When I was a little girl, my mom used to take me to a place called Jenny Jump Mountain. That is where I first learned about the legend and how the mountain got its name. There was a time long ago when nine year old Jenny was out picking berries. She looked up to find Indians coming toward her and she yelled to her father for help. She was trapped and scared at the top of the mountain. Her father was down below and he yelled to her, jump Jenny jump, and she did. One ending suggests Jenny jumped to her death and the other tells the happy news of her landing safely in the arms of her father. I guess we’ll never know for sure.
For some reason, the story has always stuck in my mind. I was inspired to write this after reading a post on Dream Big, Dream Often. His post was about turning molehills into mountains. I, on the other hand, realize the opposite can also be true. I actually try and turn my mountains into a molehill because I get to that point I can’t take it anymore. I can’t stand the feeling of being trapped on the mountainside with no way down. I am afraid of heights. I panic and the anxiety becomes a constant gnawing at my internal organs. Sometimes I wish I could be like Jenny and just jump but I don’t think I have the courage. Then I think to myself, if I don’t jump, how will I ever learn to fly?
So, what do you think? What’s worse? Turning mountains into molehills or molehills into mountains? Which are you guilty of?