Switcheroonie

Charlotte and I on the Colorado Trail - July, 2025

​​Last weekend I drove to Salt Lake City to see my daughter. I arrived late afternoon in 100-degree heat, my cooler balanced atop a tacoed memory foam mattress under which were boxes of jumbled candles and lotions, and on top of which a heavy piece of furniture held it all down like a paperweight. We sweated and swore our way up the switchback stairs - grateful she lives on the second floor rather than the third.

This is a new location I haven’t yet seen, as Charlotte just moved in the week before. She’d been living in a shared apartment situation, now known as The Orc Palace or The Bad Place, mostly due to the two roommates who transformed from besties to a couple of Cruella de Vils, only meaner.

This studio has been a long time coming, as Charlotte’s been scheduling tours and applying for months. It is very small, very sweet, and it is hers. She couldn’t be happier. Well, she would be a bit happier if things were a bit more organized. So we get to work. She finds a used platform frame with headboard storage (every item must do its job of providing some form of storage) 30 minutes away. A couple more trips up the stairs and some assembly time, and the frame is perfect, with the bonus of its accommodation for under-bed bins. 

Sunday is my only full day there and we make it count. We’ve started the day with a long walk and then a homemade breakfast (Charlotte makes a delectable veggie-egg scramble). By evening we’re doing laps through Target and when the list is just about checked off, we head to The Front.

The Front is a “climbing gym.” This might not sound like much - when I first heard about it I pictured a tiny building with a small climbing wall. But there is nothing tiny or even medium-sized about The Front. It boasts a three-story climbing wall, a separate bouldering section, bluetooth climbing training boards, two separate gym areas, an upstairs eaterie, and an outdoor courtyard for events and just hanging out. 

Charlotte suits me up in a rented harness and a pair of climbing shoes and we walk over to the wall. There are over two dozen routes to choose from, made up of a huge array of holds for feet and hands that are different textures, shapes and sizes. The colors of the holds mark specific routes. Since I don’t know how to belay, she starts up a route with an auto belay (device that keeps the rope taut as the climber climbs so they don’t fall very far, should they fall). My daughter’s strength and grace is evident as she moves up the wall, her skill as a climber and problem-solver comes to the fore as she works out some stickier segments of the route.

Then it is my turn. We choose a beginner route. The last time I climbed was when I was 25, which was 33 years ago. I am afraid of heights, and wonder how quickly the shaking and fear will kick in. I figure I won’t make it very far anyway with my not-ready-for-prime-time-climbing arms and hands - but I’ll give it a go and see what happens.

Charlotte is well-versed in climbing safety, with many courses and years of experience under her belt. She is going to belay me. She shows me the proper set-up with my harness and the climbing rope. I use a little chalk from her bag to give my hands a bit of extra grip. She teaches me to say “girl on rock!” and she responds “rock on, girl!” as a safety that we are on the same page. And I start to climb.

At first I don’t think I’ll make it beyond the first foot or two. But as my feet find their holds, and my shoulders, arms and hands continue to do the work, sweat dripping down my back, I find that I am moving up the wall. Charlotte keeps the rope taut and I feel that security. If I go for something and can’t make it, the rope will catch me and I won’t go anywhere, just hang in the air. I notice that this sense of complete safety is new to me. I have explicit trust in Charlotte, and the rope and harness are like an extension of her support. I am almost two stories up and I don’t feel afraid.

There is a small overhang that is my goal, about two-thirds of the way up. When I get there, I don’t see an obvious way to get over it, and I let Charlotte know I’m ready to descend so she can ease me down with the rope. She asks “are you sure you don’t want to give it a try?” I look at it again, and give it a try. Lo and behold, I make it over and up to the top of the climb. She lets me down and when my feet hit the floor I fall over. Guess my legs were more wobbly than I thought. My forearms are pumped so tight I can barely move my fingers. Charlotte is grinning hugely. I look up at her and say “I can’t believe I did it!” 

She climbs another route, making it look so easy. Then I climb again, doubting I’ll make it very far due to my fatigued forearms. And once again I find that my body delivers and I make it to the top. Wow! 

I watch Charlotte climb a few more routes. It is like a form of dance, this movement that is now all limbs reaching out wide, now narrow and vertical, now almost horizontal, adjusting her body to the whims of the holds and available surfaces. Sometimes she briefly studies her next move, but mostly she moves effortlessly up, elegant and powerful, at home in this colorful facsimile of nature’s rock face. I know that watching her climb outdoors would be even more beautiful.

Later, as we enjoy our picnic dinner on my tailgate and gaze at the golden-orange sunset silhouetting the city skyscrapers, I think about how our roles were reversed and how that opened my mind and body to do something I doubted I could. I was so sure of my safety with Charlotte belaying me that I was not distracted by my typical fear of heights. I was physically supported by the harness and rope so that I was confident to reach for holds that were a little out of my reach zone - and was able to grasp them. I was mentally-emotionally supported by Charlotte, who did not doubt me. Her belief was a game-changer - because of that I kept reaching and kept climbing all the way, even when I didn’t think I could.

When we’re back at her place, tired from the long and demanding day, the overwhelm of the remaining stuff needing to be organized gets to her. I find myself providing moral support and realize we’ve switched again. This is the depth and breadth of what is between us, mother and daughter, friend and friend, that we can move from the one who offers support to the one who receives it, back and forth, in an exquisite, unique and beautiful dance of our own.