Also, there is a theory within the psychological community, one of the few truly upside-down theories that has ever come from them that I feel holds a deeper current of truth.
The theory is that those who are most afraid of steep heights are those who most desire to jump. It isn't actually the heights that they fear. It's of their own desire to die. They don't have to confront this interior dimension of their psyche until they are physically perched a few feet from an impulsive death spiral.
I always found that insightful as I am terrified of heights (though I can manage to look off skyscrapers and climbed higher than almost all the other kids as a child) as when I am not in control, I feel absolutely nothing at all. I actually giggle or outright burst into laughter when people scream during the most acute instances of turbulence on planes. This has resulted in some really nasty glares.
I just don't get it. What does screaming do? If the plane goes down there's no changing it (albeit that usually it's just people freaking out who have never sailed stormy northern or northeastern skies). I find that funny. Why be afraid of things you cannot control? How does one go about one's day without being terrified that death with strike from any corner? After all, we always talk about how "no man knows the hour", and all that.
Yet these same people, when in control of their own bodies, staring off the side of a short wall inside a tall building, one they could easily bound over in a swan dive to their death, feel nothing. Just being next to such a height terrifies me.
So that theory, the first time I heard it, gripped me. There was an electric truth to it that explained these discrepancies that nothing else could.