Last week reminded me of a life truth. 

The mountain in your mind is usually much taller than the one you’ll actually climb.

Unfortunately, the sight of it can paralyze you with fear. 

The truth that many people don’t get a chance to realize is that the mountain shrinks as you take your first step and begin climbing. 

How was I reminded of this profound truth?

It started with a text from my apartment tenant. Her wall-unit air conditioner was not working.

 It’s late July in the southeast. 

95° and humid. 

She’s kind but clearly uncomfortable. 

I told her I would come by after work to check it out. But honestly, these wall-unit air conditioners have been a thorn in my side since I bought the duplex apartment over 30 years ago. 

Built in 1965, the apartments do not have central air. Instead of installing the air conditioners in the windows, the original investor chose to cut a hole in the brick and put them six feet up the wall. 

I wasn’t there to object. 

But I’m sure that he came to regret this design decision for a few reasons.

An AC unit large enough to cool 800 square feet is heavy.

The hole is six feet off the floor.

Deadlifting a 100-pound air conditioner six feet in the air is hard. 

Getting an old 100-pound air conditioner down is even worse. 

Once you slide it off the ledge, you own all 100 pounds of it, along with the gravitational pull that comes with it.

Then there’s the hole.  

Because the world isn’t always a simple, tidy place to live, new units aren’t usually the same dimensions as the old ones.

You’re going to have gaps to fill. Now it becomes a construction project. 

With a window unit, you close the window on top, slide out the accordion fillers on each side, and you’re pretty much done.

Not with these things.

So all of these thoughts are tormenting my mind as I drive to the apartment, praying it’s just a blown fuse.

I arrive and praise Jesus! The old-timey 20-amp glass fuse was blown, so I replaced it with a new one and fired up the air conditioner. 

Seconds later, the unit stops.  

Blown fuse.

I put in another. Fuse blows. 

I have one more in my $12 three-pack, so I try it again.

Yeah, I know. That was stupid. Of course, it blew.

I have to face the painful facts. I bought this air conditioner ten years ago off of Marketplace, so it wasn’t new then. And last year, it showed signs of an impending death.

After 90 seconds of Google research, I realized I’d have to replace the unit. 

And face all the fears that haunted me on my drive over.

This isn’t a project I want to do. It’s not one that I feel remotely competent to handle. But it’s also Wednesday night. How soon could I get someone here to do it?

I texted a contractor I’ve used once before. He doesn’t respond. Ever.

I wake up at 4 am the next morning determined to do something, so I hit Lowe’s at 6 am, thinking I would at least buy a new unit and have it at the apartment for when I find a contractor. 

I go ahead and unbox it at the apartment and lay out the parts neatly. The contractor will be so pleased that I made things easy for him.

A buddy referred me to a handyman he knows. I texted him. 

He doesn’t respond. Ever.

Finding contractors for these tiny jobs is damn near impossible, so reconsider life as a real estate investor if you’re not comfortable with a saw or hammer in your hands.

In the meantime, the clock is ticking; my tenant is still sweating, and reality is dawning on me: no one is coming to save me. 

I ask my son to clear his calendar for Saturday morning. Then I talked to my best friend, who is a General Contractor and craftsman extraordinaire, about my situation. The reason he hasn’t entered from stage right into this story before now is that he lives a couple of hours away and is extremely busy. 

But he does take my calls. And he’s sympathetic to my plight; however, he’s overly booked on Saturday. 

He can come on Monday.

I tell him I plan to remove the old unit, put the new one in the hole, and see what happens next. 

I didn’t want to do the job. But I had to. I also knew that by taking this next step, I wasn’t locked into every subsequent step. 

Once my son and I had the new unit in, I could fill the gaps with blankets and towels to keep out the critters, and wait for Arthur to do the sealing and framing. 

And we’re getting to the heart of the lesson. I was no longer standing at the bottom of the mountain gazing up at it in fear and trepidation. 

I was more than halfway up, knowing I could stop at any time, but each little win infused me with a little more confidence. 

Confidence to take another step. 

The new unit was in, and the framing task seemed less daunting. I started measuring and cutting boards, still fully aware that I might end the day by stuffing blankets into the gaps. 

But for now, I’m going one more step up this mountain. 

I installed the boards as best I could and stepped back to take a look. 

Not bad, really not too bad. A little off-center but perfectly within my margin of error.

I caulked the seams, cleaned up the residue, and stepped back again, looking at my work from every angle. 

I won’t need Arthur after all. 

The mountain’s gone.

Even though I never committed to climbing it to the top, it turned out that it was never as tall as it looked from the bottom.

What mountain are you facing? 

Take a step and see what happens. You’re probably not locked into the next one. But you may discover the view changes as you climb.

Maybe the greater risk is allowing fear to keep you at the bottom of the mountain.