of my feet. I am running now. Unsure of which way to go, everything seems to be closing in around me. The sunlight that once streamed through treetops and meandered its way down to the ground to rest at my feet, now grows dim as the weather changes and clouds block it from view. I feel my palms sweating and my ears heating up, a familiar indication that my anxiety in building. My chest tightens. The rational part of my brain knows that it has only been a few minutes, but the emotional side is becoming more and more overwhelmed with visions of being lost in a rainforest. Breathe. Focus. Listen. I hear faint voices up ahead. Hurriedly I move towards the sounds as the path begins to go upward. I trudge forward, struggling to catch my breath and maintain my footing on the now damp soil. The ground levels off. I see a familiar face and hear her shout to those ahead, “she’s here”. Climbing up to the platform with the rest of the group, I peer across the mass expanse of dense trees, flowing water and an abundance of moss-covered rocks, none of which look like they would make a comfortable landing spot. I let everyone go ahead of me, as I pretend to have a deep conversation with the canopy tour guide. One by one, they each step off the platform and soar through the air. They disappear from sight, long before the trails of their screams leave my ears. The numbers have dwindled and now I am next to take the leap. As they fasten the hooks to the zipline, adjust my harness and preform all the necessary safety checks, I look over the edge. I can't do this. My feet are cemented into the ground, heart palpitating and sweat flowing down my back. I never thought of myself as being afraid of heights. I travel by plane a few times a year, I enjoy rollercoasters and I am in skyscrapers from time to time. What is different now? My mind races as I quickly try to remember every single word spoken during the safety demonstration. They are guiding me closer to the edge of the platform. It’s time. They count me down from five. Four. Three. Two. I take a deep breath, position my hands as instructed, sit back and by the time they say “one”, I abandon my fears and fully immerse myself in the experience. The whiz of the cable as my weight propels me across, is all I can hear. My eyes have been clenched shut from the moment I stepped off the platform. I open them now. The sun shines brightly once more and gives way to the most vibrant greens and crystal clear water below, that seems to sparkle as I glide through the air. By the time my foot touches the platform, a sense of humility and gratitude wash over me. I have proved that letting go can be even more powerful than the fear that once held me hostage.